Coping with Miscarriage ~ The Girl That Never Was
Aug 09 '04 (Updated Nov 04 '06)
The Bottom Line Cry until you can't anymore. Let go, and let GOD!
"When the train goes through a tunnel and the world gets dark, do you jump out? Of course not. You sit still and trust the engineer to get you though." … Corrie ten Boom
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Life is a gift! Often times it’s rewarding, and other times, it is unbearable. The following is an account of a recent event that took place in my life that conveys the latter. It’s been 6-weeks now, and I’m on the mend. I’m hopeful for the future, and I’m allowing my "engineer" to get me through. The date, March 26th, 2004 will forever be stamped on my heart. It was supposed to be a day of celebration, and now the tears flow when I think about it. My Father-in-Law suggested I try to observe the date, rather than mourn it. I’ve decided to take his advice, as I think it’s wise, and I know it’s what SHE would want me to do.
My husband and I have been trying to conceive our second child for a while now. We go about the "business" of trying to make a baby, and months go by without any signs of pregnancy. Sometimes frustration sets in and I wonder whether my dream of having two children will ever come to pass. Others make light of infertility, because they’ve never experience the pain. They joke about "trying" to conceive. They say things, like,
"Oh well, practice makes perfect."
"You’re not doing IT right", or
"Duh...haven’t you heard of an ovulation kit?"
Ha, ha… those remarks fall dead after months, and for some, years of trying to no avail. It took 14-months to conceive William, and longer to conceive our second. At 4-weeks gestation, I received the news that I was expecting again. My joy was boundless. I couldn’t contain my excitement. I told nearly everyone I know. I sorted through my firstborn’s things, arranged for a nursery, and even started a baby book.
Then IT happened. I will never forget the day, August 11, 2003. It was a Monday, after a long day of jury duty. 8-weeks into my pregnancy, I started to cramp and spot. I called the doctor. She suggested I lie down, and try to relax. I took her advice and went to bed immediately, but couldn’t sleep. The next day I went about my routine, all the while my heart was heavy. I knew spotting could happen early in pregnancy, but I didn’t spot with my first, so I was concerned. The cramping continued throughout the day.
That night I had dinner plans with some friends. One of the women had recently given birth to her second child. I wanted to see the baby, plus I didn’t want my possible misfortune to overshadow her joy. We had previously arranged a carpool, so I wasn’t responsible for driving. Thank goodness! The doorbell rang. It was Becky, one of my oldest, and dearest friends. I informed her of my condition. She was disappointed, but determined to take my mind off my troubles. A few minutes later, my other friend arrived, and off we went.
I’m glad I got out of the house that night. I knew that sitting at home would not change the outcome, nor would I suffer less. I felt miserable. The cramps intensified and the spotting turned into bleeding. On the way home, we swung by the emergency room. An overworked receptionist informed us that the wait was something like 4-hours long. I wasn’t going to make my friends sleep in the emergency room, so I decided to see my doctor the next morning. I barely slept a wink.
Wednesday, August 13th ~ I arrived at the doctors office with my son. My husband met us there, as he was coming from work. I padded across the room, and sat in the chair closest to the bathroom, just in case I needed some privacy. Meanwhile, my husband was occupied with the energizer bunny also known as William. As I waited for the call, I had what can best be described as a surreal moment. I looked around the room at the other expecting mothers, and thought about the first time I was pregnant. I wondered if at that time there was someone sitting in the waiting room that shared my current crisis. If so, did they hate me for carrying a healthy baby as much as I envied those women sitting across from me that day? Did they know how lucky they were to have healthy pregnancies? It took every ounce of my energy to sit and wait in the doctor’s office that day. My leg bounced uncontrollably. I prayed a rosary to kill the time.
The receptionist: "Ms. Batson your appointment is for next Tuesday, not today."
Me: "Yes, I know. I’m bleeding and I’d like an ultrasound."
The receptionist: "Oh…if you’ll have a seat, I’ll see what I can do".
I thought to myself, I hope they don’t make me go through a bunch of nonsense. I just want to see a heartbeat. I waited for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, the call came. A quiet, unassuming woman ushered me to the back. She smiled slightly, and led me to a chair where she drew my blood. She spoke quietly, and only when necessary. Then, suddenly it hit me, my baby’s in heaven. She checked my urine and softly announced my pregnancy test was still positive. I knew she was trying to give me hope. She led me to the exam room, and said, "You know the routine. The doctor will be with you soon." I shook my head, and prepared myself. While I waited, I prayed some more.
A quiet knock came to the door. A young woman walked through, and introduced herself as Dr. Hass. Give me a break! I wanted to tell her to fetch me a pillow, so I could scream. I think my expression said it all. She told me my doctor was unavailable, and gently guided me through the examination. When the picture of my uterus came up on the screen, she said nothing. I said nothing. I couldn’t look. Tell me my baby’s all right, I prayed. Then she asked me if there was anyway I could have conceived much later. The fetus was measuring 5-weeks old, not 8. Then, like an idiot I looked at the screen. There she was, my little Maggs. My heart broke.
I track my cycles closely, so I knew conception could not take place 3-weeks after ovulation. Since I was sure of the dates, the doctor explained that I was most likely experiencing a loss. At that moment, all sense of decorum shut down, and I started to sob uncontrollably. I couldn’t tell you what she said next. Then, she embraced me, displayed a sense of regret, and said, "Take ALL the time you need. I’ll wait for you outside." I was in a daze. I didn’t realize how compassionate she was, or how terrible it would have been to hear that kind of news from an emergency room intern.
Time stood still. I don’t recall how much time it took to gather my things. The doctor wrote me an excuse for jury duty, and left me with some pamphlets on miscarriage, and loss. I paid the receptionist, and meet my husband outside, where he was busy entertaining our 2-year old. I didn’t have to say a word. He saw the grief on my face and knew the results. Ever the confidant, he swiftly buckled our son in the car seat, and hugged me tightly. "I’ll meet you at home," he whispered. I sobbed the whole way home.
Fast-forward an hour. Time passed by slowly. I needed to make a decision. Go to court, or not. For those who don’t know me well, I have a tendency to bury my problems rather than deal with them. Oh, and when I say bury, I mean LAY TO REST. My modus operandi ~ go to court, say nothing, and cry myself to sleep for months. Ya know, the stiff upper lip thing. Everybody knew I was pregnant. I couldn’t bury THIS one. I HAD to deal. We were supposed to hear closing arguments that day, so I went. I needed the distraction. I cried the whole way in the car. I looked like I walked through a swarm of bees. The plaintiffs stopped me outside the courthouse, and informed me that we were in recess until the morning. How I maintained my composure is beyond me. I was in no condition to walk and talk at the same time, let alone decide the outcome of a trail. I called the bailiff the following morning and requested dismissal.
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I am fortunate. I have my faith in God, the support of a wonderful man, and many who love me. Countless have prayed for me, far too many to thank in this writing. My appreciation goes beyond words can express. To ALL of you, thank you for your friendships, your love, your support, and your prayers. I could not have come through this without each and everyone of you.
For those looking for suggestions on helping someone deal with a miscarriage, please see the following list.
TO DO
DO show regret.
DO offer to pray if you know this suggestion would not offend the individual.
DO send a card or a note.
DO send flowers, in inclined.
DO offer to visit, or be a sounding board.
DO be patient!
NOT TO DO
Do NOT discuss your miscarriage or other’s. After some time has passed, talking with other’s who have experienced the same loss is helpful, but not before.
Do NOT talk about your D&C, or other’s.
Do NOT devalue the loss, by saying, “You were only 8-weeks…,” or “You can have another…”
Do NOT speculate the cause of the miscarriage, “You’re too old…”
Do NOT share the news of the loss with others, unless you KNOW the family would not mind.
Do NOT expect the pain will end once the physical aspects have passed.
I originally posted this piece in the Writer’s Corner, but I have decided to move it to the appropriate place in hopes that it may help others dealing with a similar loss. I want to thank those who took the time to comment a year ago, and those who e-mailed me directly. It was such a blessing as many of you offered hope for the future.
God bless,
Mary
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