I think it's time I told you...

Today, I'm going to share a piece of a very sad moment in my life, a topic that I wished woman discussed more often. I planned on posting this when my body finally went back to normal, when I started feeling great again. But unfortunately, that's not happening as quickly as I would have liked.

{Warning for Sensitive Readers} or people who've dealt with pregnancy loss. This post is a bit graphic.

This following was originally written on January 17th, 2014

The doctor is so nice, but I'm so sick of bad news.

It's been a month, and the tests results came back normal today. Sounds like good news right?
But it isn't.

Not really.

Genetically, all was well with our little bean. Nothing was wrong with him (or maybe her), apart from the fact that he died.

His heart stopped beating at 9 weeks, the same day that we went in for my first prenatal check up.

"He's measuring perfectly. You've got a big baby there!" 

More pictures on the ultrasound, followed by a long silence.

"Mais il y a un petit souci..."

That's when I noticed that the baby wasn't moving. At all.

Google says that being sick is a good sign. It means that the baby's developing nicely.
Google is full of crap. 

People kept telling me not to be nervous, that I was worrying too much. "Stop stressing! You can't enjoy your pregnancy if you're constantly waiting for something bad to happen." "The chances of you having a second miscarriage are so small!"
People are full of crap.

I had been extremely nauseous right up until the first D&C (surgery). But I was so, so happy to be nauseous. We'd lost a previous pregnancy very early on, and I had never been nauseous for that one.

I can't even tell you how grateful I was to be throwing up this time around, and how disappointed I was to learn that I'd suffered for nothing.

If I hear from one more well-meaning person that "it's no big deal" because I can just have another one, I might actually hit them. I don't want "just another baby". I wanted the one I lost.

People who tell you that "it's no big deal" have never stayed up till 4 a.m. on Christmas Eve, contracting while sitting on the toilet, watching as the crimson blood and the remaining tissues of their dead baby gushed out of them.

I also don't want to hear about your friends who've had more miscarriages than I've had or who have lost babies later on in their pregnancy. I am very well aware that other people have gone through much, much worse. This does not make me feel better. My heart is still hurting, and my pain is still important.

And please, for the love of all that is holy, stop telling me to be grateful.

"You should be grateful that it just happened now and not later on in the pregnancy."

"Well, at least you know you're fertile. You should be grateful."

"You should be grateful that you've only had two. My aunt had 10... blah. blah. blah."

"You're so lucky that you already know what labor contractions feel like. With my first I had no idea what to expect!"

"You should be grateful. The baby would have probably been handicapped anyways. Things will be so much easier for you this way."

I am not grateful that my body has been unable to carry a pregnancy to term. I am not grateful that my baby died right before Christmas - right before we planned to announce it to our families. I am most certainly not grateful when I see other moms-to-be with their big round bellies and gorgeous pregnancy glows. I'm just jealous and very, very sad. There's always that little thought in the back of my head whispering "that could have been you."

I know a very sweet lady who's due date is the same as mine would have been, and it hurts seeing her belly grow while mine stays empty.

So empty. 

No one tells you how empty you feel after a miscarriage.

We wanted this baby. It was very much planned and prayed for.

These feelings will pass and time will help me turn the page. But please stop trying to make me feel bad for being sad. It's been less than a month. Emotionally and physically this whole ordeal has been very painful. I still need to cry a little longer.

Please let me grieve in the way that I need to.


Since writing this post in January, I ended up having several rounds of Cytotec, episodes of random bleeding, and a second D&C to remove bits of the placenta that they'd left in the first time. My body was still producing pregnancy hormones for several months after the first operation and developing all sorts of fun complications.

At the time, we just assumed that the first operation had been successful, but I still felt awful all the time - something just seemed off. I went through weeks of people telling me to stop worrying so much before getting the doctor to confirm that I wasn't crazy.

Her reaction upon seeing the sonogram went something like this: "Wow! Have you been experiencing extreme pain? No? Then you're very lucky. How quickly can we get you in for surgery? Are you busy the day after tomorrow?"

Moral of the story: If you sense that something isn't right, tell everyone else to just shut it (as nicely as you can) and get yourself checked out.

Moral #2: A woman who's just been through a miscarriage does not need your advice, unless you're her doctor. She just needs your compassion.

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