Hello out there
My name is Dayle. I'm 20 years old, and am writing to you now to share some of my experience with grief, love, and miscarriage.
Honestly, I do not know why I am writing this blog. The idea just came to me on one of my bad days (which I'll explain later) and it offered me a small share of comfort. Maybe I am just hoping that someone out there will read this blog and empathize with me. Maybe I just need an outlet for the pain I feel. But I think mostly it is because I am hoping that if even one person is helped by my words, then sharing my pain will be worth it.
Before we go any further, I want to say some things. It is my intent to be as completely open and honest as I can, as I truly think that honesty is the best policy and will thus be the best way to heal myself and try to help others. Therefore any information about myself that I divulge will be 100% true, but for the sake of protecting others privacy, I will be changing the names of anyone else I may mention. And I do ask that if you happen to read this blog and think it may help a friend, family member, or anyone else you may know, please pass it along. I think that we finally need to break the taboo on talking about miscarriage. So now, here is my story:
On December 22, 2012, I took a home pregnancy test to see if I was pregnant. My period had been 2 weeks late at that time and I was starting to feel some of the early signs of pregnancy. I think that as much as I was hoping I was pregnant, I really thought that it was going to be negative. And lo and behold, when I saw those two pink lines come up on the test...well, shock is putting it mildly. I immediately called for my boyfriend (let's call him Matt) and showed him the test, then started to hyperventilate. I know it was probably stupid, but my first thought was that my mom was going to kill me, and as I was 19 and only had been living with my boyfriend for 5 months, I still felt like a child myself.
That first week was wrought with worry for me. As it was almost Christmas, I couldn't go to my family doctor until after the break ended, and waiting was like slow torture. I wanted to know definitely one way or another whether the test was right or not, so on the 27th I went in to my doctor first thing and she did a test herself, sat me down in the office and told me the good news. And for some reason, hearing it from my doctor changed everything.
I knew immediately that I wanted this baby, and I was overjoyed about it! I couldn't wipe the smile off my face and Matt kept touching my belly as if to suddenly feel a bump or a kick, though it was far too early for that. We planned how we were going to tell people and decided on my mom first, as she needs a lot of time to adjust to big news. So I went out shopping with her and spilled the beans as she was driving me home. Like I expected, she didn't take it too well. Started crying and went on about how this isn't the path she would have chosen for me, et cetra. I know where she was coming from, but this was something I was really happy about, and I think she sensed that too because then she told me that she loved me and that no matter what, she would be there to support me. So I went home that night feeling emotional, but good.
The next night we told Matt's family. When I told my mom it was just me, my mom, and my youngest brother (I felt that it needed to be a lot more personal in that regards), but when we told Matt's family, it was both of his parents, his older sister and her fiance. We were about to play a board game all together, but then Matt decided it was time and proclaimed that we had an announcement. I was terrified of how they would react and I mostly kept my head down, but to my shock I suddenly felt his mom grab hold me me and hugged me so tightly I thought I'd choke. And it was with another shock that I realized she was crying with happiness. Then his dad did the same thing.
So now with our families told, Matt and I were able to finally relax and enjoy the feeling of being parents-to-be. We were so excited that we went out and bought some bottles and a stroller, and Matt's mom set to work on knitting a baby blanket with Winnie the Pooh patterns on it (I love Winnie the Pooh). For those 3 weeks that I knew I was pregnant, my world was perfect. And then in the course of 2 days, my world just as suddenly stopped.
On January 14, 2013, I woke up that morning feeling a little off. My body was acting weird due to the pregnancy, so I thought it was just another side-effect and I ignored that gut feeling that I had that something was wrong. I went about my normal day, and by supper, I had shaken off that bad feeling. But then it came screaming back to me when I felt that little bit of blood come out. I went into the bathroom to check and I had quite a bit of blood come out.
I felt numb with shock, and then just purely afraid. My first thought was that there was something wrong with me and I wanted to protect my baby, so I called for Matt and we went to the ER. We sat there for 3 hours until we could gt in, and then another 2 hours as they did tests and examined me. I was getting no answers from the doctors of nurses I saw until finally I begged the doctor to tell me anything, and he said that there was nothing to worry about. As the blood was brownish, not red, it meant that it was old blood, not new, and the tests showed that I was still pregnant, so they sent me back home. Me and Matt were so relieved that the next day we just sat at home together and thought more about our soon-to-be family. I had even bought pregnancy books and we had fun going through a baby names book, debating what names we liked and "veto-ing" each others choices. Maybe we got a little ahead of ourselves in hindsight...but this was the first pregnancy for both of us, so we took it and ran with it.
My bleeding didn't stop on the 15th, but it had turned to spotting and was still brown so I didn't worry, like the doctor said. But then on the 16th when Matt was at work that night and I was home, I started to feel weird again. I can't really describe the feeling...physically I guess I felt normal, but mentally/emotionally I got this sudden dread that something was wrong again, and my thoughts were always on my tiny little baby. I had this little knot of anxiety in my chest, I was shaky and I kept crying. I went to the bathroom and say that the blood was now red, and I went into panic mode. I called Matt at work but his boss wouldn't let him come home, so I called my mom and she came and took me to the ER. Matt met us there after he got off work and we sat there most of the night. Then the doctor came in, sat down, and I will never forget the look on his face as he told me that the tests indicated that I was miscarrying. He was a younger doctor, I think not far out of med school. He had been really nice and supportive that whole night, and it looked like it genuinely hurt him to have to tell me the news. All that did though was make me feel worse. Before he had even opened his mouth, I knew, and as soon as he said the words and made it final, I collapsed into my misery. My mom held me as I cried, and Matt sat in a kind of miserable disbelief. Not until we got home did he finally start to cry.
I had never experienced loss in my life. My mom, brothers, and I were never close to our extended relatives, so if someone died, we either didn't know or it didn't affect us. So this loss, the one of my unborn child, literally paralyzed me with grief. The next day I only went out to go to my OB/GYN so that he could confirm what the ER doctor tole me. He said that I had been pregnant for 9 weeks (I was 6 weeks pregnant when I had found out), but that the fetus in my uterus was only of 6 weeks still. My baby had died almost right after I found out about him.
He scheduled a D&C for January 18, which also happened to be Matt's birthday. Needless to say it was not a happy day, but we both agreed that we wanted this done with as soon as we could. I went to the hospital, was admitted, and then waited. Matt sat with me the whole time. We both called in to work for the rest of the week (I ended up taking 2 weeks off). I ended up having to be moved beds because the nurses placed me beside a woman whose newborn baby was in surgery, and then her baby was brought back to her. I took one look at that baby and broke down uncontrollably. They moved me to the other side of the ward, but I could still hear the baby crying, and every cry seemed to go through me like a knife. They brought me a grief counselor to talk to, but she didn't help me at all. She gave me this little wooden butterfly that they give out to women who miscarry, as a token of my loss. I took it without really thinking about it; all I knew was that i wanted some memento of what had happened. There wasn't enough of my little baby to cremate, so that was all I had. And then I was taken to surgery, and the whole time they wheeled me up to the room, up until the put me to sleep, I spent that time praying to my little baby, saying good-bye.
So now you know my story, and if you are still with me, then thank-you for listening (or in the case, reading). It hasn't made me feel better, writing this all down, but it has made me feel clearer in a way, like I can think a bit more evenly. I think I will leave it there for now, but I will return soon to share some more, and I hope that you will join me again.
I think it is a neat idea to end on a quote, something that maybe ties up a little of what I feel. Right now I am feeling a little confused, sad, and lost, so I will end on one of my favorite quotes:
"Life is a maze of paths for us to follow. Our only concern is trying to no get too lost"-J.R.R Tolkien
Until next time
