Trigger Warning: Miscarriage
My period came today, but it was late, which is very unusual. I never spot, so I was convinced when I did spot last week that it was implantation bleeding, and that because I wasn’t experiencing any of my regular PMS symptoms, my period wouldn’t come, but a positive pregnancy test would, and soon, my boobs would be swollen and sore again for an extended period of time, and maybe I would get nauseous, or maybe I would start to crave microwaved hot dogs in squishy white bread buns again, or maybe I would hear a rhythmic heartbeat during a vaginal ultrasound again. Maybe I would start to bleed and feel alone and scared again. Maybe I would miscarry again, or have to grapple with the decision of whether or not to keep the pregnancy, only to miscarry in the end anyway. Maybe I would catch a tiny, tiny little fetus in the toilet again. Maybe a doctor would tell me that we should send “the specimen” out for cytogenetic evaluation to determine if I had a “regular miscarriage” or if it was my oddly shaped uterus that couldn’t support the pregnancy. Maybe I would experience the guilt of having sent off this sacred little body with eyes and fingers and toes to a cold, sterile environment for testing. Maybe I would spend another month wearing adult diapers and giant pads to catch the surprise blood clots again. Maybe I would cry uncontrollably and unpredictably for multiple weeks without knowing why again. Maybe the one person I thought was going to be there for me above all else would reject me again. Maybe I would have to make the decision to remove that person from my life when my body was already grieving its own wild loss and not yet prepared for another... again. So many maybes. So many possibilities. So many tiny moments of grief.
That pregnancy was short-lived, but it was fraught with tough decisions and moments which I still think back to often. Ultimately, I racked up over $2,000 in medical bills related to doctor visits, ultrasounds, and various labs in hopes I would better understand the situation. I'm not sure it helped.
I had the support of some of the best friends to ever exist in the entire universe. They did a bang-up job being there for me, but they had no idea what to expect or what to say at times, and we were walking blindly down a path none of us knew a thing about. I never felt comfortable opening up to my family about it because of, well, their bias and opinions and my own fear of being judged.
I wish I had a supportive presence who could have told me when something crazy I was experiencing was part of the process. I wish I had someone to weigh the decisions with, who knew their shit. I wish I had someone there who could have sent me information and resources about miscarriage and recovery so I wouldn’t have spent countless hours scouring the internet and random TV shows only to find brief and often clinical mentions and overviews of miscarriage to grasp at.
I wish I had a doula.
If you, or someone you love is experiencing a pregnancy loss, know that you are not alone.
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