Tuesday 7 August 2012

Start Here

I don't really know where to start...so, I'll just start with the now.  Here.

I miscarried a subsequent pregnancy this weekend, and I’m just puttering about today – sad, sad, sad.

This blog wasn’t supposed to start like this, but what am I do to?  Last week, I finally fumbled around with blog.ger, and thought, this is it… I’m-a-bloggin’ now or never!
And then this happened.  All this nasty, unwelcome, heavily emotional wind blown through my windows… and I’ve got a mess to deal with, again.
This miscarriage doesn't have a comparative feel to losing Alexander.  It's like apples and oranges.  A child verses a pregnancy.  They're very different.  But bottom line right now, is I don't have either... here... alive... growing... so I'm just sad.  Sad, sad, sad. 
My skin will thicken up down the road I'm sure.  I'll be able to say I miscarried and not choke up at the same time.  I'm really quite surprised with myself.  This isn't hard in comparison to what I'm already going through... but it doesn't make anything any easier. 
I regret opening my mouth about "trying again".  It's hard not to though.  It's in the forefront of my thoughts.   It’s hard to navigate through the responses.  The grief is hard.  Trying again is hard.  It's not the same as it is for everyone else.  It's not just timing the days, and taking our chances with when I ovulate.  Everyone says, "you're not supposed to think about it".  Trying to conceive after our loss is almost as hard as dealing with the loss itself.  It's a constant reminder of our purpose behind conceiving.  Our baby died.  Our son is dead.  We cannot parent him.  We cannot hold him.  We cannot have him.  Our only option to fulfil our need as parents is to have another child.  We're not trying to grow our family, and start with a new "first".  We're trying to desperately kick start this vehicle after our last ride dead stopped at the finish line.  It's exhausting, and I don’t want to keep doing this.
***
I had strong instinctual feelings about this pregnancy #2 ending.  They weren't just fears, and paranoia's.  Something told me the day after we took that positive pregnancy test to not believe it.  Several nights last week I had dreams of bleeding… waking up with an understanding, and not with fear.  This will end soon too...
***
I told my GP right away - I was booked in to see him July 30 to renew my medical leave for work - and gave him the news that I had missed my period for 4 days now, and had a confirmed positive pregnancy test at home sitting on my bathroom vanity.  I was secretly excited.  But I contained it.  My better knowing self was being very stern with me.  But all I could think was, "OK, step 1 out of 122375675265773490409404.... done.  Pregnant.  Now what..."
He wasn't happy.  He seemed irked to have to quickly figure out what to do with me.  He made an insensitive comment about my cycles, "when was your last period? or wait... did you even GET a period yet??" 
I surely hope he didn't forget that February 27 was my day, and I have no baby to breastfeed, so 5 months postpartum equals AT LEAST one period.   His comment was made to draw attention to the notion that (he thought) we were trying too soon.  We were moving too fast.  He doesn't show understanding towards my emotional state these days, and has told me in several appointments previous to this one, "just wait. give it time".
I was only aware of my pregnancy for 8 days.  But of course, after our final attempts of trying in mid July, I thought of the possibilities.  I thought of time lines, and "if's" and dates, and term, and seasons.  I was only "5 weeks" pregnant on Sunday at the point of loss...but really it was 3 months of trying to conceive lifted off my heavy chest that now has to land somewhere again. 
***
We took the pregnancy test on Friday July 27th.  We took it on that day as a tribute of hope to our little guy - always trying to keep him involved and significant in our unfolding future.  The positive line was faint, I didn't believe it was real.  D had no doubt.  I told him I'd retest on Sunday the 29th with a digital test - and then we'll see.  29 holds a special place in my heart next to Alexander.  He was conceived on May 29th, 2011.  I know that because it was a busy month.  I had a week-long meeting that month.  D and I didn't see much of each other that month.  To be blunt, I know he was conceived on that day, because there was no other "it" during that month.  I have no idea when this subsequent pregnancy was conceived.  We gave it a shot several times.  But we'd know the day when we found out it was real.  Once on the 27th (with doubt) and then again on the 29th.  The little message on the digital test said it all, "Yes+". 
Conceived in July meant a baby for late March or early April.  But I wasn't thinking that far ahead.  I wasn't even going to tell anyone until I looked 6+ months pregnant!  I was going to hide, and white lie my way through the first trimester and a half. I couldn't live in that blissfully pregnant state, and just glow about the news.  I needed to wait... and wait... and wait... for it all to be real.
***
My GP called me Tuesday morning last week.  Told me all my numbers were low.  "Really low".  He said I might have my dates wrong, because from what the blood work read, I was just a few days pregnant, and not a few weeks.  I knew when we last tried to conceive, and it was weeks ago.  So, no, I couldn't be days pregnant - I was weeks... and low numbers aren't a good thing. 
I was upset.  I felt broken.  I asked him what I should do.  He said nothing.  "We'll keep an eye on it, and retest in September."  I asked him if I should start taking medication to up my thyroid.  I told him last year, my OB put me on thyroid meds right away when she saw it was low to better the chances of perfect health for the baby.  I told him what medication and the dosage she put me on. He said, "oh...well, you're thyroid is MUCH lower this time."  I was baffled as to why he didn't want to make sure things were starting off on the right foot.  Maybe he thought a miscarriage is better than starting a pregnancy at the wrong time?  I felt abandoned, and with no one to turn to. 
I desperately want a doctor who wants me to have another baby as much as I do.  My current GP obviously is indifferent as to whether I'm healthy enough to grow babies in the near future.
I went through the week, trying not to get too paranoid... trying not to get too attached.  Something was bugging me, giving me this nagging feeling that this was all going to end.  I tried to write it off as post traumatic stress, and just tried to stay in the moment.  I tried not to look too far in the future.  I tried not to get my hopes up.  But with all my trying, I still ended up doing the majority of the above.
I started spotting this past Saturday afternoon.  I started feeling really painful cramping on my left side.  I knew this was the beginning of the end. 
***
The spotting stopped, but the cramping persisted.  I wanted to check with a doctor.  Make sure my ovaries, or fallopian tubes weren't bursting or something horrible due to the embryo attaching in the wrong spot.  We went to emergency, just to check and see if they can confirm it’s a miscarriage, or if it's something else going horribly wrong.
We waited quite a while.  This wasn't an "emergency" so to speak, I just didn't have anyone else to aid me medically in this process.  I didn't want to break my body.  I didn't want to damage my equipment.  I needed to place the responsibility into the hands of someone with a medical degree to determine whether I was going to be OK.  I feel like I've lost a bit of my ability to judge "normal" anymore. 

When the spotting picked up again while we were waiting in a smaller room, "next" to see a doctor, I asked one of the nurses if I could go home.  I was finally in the closed off "pelvic examination" room.  My name was finally at the top of the list.  We had been waiting now for over 3 hours since getting through triage.  But I wanted to go home.  I figured it was a pretty sure thing now - blood means no pregnancy.  She told me to stay.  She told me the blood work might come back with good numbers, or my cervix might in fact be closed and the bleeding is due to something else... or maybe I'd need an ultrasound... maybe I'd need a D&C to clean me out.  I think she misread my chart.  I think she misread my "5 months postpartum" as "5 months pregnant", when I was in fact, 5 weeks pregnant. 
I finally saw a doctor.  He was very nice.  He gave me the time I needed to cry... to tell him why I was spazzing out over what was looking like an obvious very early miscarriage.  He listened.  He gave heartfelt condolences - for both the loss of my son, and the loss of this subsequent pregnancy.  He told me my blood work showed that I was either a few days pregnant, or in the process of approaching a miscarriage.  Since the spotting was now turning into what appeared to be a menstrual flow - he said he didn't need to do a cervical exam, and that the miscarriage was confirmed.  He gave the advice to wait for a period after I stop bleeding, and then if we feel ready, to try again. 
So, another 2-3 months of waiting to be ready.  To start trying again… again.
Feels more like a sentence than a time frame.

There go my dreams.  Oh, what wonderful dreams they were.  That somehow I’d find a way through this loss to fast forward.  “I’ll be pregnant by fall.  I’ll have a baby again.  Life won’t feel so hard.”  Silly girl.  The initial days and weeks of grieving were comforted by such thoughts.  I wrapped myself up in the certainty that I’d be pregnant after the first try, and all I’d have to worry about is dealing with a postpartum body, taken out for one too many spins too soon. 
Let me take a minute to flush my expectations down the toilet. 
There.  Now I don’t dare to create new ones.

Pregnant – check
Full term – check
Stillbirth – check
Trying to conceive after loss – check
Miscarriage – check
Now, let’s see where my laundry list of things to talk about takes it’s next turn…

14 comments:

  1. Oh Veronica, it's all so wrong. I am very sorry that you lost Alexander and also that you lost this most recent baby. Like you said, once you get that positive home test your mind jumps right in calculating dates and creating hopes and expectations. Now you must mourn all of that (plus more) while simultaneously grieving your son. I'm so sorry.

    If you ever feel up to it, I would love to hear Alexander's story. You're welcome to email me Griefland [DOT] Greetings [AT] gmail [DOT] com

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    1. I don't know what I'm going to put on this blog, but I thought Alexander's story would be the first few entries. This blog sat here, empty for over a week with my "about me" and that's it. I still don't know if I'll ever get it right (writing about him) so I just had to start somewhere. Thank you for reading, and your comment. I'm once again looking for anyone that can relate - because out there in the real world, this miscarriage is just a miscarriage, and the time in between is just time. But in my reality, it feels like bloody hell. Ah, sigh.

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  2. Oh no. Oh Veronica. I am so horribly sorry. How sad, sad, sad. You've described the situation so utterly perfectly.

    I miscarried my subsequent pregnancy after the twins and I just felt utterly, utterly defeated. It was, as you say, like apples and oranges. But I didn't like, or want, either of them. And it just seemed to somehow strip away those last little vestiges of comfort and hope that I was clinging to.

    Oh I'm just so sad for you. From that perfect little 'yes +' to the significance of the date, it all seems so right, so deserved. And Pieces of Me is so right, from the moment you see that test result our hearts and our brains start calculating and dreaming.

    I also felt the need to launch into a long explanation about why I was so very upset over an 'early' miscarriage (although, in truth, I don't feel that either of us should have had to justify ourselves) and I'm glad that the doctor you saw was nice. I also feel as though I've lost my ability to judge normal, normal pregnancy, normal feelings, normal reactions. I feel I need to second guess everything or get it checked over by a medical professional. And I'm sorry your GP isn't very helpful, I hope you can find someone else who is more understanding.

    Oh dear. I'm so sorry for the loss of your son, Alexander, and for this recent miscarriage. As your profile rightly asks, what the hell happened? Such an impossible question to answer and one that I wish you had never, ever had cause to ask.

    Hope you don't mind my following along here. I know I'm an 'oldie' in the blog world but you've left such lovely comments over at my place that I signed up before you'd even written a word.

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    1. Oh Catherine, thank you for reading. I love that you're reading. I was hoping one day your eyes would find my words (if I ever managed to get this thing started)... as I've been reading along with your wonderfully put thoughts and feelings for months now.
      I eat you up over at Glow, and I find your blog to be a great source of comfort and I see quite a bit of myself in your words.
      Thank you. Just thank you thank you thank you :)

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  3. I just found you. I'm so damn sorry. :/ You're 14 months behind my crappy reality of THE SAME.

    Pregnant – check
    Full term – check
    Stillbirth – check
    Trying to conceive after loss – check
    Miscarriage – check
    ....but then I added...
    (didn't wait for a period but checked for ovulation after my miscarriage and got pregnant + full term + take home baby)

    Not that I'm one to give advice (because omg my first baby also died past full term), but I didn't wait for a period. Nope, didn't. I figured I was most fertile after a D&C/miscarriage and also figured I'd lost what seemed like plenty of babies and figured I couldn't hit more rock bottom. Probably could've, but then my impatience was at an all-time high. And whatdoyouknow, 21 days later I was pregnant. And now he lives with us.

    I still have a dead son and a miscarriage to account for.

    I know my blog might be a trigger for you since I had my rainbow the same month you lost your firstborn, but I just wanted to offer support and understanding. I totally get all you're writing here and I'm so unbelievably sorry you're part of our club of awfulness.

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    1. Thank you Brandy for your lovely comment. I've learned over the past 5 months that if you think you're the only one that something has happened to... you're wrong. It's more than likely it's happened to HUNDREDS. When I miscarried, I swear I thought I'd be the only BLM to miscarry after loss. like, RIGHT after loss. But I now see my unfolding time line, sadly, resembles others.

      I've read your blog. I know of both your sons. I guess you can say I "creep" your blog... because I don't think I've ever commented. Your sweet B is not a trigger. It's almost like a sweet 'what could have been' to follow. But my happiness for you overshadows the saddness for me (when I'm following your blog anyway).

      Thank you for opening up to me, and letting me know I'm not alone.

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  4. I'm just so sorry. Glad you are putting yourself out there now though. We're all here for you.
    xo

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    1. Thank you Sally,
      It means a lot to me that you're here <3

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  5. So sorry to read this (although you write it just exactly perfectly).

    I agree that you need a doctor who wants you to have a healthy baby. That was one reason we stuck with the same OB I had with Eliza. I think he wanted us to have a healthy baby almost as much as we did. You deserve that, and your doctor should be working with you, not making you feel weird about it.

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    1. Thanks Brooke. I find myself unwillingly tangled in the Canadian health care system. We'll see if by pregnancy number 3, I can find my way out...or, in... or whatever!
      Shitty news to share, I know. But thank you for reading

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  6. Oh Veronica. I'm so sorry. I popped over here once before you'd put anything up and then again only just now. I'm just so very, very sorry. You know, I have had early miscarriages both before and after stillbirth and I can say with confidence that - in my case at least - an early miscarriage after a stillbirth is not even in the same ballpark as an early miscarriage before. That glimmer of hope after such unfathomable loss is so precious and to have it snuffed out again so quickly is incredibly defeating. I'm also sorry that you couldn't start here by talking about Alexander. I miscarried my subsequent pregnancy at the six-month anniversary of Anja's death and I was angry that I had to devote her time to the physical and emotional ordeal of the miscarriage. (Maybe you don't feel this same way, but if you do, I'm sorry.) It's funny - when you said that pregnant in July meant a baby at the end of March/ beginning of April, I saw your whole pregnancy - or most of it - flash through my head; I could see it all, because that is the exact timeline I was on with A. And I agree with the others - you need a doctor who wants to help you. I see you're Canadian - sometimes a stillbirth and a miscarriage qualify you immediately for extra care; is there a recurrent loss clinic at a nearby hospital?

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    1. Thank you for commenting. You put this really crappy reality perfectly. And I do feel the same in having to devote HIS time to this subsequent loss. A loss in which I cant even say has an identity. It's only identity was my hope... and that is what I've lost a bit of.

      I've caught myself in recent days, trying to feel losing Alexander the same way as I did before I miscarried. I'm annoyed really (it sounds petty, but it's true) at what this MC has made me feel. I'm trying to connect with my grief, and remember to feel my son in the most loving of ways... but I'm in a really messed up time capsule. A capsule of temporary annoyance with everything that IS.

      I'm going to do my best with connecting with a high risk OB that has been raved about by my OB and GP and social worker. I have my fingers crossed.

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  7. Alexander's story will come out. Through bits and pieces and tidbits and large chunks of memories. Most of all through your enormous love for him.
    I am so sorry his little sibling's story has been cut short. And just when you think you can't get any lower. Trying to get pregnant is so stressful. And dealing with intense grief makes the ability to cope with everything else nearly impossible. Thinking of you!!

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  8. Hi, I'm sorry that I'm getting to you so late, but I'm here now and looking forward to reading it all.

    I'm so sorry about your miscarriage. It's so very unfair.

    I am also thinking of Alexander. And how much he is loved and missed.

    Much love xx

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