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Losing James
I walked into the Pregnancy Loss Clinic on Monday, May 8 (the birthday of one of my children), drowning in trepidation. I couldn’t believe that my miscarriage could be successfully managed without a D&C. I was sure there would be something in my medical history that made me ineligible for the medication, or that the process would fail.
Bless This Pain
Bless this pain, for it will bear its perfect gift to you in its perfect time. (Rusty Berkus)
I learned to ride a bike back in the dinosaur times, before knee pads and helmets. When I was seven, my parents (bless them!) bought me a bike with room to grow into. My dad would take me to the street in front of my house (it ran down a gentle slope, which I remember as more of a precipice), perch me up on my heavy bike, run with me for awhile, and then let go. Over and over, I fell.
Dying Inside
How do you feel when you can’t protect your child? You die inside.
In the midst of all my anxiety and grief, there was a morning, April 11, when “I woke up and realized how very well I feel for being seven weeks pregnant.” I struggled with that realization, vacillating between panic and peace, for two weeks before my next scheduled doctor visit. Over and over, I relieved the day I had my D&E.
Time Machine
“I change my wrong things.”
I used to teach English online to children in China. (I loved how cute and enthusiastic those kids were, but I don’t miss my 4:00 AM wakeup times!) The company I taught for had an elaborate curriculum for the students based on stories and games. One of the stories they presented was about an adventurous boy with a time machine, travelling back to the Stone Age. At the end of the lesson, I asked, “If you had a time machine, what time would you travel to?”
Turmoil
I wonder if your body is getting ready to have a baby?
February and March were arduous. Winter dragged on. The strain of deciding to try again morphed into the raw suspense of actually trying. I was overwhelmed by the exigencies of mothering my six children, and exhausted by my grief, which hadn’t really diminished in spite of my expectations that it should. I contemplated taking antidepressants (at that point in my life, the possibility hung over me like an admission of failure) but decided not to because of the risks to another pregnancy.
Not Sure
The ob-gyn who performed the D&E for Loila had advised me to wait three months before trying again. At that point, he said, my odds of miscarriage would be the same as for any other expectant mother: one in six. The possibility of trying for another baby began to weigh heavily on my mind. I was 39: it felt like time was running out. And then, there was this devouring emptiness inside of me - “a hole in my gut the size of Manhattan,” I described it. I believed that having a healthy baby would help to fill that hole. Perhaps it would have.
Between 2005 and 2008, I lost four tiny babies to miscarriage. In an effort to help others who may be experiencing similar losses, I want to share the story of that journey. If you click on the title above, and then follow the “Next in Miscarriage Journey” links at the bottom of each post, you can read through my story sequentially.