As some of you know, I lost a pregnancy last week. I was looking forward to being a mom. I’d even started wearing maternity pants because all of the jeans that sat slightly below the waist weren’t cutting it. This pregnancy had been planned, wanted, loved.
I’ve had some great support at home and at work. My husband was able to join me during some of the most difficult times, and all of my trainees sent messages of love, hope and encouragement.
I’m very lucky. I can’t imagine having my miscarriage in the midst of my job from hell two years ago. Coincidentally, the miscarriage occurred on the 2nd anniversary of my “graduating” from my depression and anxiety hospital stay. I looked back, since dates and times are very important to me, and was amazed at both how sad I felt, but also how different I felt. I now have the tools to not obsess over the loss, to understand that nature happens, and no matter how much folic acid and good fats I eat, miscarriages do happen, especially to women my age.
I’ve had a very decent (and fast, IMHO) recovery. I stopped bleeding 5 days after, most of my symptoms were gone in a few days too, my jeans fit once again. My mood comes and goes. I think that because of the hospital stay 2 years ago, along with great meds, I’ve maintained a decent outlook.
Will we try again? Will my fertility remain as it was this last time? Will I be able to be and stay pregnant and deliver a healthy tiny human? Those are the questions I have right now. My ob has been checking hormone levels and mood to ensure that all products of conception are expelled and that my body recovers.
I’m scared of trying … and failing again. The hubs doesn’t blame me, and I feel that this event has brought us closer. It was scary, and very lonely … but fortunately short and nearly painless (that freaked me out a bit because I was expecting to have all the pain and discomfort in the world).
Last week was holy week, and for the first time in my life I spent it as an atheist. It was weird that the miscarriage happened last week, on a week that’s so important to so many people, especially my family. I compare this to how I was 10-15 years ago, and can definitely tell there are big differences: I kept going back to the science of pregnancy and miscarriage, and though I would have done the same when I was a believer, the super conservative part of my psyche would’ve been obsessed with finding out what “sin” or fault caused me to lose my pregnancy. I googled symptoms, read patiently in the waiting room, even with tears streaming down my face. I kept going back to what the science said, what I should expect. Instead of praying to a being, I kept going back to my experience, my body, my feelings, and tuned in with it all. I didn’t want to lose a second, to forget what was happening. I wanted the sounds, sights and feelings to be with me, a part of me. I told my MIL that I felt this peace, and that I knew that if this had happened when I was a Christian, I would’ve been obsessed, angry, sad, but mostly, I would’ve concentrated on trying to find a way to understand why a god would allow me to suffer, since I was a card carrying good Catholic girl and suffering and martyrdom are still signs of being a “good” Catholic. I would’ve questioned that very god probably until the end of my days, trying to understand where I failed as a believer. Instead, I’ve been thinking of just how wonderful and capable women’s bodies are. How we can grow and nurture, and sustain a tiny life and most of the time, bring it into this world. I realize thinking that and being a christian are not mutually exclusive, however, as a non-believer, I’ve chosen to focus on the wonders of the human body. You could say I’m not an atheist but a secular humanist. My loss, even though I called it my baby, our baby, doesn’t negate the fact that I’m still a staunch supporter of choice. What’s good for me isn’t necessarily good for the woman sitting next to me. So many thoughts … such little ability to put in words all the things going through my head.
We’ll see where life takes me next. For now, I’m letting my body rest. I’m trying to sleep well, eat decent (well, better than before I got pregnant, but certainly allowing more doughnuts and chocolate in), let thoughts go in and out and celebrate that I have a working body, a body that sustained life for a bit, a body that understands that sometimes defects happen, and it is programmed to protect me and my organs, and unfortunately get rid of a pregnancy if it detects something’s wrong. I’m thankful too all scientists and researchers working in reproductive medicine, for the ability to see, hear and feel, and for having access to modern medicine and care that allowed me to safely monitor my pregnancy and my miscarriage. I’m thankful I took so many physiology and genetics classes that I’m familiar with checkpoints, pathways, genes and molecular biology. And that all this helped me be at peace during one of the toughest times of my life.