CW: If you found this site because you’re looking for pregnancy and infant loss resources, please skip this post. I have lovingly compiled a list of books and podcasts (you can find them in the menu above), and my other posts are all for you. I suggest starting at the beginning, if that’s where you are.
I am nine weeks pregnant. I can still say that because my miscarriage hasn’t really started yet. I had some spotting a couple of days ago and called my midwife, who booked me an ultrasound that day. I took the information I got from that appointment to my midwife who explained to me that the pregnancy was not viable and miscarriage was imminent. I was devastated and cried while she kindly ran through the gamut of possibilities that I would/will face over the next hours/days/weeks(months?).
Yesterday was Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness day and on a whim I posted to Twitter about my current situation and the irony of the timing. The people who “follow” me on Twitter are a different crew of people than my Instagram account and I feel like Twitter can be a bit of a confessional. I was so moved by the number of people who reached out to me. Certainly it’s what I had hoped would happen. I had been thinking so much about that weird space between finding out you’re pregnant and when you decide to tell people and wondering if I had told too many? Not enough? It’s not a new idea that some people wait until after the first trimester and others share their news right away. Some people wait until the baby is born to share on social media. I’ve always felt that it’s a personal choice — but now I have a deeper understanding of why it’s so complicated. It’s no fun telling people bad news, but it’s also nice to have support when you do have bad news to share. I don’t know what the right answer is and really I guess there isn’t one.
So the big takeaway from confessing miscarriage on Twitter is the outcry of people saying that we don’t talk about miscarriage enough. Which, sure. Patriarchy, amiright? I couldn’t really find any personal stories online about what physically happens during miscarriage (except this great, but old! article on Jezebel) so I decided that I’d write about it.
Day 1: Spotting
Spotting (according to the internet/friends/midwives/drs) is totally normal in pregnancy. It can also mean really bad things. So when I started having pink wipes I called my midwife, believing it was normal but wanting to get reassurance. She got me an ultrasound appointment for that afternoon. I was nervous, and staring at those white ceiling tiles during the procedure was certainly more triggering than I had anticipated. The tech was kind. Either because I’m only 9 weeks pregnant, or because she couldn’t see the embryo well enough via an external exam, the ultrasound was trans-vaginal. I’ve had those before. It’s not terrible but it’s not great. Anyway, the tech told me that she couldn’t see an embryo. She explained that I was definitely pregnant (she showed me the gestational sack) but probably what had happened is that I just wasn’t as pregnant as I thought and that the embryo just needed more time to grow. Smart! I’m sure she had good intentions and she got me out of there hoping. I called my midwife and she assured me that the math on that just didn’t make any sense in terms of my menstrual cycle and that the pregnancy was not viable. I sobbed alone in my car (COVID means all appointments are done alone) and called Nathan.
I had light “Day 1 period” bleeding all day. Not even enough to warrant using one of the enormous diaper-like pads I bought at the pharmacy.
Day 2: Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day
Just light bleeding. No cramps. I tell Twitter about miscarriage and decide to write about my experience. John posts video of song dedicated to Chrissy on Instagram. (I still think about her every day.)
Day 3: Present tense
Overnight I’m glad I used one of the diaper pads. I woke up at 1am with pretty bad cramps. I’m one of those lucky people who doesn’t really get period cramps, so this was a lot for me. I started thinking, “okay. How long can I realistically live with this kind of pain?” because I had no idea how long it would last. It felt like an hour, but it was bad enough that it was probably more like 10 mins. I could feel the blood coming out of me and filling the pad. I got up at 4am and passed a golfball sized (although not that shape) dark red clot. I went back to bed with a new pad and didn’t have any more cramps for the rest of the night. Today I’m back to light bleeding. I don’t think it’s over. My midwife said that clots would be normal. Filling a big pad in an hour is also okay. She said if I filled one in half an hour to go to the ER; if I filled one in 5 mins call an ambulance. So I will just wait. I am trying not to feel bad about being happy that I am finally no longer nauseated. The nausea was just adding insult to injury.
To be continued. . .
The Long-Term Project 