Miscarriage

February 2017. The pregnancy came as no real shocker, we actually kind of anticipated results to be as such. This was one of those times where we had kinda taken matters into our own hands. At this point, I was so desperate to have a baby to call mine and I was determined to see that desire through at the time. When I found out though, I was torn between happiness, guilt, and the anxiety of feeling like I had actually messed up. Up until this point, I had sorta walked the straight and narrow in my family’s eyes. I thought, “How do I tell my parents?” “What would they think of me?” “What would the rest of my family think?” “What was I thinking trying to have a baby out of wedlock?” “Plus, they don’t even know my boyfriend, to them he’s just a mystery man and this wasn’t the most ideal time to do a meet and greet.” Former "mystery man," is now my husband by the way. I had all kinds of thoughts running through my mind. To my surprise and relief though, my people were ecstatic, they were genuinely happy for me, despite the circumstances! In fact, no one even questioned it. Among a select group of my* family, a few friends, and line sisters, more people subtly became privy to the news. They all shared in the excitement; but it was short-lived...

All of a sudden, things took a turn for the worse. I remember like it was yesterday. The day started out as a regular Monday morning on March 27th. I woke up and chatted on the phone with my boo for a while, as was the norm. At some point after we ended our phone conversation, I had to make a normal run to the bathroom. This bathroom run ended up NOT being normal and changed my whole day. The toilet tissue was stained a very pale pink. I called my mom and told her, she then called my cousin who is a Nurse Practitioner. My cousin assured that it was normal to sometimes have these kinds of findings during pregnancy. Also at this time, I wasn't in any physical pain, so I remained hopeful and I carried on through the day. As the day wore on though, my back began to hurt and the intensity of the pain increased over time. Outside of pregnancy, back pain was always my sign that that time of the month had come around. Earlier in the evening when my mom had arrived home from work, I had declined going to the emergency room upon her asking, but as the evening wore on, I still wasn't feeling well and I had developed a very eerie feeling. Around 9:30 or so that night, I changed my mind and told my mother that I should probably go to the emergency room. After registration was completed and after a couple of hours in the waiting area, I was finally called back. Once in the back, they inquired about my symptoms, about how far along I was, and when my last menstrual cycle was. They took my vitals and told me that I would be getting an ultrasound. My first prenatal doctor's appointment was scheduled for the following Monday, so this was actually the first ultrasound I had gotten. There were 2 different kinds of ultrasounds performed on me - pelvic and transvaginal. First, the nurse probed around my pelvic area with the transducer. She was focused and didn't say hardly anything until she was ready to switch to the transvaginal ultrasound. She instructed me on what to do. I looked up at the monitor as she continued to probe around. I wasn't quite sure what I should have expected to see, given that this was a rather new experience for me. Then, the nurse finally located the fetus. What I came to realize was that there was no movement going on and until she opened her mouth, I was still hopeful. When she finally spoke, she uttered those fateful words, "I am unable to detect a heartbeat. Although you are about 11 weeks along, your baby is about the size of an 8-week old baby. Your baby stopped growing at about 8 weeks." My heart sank to the pit of my stomach. Although I heard what she had just said, I was still in denial. I couldn't even cry at first. I went back out into the waiting room and told my mom the news. Her initial reaction was nonacceptance as well. We waited in the lobby some more until they finally had a room available in the back for me, where we waited hours more. After the ultrasound was done and my baby's demise had ultimately been confirmed, the rest of the night, on into the wee hours of the morning became a blur. At some point they performed some lab tests, which I now know they at least tested for the presence of HcG (Human Chorionic Gonadotropin hormone), nicknamed "the pregnancy hormone" for its significance in pregnancy. My mother, bless her heart, was so empathetic. She tried her best to comfort me, but I remember her saying, "just pray, maybe the baby is just sleeping." Even if the baby had been "sleeping," he/she would still have had a heartbeat. With that realization it finally hit me, I broke down in tears and eventually became inconsolable. This was a nightmare. There was no way this could be real life, not my life. Why was this happening to me? What had I done to deserve this kind of fate? So many feelings welled up inside of me all at once. I was hurt, I was beyond disappointed, but I was mad. I believed God failed me. After all we’d been through already, how did he just sit back and allow this to happen?

Just before 6am, I was released from the hospital. I called my boyfriend and shared the horrific news. I was distraught, while he quite naturally tried to console me over the phone as best he could. I went home and slept for a few hours, but I had to see my OBGYN immediately to discuss next steps. During the appointment, I asked my doctor for a sonogram picture for a keepsake. She was reluctant at first, she informed that ultrasound was a procedure that she of course was supposed to bill for. However, she secretly obliged without charging. My doctor also informed me of my options - I could take a pill to speed up the process, elect to have a D&C (dilation and curettage) to remove the remaining tissue (which I would be put to sleep for), or I could allow my body to do the work on its own without medical intervention. Still remaining strong (or so I thought), I elected for the latter. Thinking back, I wish I hadn't because it contributed more to the trauma of the loss. I went through a week of excruciating pain, as my body tried to rid itself of my failed pregnancy; it was physical and mental turmoil. If you've ever had a baby, imagine being in labor for a week. On most days, the pain, or "contractions" wouldn't start until the afternoon or evening time and continue on into the night. I was so saddened and depressed that I barely ate for a few days. By Tuesday of the next week, it became medically necessary to have the D&C after all.  On the day of "surgery," I was administered anesthesia, I drifted out of consciousness, and the next thing I knew, it was over. I woke from the anesthesia very conscious of what had taken place, and I immediately burst into tears.

My mother, my father, and my two maternal aunts were physically with me during the whole process. They comforted me at my bedside, they brought me food, drink, or anything else I needed. They prayed for me, sang to me, and read scriptures. But to make an already bad situation much worse emotionally, the one person I thought would be able to share in my pain and grief about the loss, my boyfriend, was not there physically or emotionally. He had recently started his business, so he kept working nonstop as if nothing had even happened. I don’t even believe the pregnancy had seemed real to him yet. He barely called and it felt like he was distancing himself. He was so focused on so many other things at the time trying to get his own life and affairs together. To me it was selfish and inconsiderate, but in retrospect, I believe that part of distancing himself was just his own way of coping with it all. If I’d ever actually needed my partner though, it was then. Although I've forgiven, there is a part of me that still feels like he was supposed to be there for me during that time no matter what. It's amazing how far we've come since then though.

As I processed the fact that my pregnancy ended so abruptly, I replayed everything I had done in the few weeks that I was pregnant. Despite being reassured by medical professionals that I did not cause myself to have a miscarriage, I still felt guilty as if I had. I felt like it was my fault. Miscarriage, they informed, is just “something that happens.” There is no way to predict it, there is no way to prevent it, and there is no explanation for it when it happens. This really bothered me as I am always searching for a scientific explanation behind things.

So how did I cope with it all? Sounds cliche, but I had to live one day at a time. For the longest, I couldn’t even mention that I had experienced a miscarriage to people unless it came up in a conversation with another woman who had had the same or a similar experience with the loss of a baby. But if someone asked if I had children, or if I wanted children, I’d simply answer no to having children and yes to wanting them. As common as miscarriage is, although seemingly taboo to many people, I felt ashamed to admit that I had failed at pregnancy before, that I was unable to carry my baby to full term. Honestly, I never even imagined verbalizing this experience with... the world, essentially. 

Here are some things that helped me cope with my grief:
1) Taking a social media hiatus. Prior to my loss, I had always loved babies, and I had always loved seeing them. The enemy started using this admiration against me though. It seems like during the time I was grieving the most, coincidentally my social media was being saturated with people posting their babies or announcing that they were expecting. It was painful to see, I envied them and I would even say that I was becoming bitter. This forced me to take a hiatus from social media for my mental health. I wasn't really active on Facebook anyway, but I had to delete Instagram from my phone. This break lasted for about 3 months and it was one of the best things I did for myself at the time. 
2) Professional therapy/counseling. Another great thing I did for myself was seek therapy. I knew that I would get through this eventually but I had to get some things off my chest. I needed someone who I could be completely transparent with, someone who was unbiased, someone who wouldn’t judge me or condemn me, and quite frankly, someone who wouldn’t just rattle off scriptures to me and pray. I was almost discouraged from seeking therapy; I’m glad I did not listen. It’s sad that seeking therapy is so dissuaded and perceived as unnecessary among black people. This is why we have carried trauma and dysfunction from generations to generation. 
3) Realizing I didn't have to attend events that I wasn't ready for. I couldn’t bring myself to attend baby showers for a while, the very thought of them made me extremely sad and anxious. Three of my line sisters were pregnant in the same year (their babies were born the next year), but I felt like attending their baby showers would be detrimental to my healing. Like it would set me back. Deep down I wanted to be there to show my support, but I couldn’t will myself to go. I contributed to a gift for each of them, but I felt like if I went, I would have an anxiety attack and I definitely didn’t want to put a damper on their bliss or allow my grief to overshadow their celebration. Furthermore, I didn't want to face people with eyes full of sympathy for my sake.
4) Grief Class. My cousin's church was hosting a grief class and he invited me, thinking I could benefit, or at least hoping I could. I went and I did. I took away a lot of great gems from that class. The speaker suggested making a memory box as a way to cope, so I did. One of the treasures in it included the sonogram picture that my doctor graciously allowed me to get.
5) Reading. When Bad Things Happen to Good People by Harold S. Kushner gave me a new perspective. This became one of my favorite books of all time. I adopted the author’s viewpoint that not everything happens for a reason; sometimes there is no reason. Kushner plainly stated that "there is randomness in the universe." As someone who is always looking for an explanation, this truly spoke to me and essentially helped me feel better. On the contrary though in my case, I eventually came to the conclusion that God had no part in our decision to conceive, we had gone about it for the wrong reasons, and we were not even in the best place as a couple, so it just wasn’t the right time according to God’s clock. I was also sent a book called Miscarriage: A Shattered Dream by Sherokee Ilse and Linda Hammer Burns that helped me better understand miscarriage and offered some ways to cope.
6) Journalism. I either put a pen to paper literally, or made notes in my phone. I felt it necessary and therapeutic to express myself through writing.
7) TV. Impractical Jokers easily became my favorite show during the week that I was laid up in the bed in pain. I was able to laugh genuinely, which was short-lasting but a big relief. This is still a show I truly enjoy watching today and will always have an appreciation for. Their movie was released a few days ago and I can't wait to see it!
8) People. The good people I had in family and friends, and their faith and prayers.

Final note: Time can sometimes heal wounds, but sometimes no matter how much time has lapsed, certain experiences will remain painful. They do get better though, with time. To all the women who have experienced the loss of a child, I am here with you. My hope is that you allow yourself time to grieve and time to heal. I pray you find peace, comfort, and hope in your time of need.