Loss

I’m not one of those who sneeze and gets pregnant.  No. I’d describe my journey to motherhood as bumpy.   It was around Thanksgiving, a couple years after Matt and I were married that I quit taking my contraceptive pill.   Both in our late twenties, we were primed for parenthood and ready to change some diapers. 

Although our decision to become parents was steeped in hope and optimism, it took us nearly a year to conceive.  Every month that my period arrived, so did the disappointment.   Month after month, I raised my hopes and only come crashing down to Earth.  At the beginning of my cycle, I would do the math.  Counting ten months out on my hand, I would think to myself: If I got pregnant in May, I’d have a baby in March. I would imagine myself pregnant through the seasons.  I would forecast the unborn baby’s astrological sign.  I manifested like crazy until the dreaded day when my period showed up, each time tossing me back to square one.

I was consoled by the fact that parties in my twenties were still really fun.  I said “yes” to every invitation.  Living and working in Bay Area, I earned a large paycheck and had no kids, so I travelled all over the country. The summer of 2003, before I conceived, I flew to Utah, Minnesota, Santa Barbara and then back to Utah. I went to a baby shower in Connecticut, visited family in Chicago, and stood up in a wedding in Sun Valley.  I attended bachelor party in Las Vegas and then celebrated the bride at her wedding in Martha’s Vineyard.   Looking back on that summer, it’s no wonder that I didn’t have a baby in my belly – I didn’t stop moving!

But everyone around me seemed to be pregnant.  I saw women with swollen bellies and baby buggies all over San Francisco.  Filled with spite, I calculated how much money I’d spent on birth control over the years and wondered if I could get a refund.  What a waste. 

At the time, we lived in a tiny cabin on Mount Tamalpias in Mill Valley, California.  Our brown and green hobbit-like house was deep in the redwood forest.  My husband was in law school and I sold radio airtime to advertising agencies.  It was October when I finally missed a period.  

I wrote in a journal dated October 7, 2003, “I like to remember back to the night we took the pregnancy test….I had one test left over from a packed of three (this was my 3rd test I’d taken.  Both had been negative and quite disappointing although I tried to brush it off) I asked for Matt’s opinion.  Should I take a test or wait to do it?  I really only wanted to know yes.  Though a no would be disappointing, Matt reminded me that it’d probably be a no- but if it was positive, we should know so I could take care of myself. “ 

 I took the test and much to our disbelief it was positive!  I wrote, “Matt was confused.  ‘There is a line in the square box, ‘what does that mean?’ he asked.  We didn’t have the directions.  We went on-line and then it was pretty clear that it was a positive test.  Neither of us slept much.  Oh My God. It happened!  I had to do another test the next day.  Same thing.  Confirmed. I want to take tests all the time.  It is hard to believe!” The journal entry makes my heart ache because I know the ending.  

I lost the pregnancy a few days later.  

It started with a bout of what I thought was food poisoning. I threw up all night.  I remember thinking, “this is bad for the baby”.  A few days later I bled.  I looked up my symptoms in What to Expect when Expecting, the bible at the time.  I don’t know exactly what the text said but I remember reading “spotting during a pregnancy can be normal or a sign of a miscarriage.”  I knew in my heart that I was miscarrying.  It was a Sunday so I walked down the mountain to the local Catholic Church.  I prayed.  “Please God” I wrote in my journal.

I knew at that point that whatever was happening in my body was already done.  There was nothing anyone, even God could do. I must have been praying for the strength and grace to handle the inevitable.

October 15th:  “I write tonight with a sense of loss.  That is for certain. I am not pregnant.  I was, now I am not.  I am some part of the statistic.”  I wrote about how angry and upset I felt and how about the miscarriage.  I documented every detail.  I went to the doctor on Monday and had an ultrasound.  She saw a sac in my uterus but no fetus.  My hormones were tested and my hCG levels went from 13,000 to 10,000 in a day.  They were going in the wrong direction.   By 2pm on that Monday, I knew I had lost the baby.

Friday, I went to the doctor’s office alone, which was a terrible idea.  What was I thinking going by myself?    The doctor walked into my patient room. I had never met him before, and I remember him looking at least seventy-five years old.  Although he was very kind, I could not bring myself to like him.   He shared a personal story of how he and his wife also had a miscarriage before birthing five healthy kids, some of which were then in college.  I appreciated his words, but I also resented every single word that came out of his mouth.  I wanted a baby, not sympathy.

I was scheduled for a D&C.  Prior to the procedure, the doctor inserted lamaria to open my cervix.  The pain was excruciating, and I begged him to stop. I bawled.  The physical discomfort combined with the devastation of the past few days washed over me.  I cried snotty tears in his office and demanded another option.

He sent me home with misoprostol, a synthetic prostaglandin and a promise that within one week more than 90% of the tissue would pass.  He apologized one more time as I left.  

I rode the Marin Commuter bus back to Mill Valley. I am sure I looked out the window and cried.  I proceeded to spend the next week calling family and friends to share my sad news.  While it felt good to be comforted, I was exhausted and bitter.  Through those conversations, I learned how common miscarriage was in women’s lives.  I did not know that 1:4 women lose a baby.  I was told over and over that often a miscarriage occurs prior to a healthy pregnancy.  I had hope but needed to heal.

The most difficult part was letting go of my dream.  June 2004 was going to be filled with many special moments, but not a birth. 

I didn’t blame myself, although I constantly revisited the events of the weeks I was pregnant.  What happened?  Comforted by the knowing that that pregnancy wouldn’t have been healthy for reasons beyond my control, I slowly let go of my loss and looked towards the future.

 On a beautiful, warm, clear day later in October, I wrote from Stinson beach.  “I love the sound of the ocean, the sand below my feet…I’m tired.  My body feels tired.  I have been through a lot/a ton. I am feeling more detached from my pregnancy everyday.  But I take with me all the wise words and thoughts and conversations that I have had with every friend. I am loved.”

Loss is a part of living.  The sharp intense feelings of my miscarriage have faded.  Time heals.  And so do viable pregnancies.  A year later, in December 2004, my baby boy was born.   Because there is so much joy in the children that I have, I rarely reflect on the pain of my 2003 pregnancy.  Although, over the years, I’ve wondered what would our lives be like with our Gemini baby?  Different.  I wouldn’t have the children I have now if I had not lost that pregnancy, and that is a wild idea.