The Baby We Will Never See
March 18: It's finally Monday, the day we will see my doctor. My husband goes with me, as we realize it will likely not be great news. He knows I'll need the support. We are in the ultrasound room. My doctor (finally) enters the room, 45 minutes after we were brought back there. I'm okay with that. He takes his time with his patients, and I really appreciate that when I'm the patient that needs the time. He says he actually won't say I'm miscarrying yet. He says my labs went up "appropriately," stating it had to go up 1.67% from the last lab, not double as the other doctor had stated. I have this odd feeling of hope, although he sees my doubtful face and says, "I can tell you disagree." He asks how the bleeding has gone (spotting about every other morning) and if I'm cramping (yes, but not terribly, just a dull pain on lower front abdomen and lower back sometimes). He asks if I feel pregnant. (Breast tenderness went away the first day I spotted, but started coming back as I rehydrated and started eating properly; nauseous like crazy, but unsure whether that was remnants of the stomach virus or pregnancy.) And finally, the moment of truth. Another vaginal ultrasound. And...nothing. Not a damn thing. That's that. I'm miscarrying.
He goes on to say that he is concerned that my hcg levels went up, rather than down. That means something is in me making that happen (blastocyst, the beginning of life forming, somewhere, but where?). He discusses options, but I need another hcg level. If it increases again, they are concerned of ectopic pregnancy. If it goes down, it's likely not ectopic. I will be prescribed methotrexate if the hormone level increases, or I can have a D&C, BUT if it is ectopic, I'll still have to take methotrexate. So surgery would be diagnostic in where the blastocyst is. My question to him: can I go back to exercising? (Yes.) Why was that important? I was supposed to rest this entire past week. I gave up my only stress reliever to rest. I was SO stressed from everything going on. And I wasn't allowed to enjoy a beer, because I was pregnant. Or so I thought. I also asked what I should expect with a miscarriage (how much bleeding). He said because of how far along I was (am?), it would be like a heavy menstrual cycle. I never asked anything more than that, assuming I would know more after the next hcg level.
I go upstairs for another lab draw. Sadly, I tell the phlebotomist I hope my hcg level goes down, so maybe it'd be my last one.
I make it about 5 steps from the exit before I start sobbing. I get to my car as fast as I can, happy, waddling, pregnant people are too much for me to handle. My husband gets in my vehicle with me (he met me there from his work). He comforts me, at least as much as he can, before I demand I have to get to work and distract myself.
Why did I break down?! I knew it was coming. I had known for an entire week. But somehow, I kept this little voice of hope in the back of my mind, and it was bashed.
I cry. I sob. I stop. I sit in the parking lot at work, trying to pull myself together. I walk into work, look at my boss (friend), and shake my head no, then tears fill my eyes. I barely make it into an office, knowing a coworker (friend) is in there. She sees me, jumps up from her chair, and gives me a big, long hug. I word vomit everything that happened that morning. She has her own stories, but they are not mine to share. I just knew she could understand my sadness. I somehow make it through the day at work, only losing it a couple times. The nurse calls with my hcg level (on the same day, what?!). It went down to 125. Which means it's not ectopic. I'm optimistic about that, as it's the only good news I'd had since I started spotting, it seemed. On my drive home, I sob. I talk to my little sister, and fill her in on the news of the day. She tells me I need to have emotion, to cry, or I won't get through it. She tells me to talk to our mom, who has had three miscarriages of her own. I can't tell my mom on the phone. I need her face to face. I need her hug. I can't do it on the phone. I see my husband when I get home, I sob some more. I'm not a crier. My emotions are everywhere. I have to remind myself that some of this is hormone-related. I literally cannot control them.
I cramp some more that day and night, but assume it's from the vaginal ultrasound. We go to bed, me clinging on to my husband, my eyes irritated and swollen from all the crying that day. I was exhausted.
Seven days since I started spotting, and we finally know for sure I'm miscarrying. SEVEN DAYS. Seven days of not knowing. Seven days.
I tell my husband, after he says, "At least we have closure," that I don't have closure yet. This blastocyst is somewhere in me still. Until it's gone, I don't have closure. I can't move on. We can't move on. I can't start a new menstrual cycle. (Read: we can't try for another baby.)
The hardest part of not seeing anything on that ultrasound? We never saw it. We never saw this baby that never was. It's truly heartbreaking, never having seen even a gestational sac and little blob. I wish we could have seen the little blob.
He goes on to say that he is concerned that my hcg levels went up, rather than down. That means something is in me making that happen (blastocyst, the beginning of life forming, somewhere, but where?). He discusses options, but I need another hcg level. If it increases again, they are concerned of ectopic pregnancy. If it goes down, it's likely not ectopic. I will be prescribed methotrexate if the hormone level increases, or I can have a D&C, BUT if it is ectopic, I'll still have to take methotrexate. So surgery would be diagnostic in where the blastocyst is. My question to him: can I go back to exercising? (Yes.) Why was that important? I was supposed to rest this entire past week. I gave up my only stress reliever to rest. I was SO stressed from everything going on. And I wasn't allowed to enjoy a beer, because I was pregnant. Or so I thought. I also asked what I should expect with a miscarriage (how much bleeding). He said because of how far along I was (am?), it would be like a heavy menstrual cycle. I never asked anything more than that, assuming I would know more after the next hcg level.
I go upstairs for another lab draw. Sadly, I tell the phlebotomist I hope my hcg level goes down, so maybe it'd be my last one.
I make it about 5 steps from the exit before I start sobbing. I get to my car as fast as I can, happy, waddling, pregnant people are too much for me to handle. My husband gets in my vehicle with me (he met me there from his work). He comforts me, at least as much as he can, before I demand I have to get to work and distract myself.
Why did I break down?! I knew it was coming. I had known for an entire week. But somehow, I kept this little voice of hope in the back of my mind, and it was bashed.
I cry. I sob. I stop. I sit in the parking lot at work, trying to pull myself together. I walk into work, look at my boss (friend), and shake my head no, then tears fill my eyes. I barely make it into an office, knowing a coworker (friend) is in there. She sees me, jumps up from her chair, and gives me a big, long hug. I word vomit everything that happened that morning. She has her own stories, but they are not mine to share. I just knew she could understand my sadness. I somehow make it through the day at work, only losing it a couple times. The nurse calls with my hcg level (on the same day, what?!). It went down to 125. Which means it's not ectopic. I'm optimistic about that, as it's the only good news I'd had since I started spotting, it seemed. On my drive home, I sob. I talk to my little sister, and fill her in on the news of the day. She tells me I need to have emotion, to cry, or I won't get through it. She tells me to talk to our mom, who has had three miscarriages of her own. I can't tell my mom on the phone. I need her face to face. I need her hug. I can't do it on the phone. I see my husband when I get home, I sob some more. I'm not a crier. My emotions are everywhere. I have to remind myself that some of this is hormone-related. I literally cannot control them.
I cramp some more that day and night, but assume it's from the vaginal ultrasound. We go to bed, me clinging on to my husband, my eyes irritated and swollen from all the crying that day. I was exhausted.
Seven days since I started spotting, and we finally know for sure I'm miscarrying. SEVEN DAYS. Seven days of not knowing. Seven days.
I tell my husband, after he says, "At least we have closure," that I don't have closure yet. This blastocyst is somewhere in me still. Until it's gone, I don't have closure. I can't move on. We can't move on. I can't start a new menstrual cycle. (Read: we can't try for another baby.)
The hardest part of not seeing anything on that ultrasound? We never saw it. We never saw this baby that never was. It's truly heartbreaking, never having seen even a gestational sac and little blob. I wish we could have seen the little blob.
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