In October 2009, less than a month after having the IUD removed, we fell pregnant. It was a once again a little earlier than we had anticipated but needless to say we were ecstatic and excited. As I had not had a period since having the IUD removed we needed to do an early ultrasound for dating purposes. At what was about 6 weeks we went for an ultrasound, the size of the foetus was judged to be about 5 and a half weeks and there was an identifiable but 'weak' heartbeat. We were told that it may well just be too early for the heartbeat to be established as the heart, internal organs and circularity system only form at 6 weeks. Another ultrasound was scheduled for 8 weeks.
On the day that we were moving house (I guess that is how confident I was that nothing was wrong) we had an ultrasound booked for 8am. We all, my husband, my 18 month old daughter and myself, traipsed down to the clinic. Lying on the table, my little girl was patting my tummy saying 'Baby in Mummy's tummy'. It was only as I realised that the radiologist wasn't showing me the pictures that I thought maybe something might be wrong. After about half an hour she told me the heartbreaking news that there was no heartbeat; that the pregnancy was not longer.
I don't think I can describe the pain. It was like having my heart ripped out of my chest and shattered into billions of glass like shivers. Time slowed, froze and disbelief hung in the air. Somehow you move. Get yourself dressed. Walk out of that place. Blurred. Not seeing. Numb. Reality and practicality kick in. Have a coffee. Sit down. Text people who should know. Cry. Not caring who sees.
I pulled myself together. There was nothing I could do. We had to move house. The removal truck was coming in 2 hours. My Mum was arriving the following day and it was Christmas the day after that. The first Christmas that my 18 month old daughter that would really remember. They needed me.
What followed for me was like a nightmare of practicalities, of keeping face, of not dropping my guard, of trying to keep sane and protect those around me by not falling apart. This was my situation and I see now that maybe it made it worse in the long run as I delayed my grief, hid my fear and denied myself time to heal.
I made it to the doctor that afternoon having moved all the boxes and furniture into the new house. I remember putting on a nice dress. Trying to look normal. Driving to the doctors on my own leaving my little girl with my husband in our new house. It was all so surreal. I was calm, realistic, practical. We discussed my options. Letting it pass naturally or going to hospital for a d+c either publicly or privately. I had been considering a home birth this pregnancy and was very pro natural birth and so felt that giving my body a chance to move through the motions naturally the best option. Getting into hospital the day before Christmas was going to difficult in any case. I went home and cleaned like a demon.
My husband was very supportive. While it can never be the same I don't think for a man, as they ultimately don't bare the responsibility of growing and carrying the baby, he had his own grief and disappointment to deal with. Ever the optimist, he kept positive and was caring and understanding throughout.
Christmas came and went. I put everything I had into it. My family were there and were supportive, understanding and distracting. New Year's came and went and I tried to drown out the pain, the nightmares and the fear. The dreaded anticipation, knowing it should be happening, should be coming, but what and when and why not!? Where was it? Was it still alive? Had I done something wrong? Was it my fault? Did I exercise too hard that day in spin class? Did that half a glass of red wine I had when I didn't know I was pregnant cause harm? Had I been to stressed about moving house? Should I have stopped having a cup of coffee every morning? Could I have done ANYTHING differently? Would it have made any difference? These are questions that will haunt me for the rest of my life; as I am sure they do every woman who miscarries; no matter how much information you read or details you are told to the contrary.
Finally by the 14th January I could bare it no longer. The baby had apparently passed away at 6 weeks and 1 day, a missed miscarriage. It had been 4 and half weeks since then and I had had no bleeding, no cramping, no nothing. Three and a half weeks of knowing and waiting and I could do it no longer. I booked to see an obstetrician and was booked into hospital to have a d+c the next day.
I was scared but psychologically I could not take any more. The procedure was fairly simple. I was in hospital from 7.30am and released at 2pm. I was under general anesthetic for about and hour. My immediate feeling on coming around from the anesthetic was relief. Finally maybe it was all over. Little did I know.
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