After what seemed like an endless week Friday finally came and I went to see my doctor. Thankfully the bleeding had slowed down and the pain was responsive to painkillers so I no longer felt like I was dying.
SN: I gave a urine sample at the beginning of my appointment.
I explained to the doctor how I felt and gave her all the excruciating details only to have her tell me that she didn’t think it was a miscarriage and there was no way to prove it. She assured me that it was probably a heavy period and that I would be ok. She also asked if I was interested in birth control and I said no because even though we weren’t actively trying I would like to get pregnant soon. At that point I felt a little hopeless because it was as if my miscarriage didn’t happen and as if my baby didn’t exist. The doctor says bye and tells me to schedule a follow up in 3 months in case I need “help” getting pregnant. So I go to the check-out window and as I am about to walk out they ask me to step back into the room. The Dr. explains that they used my urine sample for a pregnancy test and when the nurse checked it was negative but she forgot to discard it. When she walked by it again it was positive which meant that either I was pregnant or still had HCG in my system.
Hello dreaded bloodwork (more on this later)… in order to see if I was still pregnant or miscarried I had to do a series of blood tests to see if my hCG was increasing or decreasing. If it increased I was still pregnant and the pregnancy might be ok, if it decreased I miscarried. After 96 hours of waiting it was confirmed that I miscarried which brought on mixed emotions; relief because at least I knew and sadness because a baby that I never knew existed but yearned for died. At least I knew that I wasn’t crazy, and I knew that I could say with certainty that everything that happened was not “normal” it was a miscarriage.
Had I known it was a miscarriage I wouldn’t have thrown the tissue out, I would have tried to go to the hospital 1) For confirmation 2) For closure and guidance 3) For pain management. I have ideas of what I think the tissue was but I really have no clue…could it have been skin from the baby (I think the baby had been decomposing for over 2 weeks but I won’t truly know), could it have been a part of the placenta? or I don’t know I don’t think I’ll ever know. . .
Looking back at that day I feel sorry for myself, I wish I could tell her to breathe and not be ashamed of going to the hospital for herself. I would hug her and hold her tight, I would tell her to take time to heal and to slow down, she was stuck in a whirlwind. To not just pummel through this because she might think she’s getting rid of her emotions but she is simply burying seeds of sadness that will in turn produce trees of depression, anger, self–doubt, isolation and fear. I would tell her to grieve. I would explain to her that what happened was a traumatic event in her body and her soul so she must treat it as so. I’d tell her to seek help and sometimes to seek help outside of the church (not outside of Jesus). I’d tell her that her body just went through labor and that those terrible “cramps” were contractions, I’d tell her to invest in self-care and that her and her husband needed to be kind to one another. I’d tell her that she’s a warrior but that it’s ok to cry. I’d tell her to buckle up because the journey had only begun.