We Lost The Baby

I’m sorry that I haven’t posted anything in a few days. Things around here have been overwhelming, to say the least. On Tuesday, we went to the midwives’ because Annie was concerned about bleeding. The midwife confirmed our fears that Annie might be having a miscarriage, and referred us to get an ultrasound. By that evening, we got the call back from the midwife confirming that the baby had stopped growing at seven weeks (which was 3-4 weeks ago). We had a really rough time telling our parents, but we’re doing as well as can be expected in the circumstances.

The thing that surprised me was finding out how incredibly commonplace this is. The midwife said that 1 in every 4 reported pregnancies ends in miscarriage. I also didn’t know that this is sort of a defense mechanism for the body if anything goes wrong in the development process. Knowing things like this helps, a little.

At this point, we have no reason to think this is because of anything we did, or that things would go poorly if we get pregnant again. We will definitely be trying again at some point, but we’re trying to take things one step at a time for now.

That’s the overview, and you can feel free to stop reading here. In the interest of both getting everything out and in maybe helping other people who have to go through this, I’m going to keep writing in more detail. So, fair warning, it’s going to get a bit more personal after this.

Annie first noticed some bleeding a week ago on Wednesday, but didn’t say anything because it wasn’t very strong, and she was hoping it wouldn’t be anything (Some spotting or bleeding can be normal). Over the next few days it kept happening and got a bit stronger. By Monday evening, she couldn’t avoid it anymore and told me. She had already spoken to the midwife that day and made an appointment for us to see them on Tuesday morning.

I was a bit upset that she hadn’t told me earlier, but I understood that she was scared and a bit in denial. I talked to her about the fact that she needs to be up-front with me about everything, even if she thinks it’s going to freak me out over something that later proves to be nothing. And not just because we need to be honest with each other, but because I’m here to support her. By not telling anyone, she had taken this burden of worry entirely upon her shoulders, and it had been stressing her out.

We spoke about that, but I understood where she was coming from, so we moved on quickly. We tried to distract ourselves by watching some TV, but we were both very worried, and 9am the next morning seemed like an eternity to wait. We kept telling each other that there was no reason to be worried yet, since this could still go either way, but we were both very concerned, and spent quite awhile just sitting together.

Eventually, we got to bed, got up, and went to our appointment. The midwife was very nice, and since it was our first time there, she gave us the tour. I’m not sure if she had actually forgotten that we were there because of our miscarriage concerns, or if she was just trying to keep us calm by staying business-like and treating us like nothing was wrong.

After the tour, we got back to the sitting room and she started asking Annie questions. They had a very frank discussion about the consistency of the bleeding (She kept saying “mucus-y”, and Annie kept saying “ropey” or “veinous”. The other midwife talked about clotting. I stayed quiet, but couldn’t help quoting Microserfs in my head: “Girls have chunky days? I am experiencing fear.”). Annie’s reaction was that there’s no way this could be called “spotting”.

The first midwife was younger, and very friendly and nice. She sat with us and answered all of our questions, and talked about our options, without saying for sure one way or another. She discussed vitamins and herbs that Annie could take (Vitamin E makes things more “sticky”, which can be good early in the pregnancy - Annie shared that she had been calling the baby Sticky in her head, in the hopes that it would stick). She also suggested some stuff that she acknowledged was a bit more “woo-woo” (the same term my Mom uses for all the new-agey stuff she’s into). She suggested some herbs to make a tincture, and even recommended some flower essences when we mentioned that my mom is into them.

On the subject of anything going wrong, she was frustratingly vague. She was careful to point out that every pregnancy is different, though the bleeding Annie was experiencing didn’t really sound like the “spotting” that is supposed to be somewhat normal. She said that getting an ultrasound could have some risks associated with it, but that a possible miscarriage was certainly a good reason to get one, and offered to refer us if we wanted, or she said we could just wait and see how things go. She asked if we had “checked in with the baby,” only half-joking.

As we were finishing up, she offered to bring in the other midwife, who she said was a bit more woo-woo. She told Annie to lie down on the bed, because the other midwife would probably want to do some laying on of hands. Ironically, however, the other midwife was much more straightforward with us. She wasn’t mean or anything, but she just stood in the doorway, and after hearing Annie describe the bleeding again, simply said that it sounded like we were probably having a miscarriage. She apologized, and left.

After that, the first midwife was more quiet and serious, and said she would call to get us an appointment for the ultrasound. While she was out of the room making the call, Annie said that the midwife was trying not to cry, which I hadn’t really noticed. Annie wondered if it was because the other midwife was usually right about these things. Once the midwife got us our appointment, she hugged us both and told us to let her know if they could do anything to help.

The car ride home was really sad. We still didn’t know for sure, but it sure didn’t feel promising. We kept saying that there was no reason to give up, and there’s still a good chance, and things like that, but I know I was already sunk, and starting to prepare myself for the worst.

Our appointment was for that evening, so Annie went to work, and I went home, where I tried to keep myself distracted all day with video games and stuff. Eventually, Annie picked me up again, and we headed to the ultrasound clinic, where they got us in the room for our appointment almost immediately, even though we were a half-hour early.

Annie was very uncomfortable because you’re supposed to drink a lot of water and not pee beforehand, so that the bladder is full and kind of pushes everything else into place to make it easier for the ultrasound to see. The technician took several photos using the usual handheld-device-on-the-belly thing you see on TV, and then she let Annie pee before they switched to the vaginal camera. I wasn’t expecting that, but it makes sense. It’s a little ultrasound camera on a wand, which obviously gets closer to the uterus, and doesn’t have to send the ultrasound waves through as much of the body. She showed us Annie’s ovaries and the yolk-sac, and she mentioned that it was only measuring at seven weeks. We puzzled over that a bit, and actually thought it might be a good sign. Maybe we were just earlier in the pregnancy than we thought?

The technician was the perfect balance of friendly and professional at the same time, and was clearly used to doing this with a husband or father in the room, because the entire thing was seamless and not embarrassing. Somehow she kept Annie covered the entire time, even when she was putting a pillow wedge under her and handing her the interior camera. She kept up a very friendly upbeat stream of chatter and made sure that we were both actively engaged in looking at the screen, rather than obsessing over what was and wasn’t going on in there. I’m not sure if she was just unaware that we were there to find out about problems, or if it was a deliberate thing on her part to keep us distracted. Either way, it worked, and although we learned nothing directly from her, we both walked out feeling a little more optimistic.

Within an hour of getting home, we got a call from the midwife confirming our fears. The baby had stopped growing at seven weeks. There was actually nothing in the yolk sac (We’re still not sure if that means the baby was re-absorbed, or if it had already bled out - since it only measures a few millimeters, it wouldn’t necessarily have been noticeable). Annie talked with them briefly about what her options were, and got their cell phone numbers in case of emergency. Once the call ended, we just cried for awhile.

Annie told me about a friend of hers that had a miscarriage in high school, and how horrible it had been. There was crying and bleeding, and it was basically like labor, only heartbreaking. The midwife said that she could either just stay at home and let things happen naturally, or come in and get some herbs that would accelerate the process. The other options was to go to the hospital and get a DNC, which is invasive, because they’re basically scraping the uterus. We were thinking pretty seriously about that, even though it would be horrible, because they would all be horrible, and this at least let her take some sort of control of the process, and mentally prepare herself for it instead of just waiting for it to happen.

After a bit, we pulled ourselves together and went for a walk to clear our heads. We made plans for who we needed to call right away. We had to tell our parents, of course, and the family that Annie works for. They already knew this might happen, since Annie had gotten time off for the midwife in the morning and the ultrasound in the afternoon. When Annie called, they were very understanding, and before Annie could even ask, they told her to take as much time as she needed, and keep them posted.

Calling our parents was the hardest part. Annie had been building up to this for a full week. I had been preparing for the worst since last night. As a result, we were crushed, but we were already able to talk to each other without bursting into tears every time it came up. But our parents had been just as excited as us, and Annie knew she wasn’t going to be able to tell the story without breaking down. So I made the initial calls to everyone, and then Annie spoke to the people she was able to, and passed on others.

Around 11pm, we had called everyone we were going to, and we were both emotionally drained, and couldn’t stand the idea of just sitting in the house or going right to bed. Obviously, drowning our sorrows in alcohol is not a wise decision, but going to the pub across the street where we could talk quietly over a beer seemed very appropriate. So we ended our night by tapping our glasses in the name of “Sticky”.

Today was a lot easier. I’d be a fool to think that we’d dealt with all the emotional fallout from this, but already today we were able to go out and do things, and talk to more people on the phone. Annie’s parents came down for the day, and we had breakfast and went to the mall to buy them cellphones. It sounds kind of strange when I phrase it like that, but that was exactly what we needed, just to get back to living, and not let ourselves spiral out of control.

Especially helpful was getting another call from the midwives today. They had taken another look at the sonigram and basically told Annie that she wasn’t going to have the whole horrible false-labor thing that we were afraid of. The process was already underway, and while the bleeding might get stronger, it was unlikely that things would get much worse. They assured us that it would be completely safe to stay home and let things happen naturally, as long as we were aware of the danger signs, and called the hospital if anything went wrong (basically, if the bleeding got too heavy, or if there was pain). Knowing that we were probably past the worst of it was the best news we could have gotten, and we breathed a sigh of relief.

At this point, Annie’s taking another day off tomorrow, but is planning on going back to work on Friday. I’ve also got some temp work lined up for the next couple of weeks, so neither of us will be sitting at home alone, driving ourselves crazy thinking of things we did that might have caused this. Our lives are going on.

There were three things that surprised me most about this. First of all was how incredibly common this is. The midwife told us that one in every four pregnancies ends in miscarriage. And that’s only reported pregnancies. The statistic could be much higher, even one in two, because frequently a miscarriage happens so early that you don’t even know you were pregnant. Obviously, this isn’t much of a comfort, except in the sense that it’s good to know that it’s not our fault, and we’re certainly not alone in this. In fact, we discovered that we know a surprising number of women who have had miscarriages.

Secondly, I was surprised to learn that this is a sort of defense mechanism for the body. If anything goes wrong with the pregnancy, like if the baby’s body is not forming correctly, the mother’s body will stop the pregnancy. Again, not very comforting, except in the idea that it simply wasn’t meant to be.

Finally, I was surprised at how hard it was to deal with at first, and how quickly we’ve been able to move forward. It’s a strange situation, falling somewhere between the death of an immediate family member, and a medical procedure that just didn’t work out. On the one hand, this was our baby, and we lost it. On the other hand, it happened so early that it wasn’t really a “person” to us yet. Personally, I’m having less trouble “saying goodbye” than simply dealing with the disappointment of things not working out, and the frustration of having to “start over” at some point.

Anyways, I’ve talked more than long enough. If you’ve read this far, let me reassure you that we’re doing alright, and we appreciate all the good thoughts and well-wishes we’ve received from everyone.

Followup: Annie has written up her side of this story in another post, which you can see here.