This article deals with miscarriage and may be triggering for some readers.
Today is my fourth day of waiting to confirm that I am having a miscarriage.
There has been no blood, no cramping and no dramatic middle-of-the-night trip to a hospital.
There was a bad result on a blood test, and a nurse that told us to prepare for the worst. So we cried and talked about how we were shocked/terrified/sad and I deleted my pregnancy apps so I wouldn't get any alerts about special deals on breast pumps or what my baby looked like that day.
Then an ultrasound, and a sonographer that told us she was sorry. So we cried, and I quietly packed up our pregnancy books and the photo on our fridge and we talked about getting a little box to keep our special memories in.
The pregnancy symptoms, which I had been gleefully documenting on my phone, disappear slowly and then all at once. I ask my husband to buy pads, overnight high absorbency and with wings, so we can be ready.
Then a doctor's appointment, and she told us not all hope is lost. Maybe this is a grey area. We will have to wait and see. So I quietly start looking up stories like ours, most that ended with miscarriage but some that did not. I can’t find any that fit my story exactly, though, so I keep on searching more and more stories.
When my husband asks what I'm looking at, I hide my phone. He says whatever it is, it doesn't seem to be very helpful, because I am crying. "Try and be good to yourself honey," he says.
I post on forums and thank kind strangers for their reassurance while I rebut their comforting words in my head. I don’t have the dates wrong, this is an IVF baby. Maybe your HCG rise slowing doesn't matter after six weeks, but our baby is also measuring too small. It wasn't an unclear abdominal ultrasound by a random ER doctor who doesn't understand the difference of a few millimetres, it was a transvaginal scan by someone who specialises in early pregnancy. There is a lady in Ireland, where they found the heartbeat right before doing the D&C. There is a lady in London whose IVF baby caught up a whole eight days on their next scan. I re-read their stories again and again and imagine they are me.
And so we are waiting...
For another ultrasound.
For me to start bleeding.
For there to be a miracle.
For there to be a loss.
I know there will be a loss because there are no smells that make me feel like throwing up anymore. And I don't wear a bra but I can roll over in bed without my boobs hurting. And I don’t need a nap to get through the day. I am still peeing for Australia, though, and every time I go I am confused and guilty because I am scared of blood and I am also scared of there being no blood and more waiting.
I am the box for Schrödinger’s cat, I think. No one knows if my baby is alive or dead, and so it is neither. Except of course, it is one or the other. I Google “missed miscarriage Schrödinger’s cat” and a lot of people have had the same thought. There are so many people having threatened or missed miscarriages, just waiting, waiting, waiting.
I never knew having a miscarriage could involve so much waiting.
Someone asks how I am feeling and I describe being “in limbo”. I Google “miscarriage limbo” and I find a lady who has had the same thought. She made a blog about miscarriage and I read the whole thing. She is funny and I'm crying and laughing. I click on her profile. She had four miscarriages and then one baby – this is called recurrent pregnancy loss. I look up "how to avoid recurrent pregnancy loss" and make a note on my phone of tests to ask my doctor for.
I think: I am in a liminal space, between pregnant and not pregnant; between a parent and not a parent; between a healthy baby and a miscarriage.
I think: I am in purgatory. I think: this sucks.
I have decided that nothing is happening because my body does not want to let go of my baby any more than my mind does. I remember crying to my husband again and again that I don’t want to do this, I can’t say goodbye. My body is trying to protect me.
There is not much about infertility that recommends itself, but my husband notices it has made us extraordinarily good at coping. We know the rules to survive.
We eat regular meals and shower and exercise and are overly judicious with each other. I work a couple of hours in the morning but then log off before I have to talk to anybody who might inadvertently give me the s**ts and/or make me cry, because now my number one priority is my own wellbeing and not my job.
I make us go and play tennis because I am too scared to make plans with anyone else, lest I begin to miscarry in front of them, but I just can't stay inside a moment longer. My husband is very good at tennis and I am not, but I'm the only one that gets any points. We are pretending to have fun (for now), but that's the trick to having fun again when your life is a bit awful.
The other gift of infertility is that everything about pregnancy was exciting. There was no apprehension in telling my husband, I knew he’d feel nothing but joy. The feeling of nausea? Thrilling proof of life inside me. Veiny boobs and weird nipples? A fascinating development I hadn't known to expect. Wetting my pants? A hilarious side effect of relaxing muscles and a growing uterus. I proudly texted my friend a photo of a pillow covered in drool after I accidentally fell asleep in the middle of the day: “my body is so disgusting and weird rn! I love it”.
Infertility will be the sting in the tail if I miscarry, though, and I am aware of the fear and uncertainty threatening to bowl me over if I let my mind wander unchecked.
All told, it took two years and more than $50,000 to get here the first time. Do I have another $50,000 and two years? Do we genetically test our other embryos, or is that risking them for my own peace of mind? Do we do another round? Take a break? Is it a requirement to take a break after miscarriage? Will a D&C harm any future pregnancies? Is waiting for natural miscarriage just inviting infection? Will we run out of time to be parents? Live on pause forever? Is even thinking about this wishing my current baby away? What if I don't want a different baby, I just want this one?
My mind is a dizzy carousel of unhelpful thoughts and if I get on I’m worried I won’t be able to get off again.
I had a therapist during IVF that I dumped when she accused me of 'learned helplessness'. I thought she didn't get my sense of humour and she certainly didn't get infertility – if you don't surrender to the lack of control, you’re fooling yourself.
I wasn't giving up, I was injecting and testing and sexing and accupunturing and inseminating and tablet-taking and meal preparing and all of the things I could control, while acknowledging that ultimately I have little power over the outcome. I decided she wasn’t a love match and I spent the therapy money on buying books instead, and felt better for it.
There are some thoughts, sad and hopeful, which I can only watch the shadows of and have to close off in my mind, because if I look at them directly I will turn to stone. A baby’s hand around my finger. My husband being a father. Packing a schoolbag.
I am sure I will miscarry soon. It's intuition. Not mine, but my dog’s – and therefore far superior. I can count on zero hands the number of mornings she has let me sleep in, as she jumps on the bed and my head and licks my face and paws at my shoulder until I feed her.
Lately, though, she creeps up and puts her head on mine, does a big sigh, and goes to sleep curled against me while I cry salty tears in her fur. She knows I need the rest and the company.
If this has raised any issues for you or if you would like to speak with someone, please contact the Sands Australia 24-hour support line on 1300 072 637.
Feature Image: Getty
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