Miscarriage: The monster that remains.

There are moments in life that although ages ago, seem as if they occurred only yesterday: the first time I kissed my husband, the night he proposed, our wedding day, the day our son arrived.  It’s hard to believe all that time has passed when I remember the good moments of my life. 

Engaged!  2004... Yikes, that was quite a bit ago!

It’s the bad moments that seem ages ago.  It’s hard to believe that less than six months ago, I learned my body had played a cruel trick on me, that the baby bump that was starting to form was false, that no heartbeat would ever be heard.  Sometimes, I wonder if it even happened in this lifetime; it seems so long ago, that I have trouble placing it in the timeline of my life.

I am an emotionally and physically strong woman.  I love to make other people laugh, to be the one they come to when times are tough, and there isn’t a whole lot in life that I take very seriously.  And this, dear reader, is exactly why I am writing this, because when I looked to see what emotions I could expect when I learned a miscarriage was inevitable, I felt so alone.  I felt inadequate since I wasn't emotionally connected to the growing fetus.  After all, we had never even seen a heartbeat, never connected with anything more than a pregnancy test.  The emotions I had were more about the aftereffects, and I needed to hear someone tell me that what I was feeling was adequate, justified and understandable.

So, I share with you in hopes you don’t ever feel alone.  My apologies for the seriousness of this post... I will return to my lighthearted and funny self after I get this off my chest.

Our first appointment was scheduled for June 17, when I was 11 weeks and 3 days.  I had already figured out how I would announce Baby #2 on Facebook, because, let’s be honest, that’s a fun thing to do when you think nothing could go wrong.  I had no reason to think anything could go wrong as my first pregnancy was easy and uncomplicated.

Getting ready to welcome our first child.

However, at 6pm the night prior to the appointment, I started bleeding.  I called my husband, asked him to come home early, so we could go to Urgent Care.  In all honesty, I wasn’t that worried.  Two friends had gone into the UCC for first trimester bleeding with their second pregnancies, and everything turned out to be fine.  My husband arrived home, and our friend was coming over to watch our son as soon as her husband arrived home to watch their daughter.  Although I wasn’t worried, I was still anxious to hear “everything is okay”, so I went without my husband, knowing he would just be a few minutes behind me.  In hindsight, I wish I had waited.  I wish he would have been there in the room with me to hear that there was no heartbeat, if anything, just so I didn’t have to say those words to him just moments after hearing it for myself. 

I cried that night, devastated by the loss of our child, angry my body had failed me, embarrassed to have to tell others that I was no longer pregnant.  But, by the next morning, the tears were gone, and I listened as the doctor prescribed the medication and the timeline.  I won’t go into details of what a medically induced miscarriage is like.  Suffice it to say, it is not pleasant.  But, I distanced myself from it emotionally… If ever a time to buck up, it was then.  We were 2 weeks away from an international move, dealing with an extremely stressful PCS, and my husband was in the middle of a spin-up to prepare him for Weapons School, which would send him straight to a 6-month TDY while my son and I continued onto the next base.

Overseas moves are never easy, that's for sure!

 My husband, my parents and my good friends who knew asked constantly in that two-week time period if I was doing okay.  My answer was always the same: “I’m fine.”  And I was... In truth, I was distracted, and that equated to being fine.  International move. Distracted. Saying goodbye to my husband. Distracted.  Unpacking. Distracted. Assuring my son all was well. Distracted. Trying to get my body back to where it was pre-pregnancy.  Distracted. 

But, two months later, when the distractions were gone, the silence arrived, and with it, the monster.  At first, the monster quietly whispered in the silence of after-bedtimes, “What if you never have another baby?  What if you get pregnant and it happens again? What if you did something to cause this?”  The whispers were easy to ignore in the light of day, in the excitement of being around a 2.5 year old, and I’m great at putting on a smile, pretending as if nothing could possibly be bothering me.  Inside, though, I was doing whatever I could to trick myself into thinking that I was fine when in reality, I was simply hovering over the breaking point. 

That breaking point happened when we learned a family member was expecting, and it was told to us in a way I found to be insensitive to what we had just experienced less than two months ago.  It wasn’t meant to be insensitive or cruel.  It’s just that most people don’t understand that when you experience a miscarriage, ignoring what you just went through is more hurtful than saying the wrong thing.  Acknowledgment is better than acting as if that hurt never occurred, and that lack of acknowledgment sent me spiraling. 

As a result, the monster became LOUD.

My support network is great, when I decide not to be the tough guy.  My husband listens and tries to understand, though we have different styles of fighting a battle such as this.  My mom lets me cry when I need to, full mama-bear coming out when she needs to be angry on my behalf.  My dad will listen and tell me that I’m not crazy at the moments when I most need to hear that I’m not crazy.  My grandma is the one who will always ask, “But, how are you really doing?” and doesn’t accept the “I’m fine” answer. 

But, the bad news is that despite your network, the monster that remains after a miscarriage is one that only you can stop, because there will always be silence at the end of the day. 

I fought the monster by stating the obvious, the obvious blessings in my life.  I am a mom to a wonderful little boy already, and that is the most wonderful blessing I could ever be given.  And God… I don’t know how some women go through miscarriages without God, because He is there in the silence.  He listens while you try and drown out the monster.  During a sermon at church, the Pastor was talking about greed and said this joke: “When is ‘enough’ enough?  Enough is just a little bit more than what I have.”  And I decided to apply that to all aspects of my life.  Enough is JUST what I have, and anything more is just a great, big bonus.  

I've always wanted a house filled with pictures from my children...
And I have just that, because The Boy loves to paint pictures.  

The monster is hushed these days.  I can see a Facebook pregnancy announcement without wondering why them and not me.  I can be genuinely happy when friends welcome second, third and fourth babies into their arms.  I can hold my head up and mean it when I say that should my son be our only child, I will have no regrets or wishes for anything different.   I have enough.  I do not know if I will ever be pregnant again.  I do not know that if I become pregnant again I will be able to carry that baby to full-term.  That unknown, that doubt, is the monster that remains, hushed and in the corner.  But, I know he is there, and I tell myself that the unknowns can never take away what I currently have, which is exactly enough.

My world. Complete. 

The point of sharing this with you, dear reader, is should you ever find yourself face-to-face with this monster, know that it is okay if it takes months to take hold of you, know that it is okay if you don’t dissolve into tears about it, know that there are many women who understand the dark whispers you fight when all is silent, know there are many of us who fight the hurt while continuing through the façade that all is well. 

I can’t give you a magical formula to get you through it.  You will have to fight the monster in the silence, by yourself.  I will borrow the words of Katie Holmes to encourage you, “I don't want that moment in my life to define me, to be who I am.”

And, I can tell you that should you need someone to give your hand a squeeze of encouragement as you do battle by yourself, I have two here, and you are not alone.

Time to fly,

Liz