My Miscarriage

After finding out I was pregnant on our 1-Year Wedding Anniversary in December, I had to fly overseas - twice. The first flight was okay. I didn't have anything I could describe as symptoms other than my own likely hypochondria as I was still a week out from a missed period and still quite convinced that the positive pregnancy test had been a fluke - a mistake.

The pregnancy was confirmed by a doctor a few days before I had to fly overseas again. Now it was official and yet, I was still just around the point of a missed period - WAY too early to tell anyone because there was such a strong likelihood that it would not "take."


Why so pessimistic? Well first of all, my mother had one miscarriage before me. Since then, I have read that miscarriages are not hereditary and so your mom's history of miscarriage (or not) doesn't have much bearing on whether or not you'll have one. At the time I didn't know this, however. Second, all of my friends had experienced difficulties conceiving, in one form or another. In my mind it was an impossibility that I would have it so much easier. Third, I just knew. While I would get wrapped up in the romanticism of the fact that we found out on our 1-Year Wedding Anniversary and thus, God had listened to me when I was clear about not wanting to conceive before a year of marriage and what a sense of humor he had about that, I also realized that it was likely too good to be true.

That second overseas flight was brutal. I have a terrible fear of flying for which I used to medicate myself - or drink heavily - sometimes both. With those options now out of the question, my anxiety was at an all-time high. Beyond that, we were on a lousy plane, the seats were more uncomfortable than usual, I had a headache for the whole 9-hour trip, and I was so bloated that I couldn't button my pants while I was sitting down - an issue which was both unexpected and mortifying when I had to stand up. Another first for me was that I had to use the airplane bathroom. Never in my life had I used an airplane bathroom. Aside from thinking they were probably the most disgusting public restrooms possible, I also had an irrational fear that if I got up on an airplane it would fall out of the sky. (Yes, clearly, the medication was necessary). Well, I had to go so badly on this flight that I actually used the restroom - twice - and it was amazing. Sweet relief.

We were heading back to America to see our friends and my husband's family for Christmas. I have a reputation as a drinker. I grew up in a society of mimosa brunches, liquid lunches, and cocktail hour which lasts way longer.

How in the world were we going to keep this under wraps through the most festive time of the year when the booze would be flowing and I'd be teetotaling? Simply put, we weren't. There was simply no way we could. We would have to tell my husband's parents, first and foremost, to explain why I wouldn't be drinking the family-sized bottle of Belvedere Vodka they'd purchased for me as a "Welcome Home" gift, and second, so that we could have some allies in covering up my non-drinking at the holiday parties. We would also have to tell the close friends we were planning to see because no one was going to buy that I was simply, "not drinking."

I wasn't happy about this. I knew it was too early, and I think we both knew it wasn't headed in the right direction.  I had every symptom in the book and I was only 4 weeks along. Nausea, frequent urination, sore breasts, mild camps, and spotting which had started the night before we left for our trip.

As result of my uncomfortable flight, we bought a few pregnancy "necessities" immediately upon arriving in the U.S: Stretchy yoga pants, a belly band, and a pair of maternity jeans - all premature of course, but we knew we couldn't get the kind I wanted back in Europe and it was nice to have an opportunity to try everything on in the store before buying.

The spotting got heavier throughout the course of the next week, though I still had trouble ascertaining the difference between the spotting that was okay, and what classified as full-on bleeding, which was cause for concern. In the movies, you always see women sitting on bathroom floors surrounded by an unimaginably large pool of blood. That was my expectation for what a miscarriage would be like and that was definitely not what I was experiencing.

We told the friends we needed to tell. We attempted to temper their enthusiasm by cautioning how early it was, how "we wouldn't have even been telling people yet, but... " and how I was already having some concerning symptoms.

We told my husband's parents. They were elated but respected our desire to keep it quiet and remain cautiously optimistic - nothing more. The same night we saw some other friends and had to tell them as well. After explaining that I was concerned it wasn't working out, our friend offered to call her neighbor who was an OBGYN. After a few minutes, I conceded. I recounting the whole story over the phone to the neighbor who was on vacation in the Caribbean  and explained the symptoms I was experiencing at that moment.

As I expected, the most concerning issue to her was the consistent bleeding. It had been going on for a week, like a long, drawn-out, period. She called in a favor at her hospital and arranged for a blood test for me that very evening. We went over to the hospital and were in and out in 45 minutes. We returned to our friend's house to finish our evening. It had been so long since we'd seen them, I didn't want to put a damper on the evening.

The neighbor texted me a couple of hours later, explaining that my HcG level was a "22" and what could be expected around the 3rd week of pregnancy. She didn't realize the news she was actually giving me was that I was indeed nearing the end of a miscarriage. A week earlier, my HcG level had been over "150" and rising steadily.

I showed my husband the text and he immediately understood and said it was time to call it a night. I texted the neighbor back to thank her for all her help. We told our friends the bad news and left. I don't remember if I cried that night or not. I was embarrassed and unexpectedly disappointed. (After all, we weren't "trying" - we just "weren't trying not to.")

I texted the few friends we'd told over the past few days right away with the news. I wanted to rip the bandaid off quickly. I didn't want anyone thinking I was pregnant any longer than necessary because they were excited and the more time that passed the more excited they would get. They expressed sorrow and concern and asked if they could call me. I declined. Maybe tomorrow. I didn't want to talk about it or cry about it. I didn't want attention or coddling. I just wanted to get through Christmas without ruining everything.

I asked my husband to break the news to his parents before I had to see them the next morning. I was too embarrassed and too disappointed to have to tell them myself. I knew how excited they'd been, if only for one night and it seemed terribly unfair to have to strip that away as quickly as it had transpired.

Christmas Eve was the worst of it. We had a holiday party at the house with all of my husband's family in attendance. I got dressed up, did my makeup, put on my heels. I laughed with the cousins and joked with the uncles. I broke into the Belvedere and made some cocktails for myself and my mother-in-law because I could, but my heart wasn't really in it.

I had the worst cramps I'd experienced all week - but no worse than a particularly trying period. I took some Advil and went to Midnight Mass with my husband and I prayed for strength and for courage and healing, and that we would successfully conceive when the time was right. I also prayed for my friends who had babies already, and for the ones who were newly married, and for my parents, and my husbands' parents, and for everyone else we loved. I thanked God for my husband and the wonderful life he's enabled me to have.

Christmas morning, I was already feeling a little bit better. The cramps were gone and the bleeding slowed and stopped over the next couple of days. We flew back to Europe and then the doctor's visits began again - this time, to track my HcG levels back down to zero. More needles. More waiting.

I knew it had all happened for a reason. The "baby steps" I had taken toward getting my head around the reality of a pregnancy had helped me turn a corner and realize that it was something I could actually do, and maybe even enjoy. My husband's incredible support and care bonded us further and made me realize what an incredible partner he would be in the journey, whenever it happened. We were able to purchase a few maternity items that we never would have even considered, had I not be in the state that I was when we were back in America. And the experience made us both realize, with clarity, that we were ready - whenever the time was right for it to happen.

By the end of January, I had received a clean bill of health - and a period.

And on February 22nd, I found out I was pregnant again.