J and I were married in 2005 and in 2007 I became pregnant. I was nervous. I had all of the self-doubt that most newly expectant mother’s have and then some. I told J that I did not want children and if I did, I would expect him to stay at home to raise the child. If I had a child, it was for him. Not for me. I didn’t think I’d be good at the whole child-rearing thing. After all, I was selfish and irresponsible.
At my first doctor’s appointment, they determined with the ultra-sound I was six weeks along. I started to get a bit excited. I thought I could vindicate myself for my previous misdeed towards my husband. At the end of the appointment, they said they wanted to see me again in a week. We returned for the appointment and another ultra-sound was done. The technician had a perplexed look on her face. I knew something must be up, but when I asked her she did not have a clear response. She left the room and a few moments later she returned with the doctor.
We were given the news that the embryo was not developing and that the pregnancy was not “viable”. I was in serious denial. My husband had no words. He just kept squeezing my hand. I began to tear up a little and asked the doctor if there was anything that could be done to save it. She said there was little chance but prescribed a hormonal suppository and they will check again in a week. We were sent home to digest the news and hope. We hoped pretty hard that things would work out and the doctor made a mistake. I just knew I was being punished.
We returned to the doctors office again. Another ultra-sound. Another “look” from the technician…but this time we knew what it meant. The embryo had no growth. Zero. It was just a round blob that was the same size as two weeks prior. The doctor entered and gave us the options. I could take a pill to induce a miscarriage, have a DNC or I could let nature take it’s course. I chose the pill. Since I felt I had no control over this situation, I wanted to control when and how it happened.
After getting a good nights rest and working a full day, I decided to take the pill on a Thursday evening. I took it before bedtime as instructed. At 2:30am, I awoke with the most excruciating pain I have ever experienced. I got up and went to the bathroom. I thought I was going to vomit. I did, a little. I will spare you the remaining details, suffice it to say that it took hours for it to pass. I could not hold down any liquids or medication to ease the pain. I finally fell asleep on the couch in an upright position at about 6:00am. My husband finally awoke at 7:00am to go to work and he shook me gently. When I opened my eyes, I realized I was drenched in blood. It was awful. I was horrified. My pain and cries did not wake my husband at all. I went through this journey on my own. I was sad.
He left for work and I sat in the shower crying.
We had signed a lease on a new apartment and were scheduled to move that weekend. I took the week off of work due to the pain. I needed to heal physically and emotionally. I had another job to do though. I had to pack the entire apartment in two days. I was tired. I hurt. And I had no help with anything! My husband wanted to go on pretending that nothing happened. He worked all day, so expected me to do the packing. I was alone. Again, I was being punished.
I suspected my husband was blaming me for this miscarriage. The doctor told us it was normal. At my age, my eggs begin going bad….little by little. When there is an abnormal formation, it means there is something wrong with the egg or sperm or both. There was nothing I could’ve done differently. And sure as hell, my husband disagreed. He thought I could’ve done everything different. I didn’t have to smoke so much, I didn’t have to drink so much coffee, I could’ve curtailed the weed. Maybe so. However, research shows there is minimal damage to a fetus in the first weeks of pregnancy. There was nothing I could’ve done to prevent the tragedy. The doctor told us both the same.
I was heart broken. Not only had a lost a baby but my husband blamed me for losing it. I was crushed. I punished myself too. I blamed myself too. I was being punished for having an abortion. I was selfish and uncaring the first time around. I deserved this pain.
J and I had numerous fights during this period. He was drunk and I was a baby killer. It was not fun. It was sad. I was hurt, my husband was hurt. We talked about it civilly numerous times and we both agreed there was nothing I could’ve done differently. That did not stop my husband from calling me a baby killer every time he drank too much.
A few months later, I went on a two week long business trip. While I was gone, I had a suspicion that I was pregnant again. I also suspected that it was going to end in a miscarriage. I went on with my trip, hoping it was my imagination and when I returned home I started my period. I was thankful I did not have to go through that again.
A few days went by and I was abnormally heavy. I thought it odd. On the forth night, I woke up in pain. It was the same pain. I recognized it. It was worse this time. I could not catch my breath, I was vomiting heavily. I went to the living room to ride it out. It was getting worse as time went by. I finally yelled for J. He came to my side and held my hand. I told him what I thought it was and he was frightened for me. He did not witness the first go around so this was new territory to him. He asked me what he should do. I had no answer.
I finally whispered, “Call my mom. Ask her what to do.”
J called her and she told him to call 911. He did.
J could’ve driven me if he wasn’t still drunk from the evenings libations. Instead we HAD to call for an ambulance. And a big bill since my insurance did not pay for it.
The ambulance arrived and tried to insert an IV but I was writhing in pain. I could not sit still long enough for them to poke me. It felt better to move. And other times, it felt better to sit still. My body throbbed. My heart ached. The firefighter trying to stick me yelled at me, “SIT STILL!”
Who in the hell did he think he was talking to?!
I told them I was having a miscarriage.
“How do you know?” probed the arrogant firefighter.
“Because I had one a few months ago and it feels like the same thing.”
There was no sympathetic tone coming from the people that were there to help me. I wondered if they knew I needed punishment too.
This incident began another onslaught of drunken slurs. It was my fault again.
I stood up for myself. I did. But that did not stop the voices in my head telling me the same damn thing.