I thought I was over my miscarriage, but I’m not. It started when I wishfully wasted a home pregnancy test a few days ago (negative.) This past weekend I’ve been taking the Advanced Life Support in Obstetrics course, delivering rubber babies with shoulder dystocia and fighting back tears the whole way.
Let me start from the beginning. I’m 35 and just starting a family medicine residency. I’m newly married to a wonderful man; he will be joining me when he finds a job in the far away city where I moved for residency. I found out I was pregnant in May. It was my first pregnancy and we were overjoyed.
One month ago, I had my first prenatal visit at an OB/GYN practice in my new city. I went alone. I wore my favorite blue dress. I was happy and confident and looking forward to taking home images of my 8-week future baby.
The appointment started with an ultrasound. I wasn’t alarmed when Monica, the sonographer, asked to switch from a transabdominal to transvaginal view. No problem, I thought. When the imaging resumed, I asked Monica if she could calculate my due date. She paused for a second, and then said, “Well, I’m seeing some concerning things here.” The floodgates opened and I started crying. In the nicest way possible, Monica described the enlarged yolk sac and absent heartbeat. The embryo had died ten days earlier.
Through my tears I met the nurse practitioner who explained my options: since I was starting residency in just over a week, I chose surgery. I spoke with the physician, who booked my D&E the following day. Everyone asked me: where is your husband? (Florida.) Do you know anyone here? (No.) Who will be with you for the surgery? (I don’t know.)
OB/GYN offices are filled with pregnant women and their spouses, best friends, mothers and sisters. It hit me hard when I waited alone for my pre-op bloodwork, then for my Rhogam shot, surrounded by women who still had their babies. I felt their eyes on me, felt their pity. An hour earlier, I too had been smugly pregnant, thinking how elated my parents would be when I told them about their first grandchild.
My husband flew in the same day (I have never asked him how much his flight cost.) The D&E was uneventful; I had no pain after the surgery. We went out for steak that night; I had red wine and blue cheese, because I could. Because I was not pregnant anymore.
The past month has been a whirlwind of excitement, of new long white coats and responsibilities and stresses. Amongst the distractions, I haven’t grieved. But I remember something my physician said before the surgery. She said: “Miscarriages are very common. They’re the norm. But in our society, we don’t talk about them. I wish women talked about their experiences with miscarriage instead of grieving in secret.” And so that’s what I’m doing here. I want to tell you that I’m sad, that I’m angry, and that I’m not okay with what happened. I hope it helps me move on.