By Wren Patel, RN MSN
I didn’t want to have a third child. I barely felt like I’d healed from the experience of having my second when I found out I was pregnant again. Sure, it had been almost a year, and physically my womb was probably ready, but I was not–not emotionally, not energetically, not mentally. This was so unexpected. My husband and I did not think this was possible for many, many reasons…and not just unlikely, actually not possible, but there we were. Immediately my mind raced through the list of reasons why this was going to be terrible…I’m too tired, I want my body and my life back, I can’t stand the sleeplessness, the fussiness, the demands of the first year of having a baby, it’s too expensive…on and on.
“Slowly, it was becoming real”
I called my OB and made an appointment, but it was over a month away. Over those five weeks I started to slowly warm up to the idea; I did always imagine having two boys and a girl, maybe she’s coming to complete our family. In fact, I’d had my girl name picked out even before my first was born. Slowly, it was becoming real. But I was still never fully convinced it was going to work out, and I was withholding any true excitement until we got a good ultrasound and genetic testing results. We had a lot of factors stacked against us. My eggs are almost 40 years old, my husband underwent almost 30 rounds of pelvic radiation a few years ago for rectal cancer, and when we had to do IVF for our second during my husband’s cancer treatment, four out of the five embryos we got failed genetic testing. I also didn’t feel pregnant at all, and I was sick as a dog with my first two. No, it’s a fluke, it can’t be real.
“This is looking a little smaller than I’d expect for 10 weeks”
Five weeks came and went, and it was time to go in for my ultrasound. I was taken straight into the large room in the back and they were going to do an transvaginal ultrasound right off the bat. First, my OB and I sat and talked for a long time about the whole situation and all of the various options. Finally, it was time for the ultrasound. I’d been expecting to see just an empty egg sac on the screen, which is called a blighted ovum, but when I peeked, there was definitely a little embryo all curled up in there looking very cozy. “Oh, somebody is home” I said aloud. My OB had a tentative tone in her voice, “yeah, somebody is home, but this is looking a little smaller than I’d expect for 10 weeks.” Then she changed some settings on the ultrasound machine and it was clear that there was no movement where the heart usually flutters. She explained to me that there is no heartbeat, and growth likely stopped around 7 weeks. In the moment I wasn’t really sure how to feel, and I didn’t have much of a reaction at all. I guess this was the outcome that I ultimately wanted, but something didn’t feel quite right. “Oh, ok,” I said, “so what’s next?” We talked about my options-I could either wait for everything to pass on its own, use an intravaginal medication to bring it on, or do a D&C either in the office or in the operating room. I was a little weary of the first two options because I almost bled to death when my second was born, and I didn’t want to have bleeding problems if I was home alone with my boys while my husband was at work. I also didn’t think going to the OR and being under anesthesia was a good option because I’d need a ride and we would need to figure out childcare while our nanny was on vacation. I opted for the D&C in the office and they were able to get me in two weeks later.
“I’m fine, really it’s ok”
I called my husband on the way home to break the news that we’d remain a family of four. I was honestly sadder for him in that moment than I was myself. Even though he shared my feelings of trepidation and doom when we first got the news, he was actually starting to get excited about filing up the fourth bedroom in our home with another child; “three boys!” he’d say excitedly with a gleam in his eyes. When I got home we sat together and talked about it all and hugged, “I’m fine, really, it’s ok” I said, and we went about our day.
“My OB checked one more time on the ultrasound-no heartbeat”
Two weeks passed and I was ready for this to be over. The thought of a deceased embryo in my womb was something I wanted to be free from, and I was ready to move on. My husband had to stay home with our 1- and 3-year-olds, so I went alone; I honestly went there thinking this would be like a teeth cleaning, in-and-out and on with my life. My OB checked one more time on the ultrasound—no heartbeat. As the procedure began, it felt very much like the procedures I’d been through during IVF, so I was feeling mostly at ease—or as much as one could be at ease while getting their cervix injected with lidocaine and then dilated with a speculum, I suppose. And then, out of nowhere, everything changed. Suddenly my body started to shake and vibrate completely involuntarily from deep within my abdomen, I felt scared and cold, and I could feel the tears coming. “Do you want your phone to keep you company?” my OB asked. The nurse handed me my phone and held my hand. I put on some soothing music and set it down next to me. I suddenly became very aware of the empty chair to my left and longed for my husband’s company. “Where was this coming from?” I wondered. I sobbed uncontrollably and felt very confused as to why—I really wasn’t expecting this to be hard. I tried to compose myself because I didn’t want to make my OB and nurse uncomfortable, and my sobs slowed to a sniffle. After it was all over she told me what to look out for and when to call, and that was it, I walked back through the waiting room of hopeful-looking couples and went home.
“How could I be sad to lose something I didn’t even want?”
My husband was supportive and made sure that I got the rest I needed that day to heal. “It was so weird,” I told him, “I had this wave of emotion halfway through the procedure and just couldn’t stop crying; I don’t even know why.” It was all such a shock to me; I really didn’t understand it. How could I be sad to lose something I didn’t even want? I felt completely conflicting things all at once, and guilty for not feeling worse.
“Can you get postpartum depression after a miscarriage?“
Of all the surprises involved in this experience, the emotional rollercoaster of the next two weeks was by far the most unexpected for me. At first I’d have these brief moments of sadness that would pass rather quickly and leave me feeling a little perplexed. Then it got worse. I’d be driving and completely out of nowhere this overwhelming wave of grief would come on and tears would pour down my cheeks, I’d feel this deep sense of sadness and loss that felt like it would never go away. I knew there was a clear hormonal component to this, so I was able to rationalize my way through the ups and downs, but there was more to this labyrinth of emotions than I knew. As time went on I noticed myself being more impatient with my kids, and more frustrated with my husband for seemingly no reason. I’d have these moments where I felt truly depressed, but most of the time I felt fine so I still figured it was hormonal and it would go away. Then I’d find myself Googling things like, “can you get postpartum depression after a miscarriage?”. I felt so lost. I decided to get some help, so I booked a few appointments with the therapist I’d talked to back when my husband was sick, I booked a bodywork session with my doula from when my second son was born, and a trauma-processing somatic sensory session with a Yoga Therapist friend and mentor of mine. I knew I needed to seek support and lean on the people who were there for me so I could work through all of the confusing questions and emotions—why am I sad about losing something I didn’t want? –maybe I really was getting excited about having a third child but just wasn’t ready to open myself up to the possibility that things could go wrong. –did I do something wrong to cause this to happen? –what if the pregnancy stopped because the baby knew I didn’t want it? All this and more ran through my mind like a song stuck in my head for weeks. Using my resources helped, and when the bleeding and spotting finally stopped after about 15 days, I honestly started feeling better. “I feel a lot better now” I told my husband. “I think we should look in to adopting a third child.” As the words left my lips I knew that I wasn’t over this experience. Making major life decisions is probably not advisable in the wake of experiencing a miscarriage. Although the heart wrenching waves of sadness and grief felt like they were over, I could tell this experience would continue to unfold for me for a long time. I allowed myself to settle into that fact, and now I choose to be gentle with myself as I continue to process it all. I know I’ll have moments in the future where my heart will ache, I know the due date will always be a hard day, and I know I will forever wonder who our third child would have been, but in the end, I’m in a place of acceptance with the way things turned out. In a way, it makes me cherish my two boys even more, and I feel proud of myself for having the courage to reach out to my resources and friends for support—something very outside of my norm. I chose to be gentle with myself and acknowledge that it IS ok to feel relieved and sad at the same time, it IS ok to not be ok, and there is no “right way” to navigate this terrain. My heart goes out to women who experience loss. I imagine how hard it must be to go through this when you really wanted it to work out, or how hard it must be to lose a baby later in pregnancy. I thought about all of the situations that were “harder” than mine and felt silly for feeling bad when others had it so much worse, but invalidating my own feelings didn’t make them go away. So if this is something you’re going through, please know, no matter what your experience is, your feelings matter, your experience is valid, and you should never go through this alone.
About the author
Wren Patel is a Registered Nurse and Prenatal Yoga Teacher. Wren is also trained as an Ayurveda Yoga specialist, Reiki Master, and Sound Healing Facilitator and is experienced in Yoga Nidra and Trauma-Informed Yoga. She is the owner of Wren Wellness 108 LLC. With her broad knowledge in the field of health and wellness, as well as perinatal loss, she brings a depth of experience to Transitions Into Parenting.