1. How many miscarriages have you had? Did you already have children when you experienced the miscarriage?
Two, possibly three. I already had one child (m/c when he was two years old, again 6 months later, and again just after that). IMHO, it is much easier to process the hope side of things if you have already had a child, but no easier to process the loss.
2. How far along were you?
First, 5.5 weeks. Second 7.5 weeks. Third, suspected implantation failure and got my period a week early.
3. Did you seek medical treatment? If so, did you have any surgery?
First one, no. I am not an angel-y kind of person, but I had met the soul of that child, and had been TOLD (in no uncertain terms) that whatever happened was supposed to happen, and all would work out. I didn’t need faith (who needs faith when you’ve got your very own burning bush?), and I felt I didn’t need medical care, either - it was very early, and I knew the soul would be back when the time was right.
Second, was under midwife care already. No soul-meeting, or anything to help out with that side of the experience. I started bleeding at noon, a pink smear, but it didn’t stop and I went straight to the birth center. They sent me for an ultrasound, which confirmed that gestation had stopped around 5 weeks. Nothing to do but wait it out. In two days, I fully miscarried, felt the placenta pass. With no spiritual contacts (not with me, anyway), the loss was more profound. Went in for a followup ultrasound, and had completely cleared, so no D&C.
Third, again, not late enough to feel that it was worth bothering about, medically. Again, no spiritual support. None for the successful pregnancy that followed, either.
3a. If you had a ‘missed miscarriage’, did you feel anything out of the ordinary that would indicate the baby was no longer viable?
N/A BUT - With the first, I did suddenly stop feeling pregnant, stopped feeling that sense of ‘presence’ over my shoulder and my symptoms started coming and going.
With the second, symptoms also came and went, but the real smack in the forehead was when my 2.5 year old son asked me if I was ‘sad because the round thing with the eggs in it is gone’ - that was the first day I started bleeding, when he didn’t know I was pregnant, and certainly wouldn’t have used a description of the stage of gestation rather than the term ‘baby’… his response was my ‘feeling’ on that one, though it was reassuring because part of my sense of loss was losing his sibling, not just my child - it helped that he already knew, though it was still agonizing.
Third time, all I had was symptoms that came on strong (dizzy spells, etc. - not the usual progesterone surge ‘false preg’ symptoms I usually get post ovulation), then failed right after implantation spotting, and got my period immediately, about 7 DPO, a week early.
4. What are your prospects for trying again? Or, if you did try again (and again, and again), were you able to carry a baby to term?
Tried again after waiting a short while, successful pregnancy.
4a. How long after your miscarriage did you begin trying again? How long was it before you were pregnant again?
I was told to wait one cycle, because the m/c was early. That followup try was the implantation failure. Waited a few more months (details follow). Once we tried again, I had one anovulatory cycle, and got pregnant on the second (first ovulatory) cycle, and carried to term. However, I do have really high fertility in general, so take that instant pregnancy with the appropriate history.
To add to the odd/spiritual stuff (sorry, but it is part of my experience), shortly after the implantation failure, all on the same day, a whole bunch of different people contacted me from all over the place, and each told me that they had a strong feeling that I needed to wait before trying again. Each used different terms, but all of them were desperate for me to wait until after the new year (one said X weeks, one said X cycles, one said next year, one said after the new year, one said after the holidays. Some were phone calls, some emails (including from overseas), some in person, none of them were in communication with the others, and all the same message.
I could see a few of them saying it, but all at once on the same freakin day was a bit much. And some of them were so upset about it that they acted out of character. One said she felt the need to call me all of a sudden, like an intense pressure, and nearly cried when I basically told her to butt out - she told me that she had a horrible feeling that something terrible would happen if I didn’t wait… it only took about 5 people saying the same thing before I decided that a few months wouldn’t kill me. So I brought it up with epeepunk, and he sighed with relief - he’d been feeling the same thing.
5. If applicable, please explain how your subsequent (after the loss) pregnancy was stress-wise. Did you find yourself very worried? If so, what did you find was helpful?
MASSIVE stress. At least at first. I worried and knawed at the possibility of another loss a lot. I posted a lot on a Losses forum (StorkNet, whose members were not too heavy on the angels thing at the time, BTW). I had no sense of contact, no spiritual reassurance, no feeling that this was right, it would work out okay, etc. My son didn’t say anything, either. I was floating without any reason for faith, like hanging over a ledge.
It was like holding my breath for weeks on end. Every cramp made me break a sweat, though I did feel better that I was clearly ‘growing’ - my tummy started to pop out very quickly (‘second’ baby does that), and I could feel my uterus enlarging. Still, I noted in my pregnancy log on week 6 that I was watching for bleeding. Every time I went to the bathroom, I’d hold my breath and check to see if there was any blood on the tissue. And you know how often pregnant women pee! It was like a compulsion to check (Post-traumatic stress reaction). On week 7, I noted that my stress level was skyrocketing as I approached “M-day”… 7.5 weeks.
I used hypnosis tapes nightly (ones designed for early pregnancy), and they helped a lot. But it was still very stressful. Then somewhere just less than 12 weeks along, I leaned forward on the sofa, and felt movement. Like a small goldfish flipping around in one spot. From then on, I felt regular movement, and that was my lifeline until I got used to the idea that ‘this one is healthy’ - by about 6 months, I seldom thought about it at all anymore, and by 7 months I kept forgetting that I’d miscarried. I did notice the original due date go by, and I had to mark the date of the loss, too. But that was it, and the last two months were all about being pregnant (rather than being about trying not to lose another one).
One of the things that really helped was writing about it. Okay, I’m a compulsive writer, but writing and sharing it helped. I wrote online, and also contacted an author who was writing about spiritual experiences around childbearing (contact me if you want info, the book is published, and I’ll tell you which chapter is me, if you want)… And I wrote one poem.
Taking a chance here and adding the poem I wrote, perhaps it will help someone else. Note that I assigned a gender to the child, because I’d only had one dream of the baby, in which she was a girl.
*Sunbeam Daughter
She’s gone.
They weren’t sure if she had all washed away… with all that blood, how could anything be left?
Nothing there. I felt the firm curl of placenta leave my body. She’s gone. No one told me miscarriage felt so much like giving birth.
I waited as I was expected to, being strong, ‘taking good care of me.’ Calmly chatting with the nurse drawing blood; checking yet again to see if the last hormonal echoes of that tiny child had stilled to nothing.
Bleeding again, finally, both science and my body reinforcing the truth I already know. I’m empty and emptying, sweeping out. Cleaning an empty house after the mourners have left, the body long in the ground.
Not even a remnant, not even a measurable quantity of her is left inside my veins. Thirty-eight days ago, I was almost two months pregnant. Now, I am just fertile ground to try again. Surely, I should be glad of that.
I draw breath to sigh, looking out a window in my heart. Pausing, I rest against my broom, watching motes of dust twirl lazily in the brilliant sunlight streaming in. Looking out, I can’t tell if I’m looking back, or forward. Am I searching for what was-and-could-have-been (but is not)? Or looking for what-has-not-yet-arrived (and might not) … or might still.
I pick up the broom again, sweeping once more. Moving on. Moving on without the daughter that could have been.
Now and then through golden sunbeams a half-glimpsed child’s figure passes, merrily running. I hear an echo of laughter in the dancing light.
‘Maybe next time,’ everyone says, sadly, hopefully. ‘Maybe next time… Close the curtains on the past. Close that window, and move on.’
I smile a private smile, sorrowful, but sure. I think I’ll keep that window open. She would have loved the sunlight. *
Take care, and do feel free to contact me if you like. (I’m Tranq’s sister, BTW)
) but it’d be nice to know I’m not alone.
)