Missed Miscarriage
A couple of years before Kenzy was born I was sitting in stirrups as my doctor checked for a heartbeat. Ten weeks pregnant at the time, I first heard the heartbeat several weeks before. I sat in confusion as she stared at the screen (too long) not saying a word. She brought another doctor in to confirm, finally telling me there was no longer a heart beating. I looked out through the open blinds of the office as I tried to keep it together, tears filling up my eyes as I carried the weight of failing the life trying to grow inside of me.
I was quickly ushered to another office where I was told I had experienced a “missed miscarriage.” There was no longer a viable pregnancy, but the rest of my body didn’t know it (explaining why there were no symptoms, no spotting, etc). This meant that 24/7 I was feeling horrible nausea among other symptoms, and I wasn’t even pregnant anymore. The doctor said I could just “let this play out naturally,” meaning the miscarriage would happen in weeks/months (with possibility of infection, etc) or I could go down the same route of those having an abortion: taking a pill. Without a beat, I said “pill please.”
I got the prescription filled on my way home. The doctor said, “It’s like a heavy period.” This is not at all what it was like. I was in the worst pain of my life for 24 hours. I was in the bedroom, lights out, eating ice—going through this horror show of contractions, bleeding in the bathroom & being unable to look down to see what was there. I was mortified. No one could help me feel less alone. Yet I was grateful to have the option to take this pill as opposed to spending the next months being reminded every second of what I had lost.
This was relatively late in life for me to have a revelation: women really have to go through it. The mental and physical anguish of this whole experience numbed me for a long time, but I was back at work on Monday. I never spoke of my experience other than to let a few people know I was no longer going to have a baby. This apparently is just what women do. The only thing I was ever told was how common it was, which seemed horrifying and slightly belittling. “It could be worse!” =every woman’s mantra.
The decision by the Supreme Court will affect all kinds of reproductive care for women, including missed miscarriages. I am extremely lucky to have great healthcare and an awesome support system. Like most political decisions, it will be devastating to those that don’t have these same benefits. Choices women make to honor their bodies, their futures, their selves, their unborn and the lives of those around them (in a country that doesn’t support universal healthcare, childcare, etc) are some of the hardest anyone will ever have to make. They are physically and emotionally brutal. They are isolating and filled with shame. But they were still choices until this week.