Surviving a Miscarriage

I would have been twelve weeks yesterday.

I know the statistic for having a miscarriage is high, but I was really hoping that it wouldn't happen to me. 

I found out on September 14th that I was pregnant again. I was a little shocked, considering we hadn't been trying for very long. I had just bought a "Best Brother" shirt for Lewis at the thrift store, not knowing I would need it the next day. I was so excited to tell Spencer and he happened to get home late that day. Lewis usually eats with only his diaper on (ain't nobody got time for food stains) but I had him wear the shirt under his bib for when Dad came home. Spencer was wondering why Lewis was wearing a shirt underneath his bib while eating. But then he exclaimed, "So you got a positive pregnancy test today!" after he saw Lewis without the bib. I may have been testing earlier than I should have. xD I received a positive ten days past ovulation, I knew exactly how far along I was. My estimated due date was May 27th, 2022. I soon started to feel nausea, cravings, and food aversions. In other words, lots of Wendy's! ...and rice pilaf. 

I had my '8-week' appointment on October 12th was when I was 7 weeks and 4 days. Spencer came with me because we were going to hopefully see the heartbeat that day. During the ultrasound, we were told that I was measuring at 5 weeks. I knew my calculations weren't off, so I took the statement that the embryo could have been a "slow grower." My midwife admitted that she has seen many cases where babies have turned out healthy after being in a similar situation. She sent me to do some blood work to see if my HCG numbers were rising and told me to come back in two days. Great, instead of only doing blood work once this week, I had to do it twice!

The first blood draw was pretty uneventful, as everyone hopes. But during the second blood draw Lewis was with me while Spencer was working from home. Since I had bruising on my right arm, I opted to do my left arm instead. Wrangling Lewis in the car and driving put a lot of pressure on the inside of my elbow where I had blood drawn.

As I was driving home everything seemed pretty ordinary. I had eaten a good breakfast and I felt completely normal.... until I was about to exit and I saw blood was seeping through my gauze. I'm pretty squeamish per my previous pregnancy and I've passed out immediately or during after blood work. I was about four minutes away from home when I called Spencer to tell him I was blacking out and lightheaded. I tried to find a safe place to pull over, but my head wasn't in the best place to make a turn on a less busy street. I managed to see an opening on the right side of the road where I could stop until the episode was over. I was already blacked out as I pulled over, so I didn't have great perception on whether I was completely stopped or not. I thought I was stopped, but I was quickly corrected when my car hit a brick wall at about 5 miles per hour. No damage to the brick wall, but my ego and my front right bumper were a little scratched. 

I'm very grateful that Spencer worked from home that day, because he was there to rescue us within five minutes of that phone call. He talked to the workers and smoothed everything over so I could go home with him and Lewis. They seemed pretty concerned for me, and I'm sure they were very glad I wasn't a drunk driver with a toddler in the backseat.

My HCG level results confirmed that they were increasing, so my midwife told me to come back in two weeks for my second 8 week appointment. This pushed back my due date to June 14th, 2022.

This gave us hope, and when we went to visit my parents and grandparents in California, we told them the exciting news that I was pregnant. I still had food aversions and I was exhausted all the time. Spencer was an amazing husband (and Dad) and let me sleep in every day during our visit. It was a glorious vacation. 

Three days later after we got home from California, we had that appointment on October 27th. Spencer came with me as Lewis was being watched by a friend. When the midwife came in she took us right back to the ultrasound room to see how our baby was progressing. 

I didn't see any flicker of a heartbeat and my heart immediately dropped. She tried her hardest but there wasn't anything to show that the pregnancy was viable. My midwife said that their ultrasound equipment is outdated and referred us to their imaging department for a vaginal ultrasound to make sure she was correct. She talked about how it's possible that I was experiencing a blighted ovum, and that this pregnancy was most likely not viable. But the imaging department would be able to see the embryo easier. 

While on the drive over there, Spencer and I both agreed that our gut was telling us that I was going to have a miscarriage. The ultrasound technician confirmed our suspicions, as the embryo was now measuring three weeks behind at 6 weeks and 4 days. We both thought it would be a girl. 

Two weeks later, my miscarriage was not progressing naturally, so I had to take Misoprotol yesterday (the day after my birthday) to cycle through it. I would not wish my enemies or anyone else to go through this.

I warn you that the next couple paragraphs are going to be very graphic, so if you're squeamish you may want to skip to the ending.

~~~

I don't believe that my midwife warned me on how intense experiencing my miscarriage via Misoprotol would truly be. I know I read online that I would experience heavy bleeding, and that I could compare it to a heavy period. But to be honest, due to being on birth control pills or having an IUD, my periods were fairly tame. This meant I didn't know if I was bleeding too heavily to the point I should go in. 

Spencer took the day off so he could take care of Lewis. As it would have been impossible for me to cycle through the miscarriage while taking care of him. I inserted the Misoprotol vaginally at 10:45 a.m., and I was told to lay down to make sure that they dissolved properly. Around 2:30 p.m. I started to bleed and I was shocked on the amount of blood and clots that came out all at once. I just kept telling myself it was a heavy period to keep myself calm. I believe I saw the embryo at the very beginning because I saw a little cord attached to it.

I did some Googling and it seemed that the heavy bleeding should last anywhere from two to four hours. I didn't feel comfortable wearing a pad to walk around and get some things done. Because honestly? I didn't like the feeling of all of the blood clots up against my skin, and I didn't really want to bleed all over my clothes. I was just stuck on my throne for over three hours trapped in my bathroom. Thankfully, the cramps weren't as bad as I thought, but I was getting really concerned on how much blood was coming out. It was a steady flow continually. 

I was talking to my Mom and we talked about what hemorrhaging was like and I remember reading that if I'm lightheaded, dizzy, or start to feel nauseated is when I should go in. The flow was being inconsistent around 5:30 p.m. so I thought that I should be fine and that I didn't need to go in. 

Around 6 it picked up again and Spencer asked if I wanted any dinner. To be fair I hadn't really eaten a whole lot, and I was feeling a little sick as the cramps were getting worse.

All of a sudden around 6:30 was when it was from okay to awful. (I had been bleeding a lot for four hours then, flushing repeatedly.) Spencer was still feeding Lewis dinner in the kitchen. I started to feel nauseous to where I texted him for Zofran. Then immediately after I texted "I'm feeling lightheaded." "Help" The rest was a blur, as Spencer rushed in with lemon heads (which helped with minimal nausea earlier in the pregnancy). I passed out on his shoulder and I felt ringing in my ears. Apparently he was trying to get me to drink water and putting the water bottle straw in my mouth and talking to me loudly, but I didn't hear any of it. I was completely blacked out.

Once I came back, Spencer asked if I was okay and I said no and told him to call his Mom to come here as we needed to go to the hospital. I tried to throw up in the trash can but nothing was in my stomach. While that was happening, he first called the hospital where I was having my prenatal appointments and they told him to get me on my back with my feet elevated. I stumbled to the bed with his help. They told him to call 911 to get sent to the ER. During all the whirlwind we were able to get his Mom here to put Lewis to bed. I could hardly walk downstairs and to our garage. Spencer had to steady me as I was feeling very lightheaded and nauseated (because no thank you to the ambulance cost).

We got to the ER at 7:30, and a lot of our visit was waiting. The nurse hooked me up to a blood pressure monitor and got an IV ready. An ambulance arrived so the nurse left to help them. While we were waiting I felt very cold and I started to shake and chatter my teeth. Spencer kept my legs elevated while we waited and tried to keep me calm. My blood pressure and heart rate kept fluctuating and I started to cry because I was scared. I didn't know why and what was happening to me. I asked myself, "Do I need a blood transfusion? I saw so much blood leave my body..."

The nurse came back after 20-30 minutes and an ultrasound specialist came around 8:30 to see what was happening during this part of the miscarriage. She heard that I was cold, so she brought two warm blankets to use which was very much appreciated! She didn't say anything pertaining to what she was seeing during the ultrasounds, but she was really nice and gentle. I ended up getting an abdominal and transvaginal ultrasound which wasn't unpleasant as the first one I got over two weeks ago. After she was done she said that the radiologist had to look over the images and tell us the results. 

More waiting, the doctor finally came in around 9:30 and he asked what happened (which I feel I've had to repeat multiple times since being there.) He pressed on my abdomen and checked my heart. After that, the nurse took more blood for labs, then hooked me up to a saline. She said my hemoglobin levels were at a 12, which meant I didn't need a blood transfusion. The doctor gave me a pelvic exam around 9:45-10 p.m. He said that we were waiting for the ultrasound results and we would go from there. Then we just waited. And waited. And waited. I told Spencer I hoped to leave before midnight. Spencer didn't think that would be an issue.

A nurse came in around 10:30 to change my saline bag and admitted to me that the ultrasound results shouldn't take two hours to process (there was a sign on the wall that said, "Ultrasound...... Two hours") But she didn't have any updates for us. At 10:50 I relented and pressed the call button to see if the head nurse knew anything. She checked with the doctor and said he was getting the ultrasound results. At 11:00 he came in and asked how I was feeling, and I bluntly stated I was tired and I wanted to go home. He told us to monitor the situation for the next 24 hours, but that we could go home after he wrote the discharge papers. More waiting. The nurse came in at 11:30 saying that he was writing them right now and thanked us for being patient. 

When we left the hospital I was still feeling a little lightheaded, but I was very excited to go home and get the much needed sleep. Spencer is an amazing husband and let me sleep in until 10 a.m. today even though he didn't get great sleep the last two nights. Today has been better, it's just felt like a normal period with sharp cramps once my medicine is wearing off. Emotionally I am fine, as I have been processing this miscarriage for over two weeks. I am looking forward to having our rainbow baby whenever he or she comes.

~~~

These are the things that women feel shy to talk about, but so many of us go through it. But it's a natural part of life that we should not be ashamed about. While I am aware that many of us grieve differently, and it is more than acceptable to not talk about it to everyone, I am not that type of person to hold it in.

When I told some of my close friends I was pregnant early on, I had no idea that they would be the support system to help me through my miscarriage. As some of them had already gone through one themselves. For them I am so grateful that I did not have to do this alone. One of my friends who is also a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints let me borrow the book "Gone Too Soon" which is written by an author of our church. I had been reading it the past week and it has given me comfort through this experience. 

One of the purposes I blog (often during the hard times) is to bright to light that being a parent is hard. If you find what I have to say is important enough that you're reading this right now, and if you (or your significant other) is going through a miscarriage or any similar experience that I've written about, I am more than happy to help you through it. I can either listen or give advice, but I don't want my friends to go through these types of things alone. I'm here for you.

For the Moms Who Think Being A Mom Shouldn't Be This Hard (Part Two) #DestigmatizeMentalHealth

I think 2020 has been one of the hardest years of my life. While I'm sure that's been the case for a lot of people, mine has been a little different. To those who haven't read my last blog post from July 2020, this isn't going to make much sense. I would highly recommend reading it before reading this one. In all honesty, I'm not writing this for you. I'm writing it for me as a part of my therapy. More Moms need to know that it's okay to not be okay, and that sometimes they need a little extra help after giving birth. I denied that for so long, so hopefully my story will help other Moms out there to take care of themselves and not put themselves last.

~~~A continuation of July and so forth~~~

As Lewis was recovering from his mouth operation, he needed me more than ever. Since his mouth was sore, he couldn't nurse as long he wanted to when he was hungry. His mouth hurt, which meant he wanted to nurse for comfort. But even that was painful, so the tedious cycle continued round and round. I kid you not when I say he wanted to nurse every twenty minutes when he was awake. I was trapped and I felt like I couldn't do anything. I couldn't get a break because Lewis refused a bottle for an entire week after his operation. We were up at Snowbird for that week and I couldn't do anything fun because he was nursing all the time. As I continued to time how long he nursed, it was still apparent that if he didn't hit a certain number, he would cry and go to bed hungry.

The months passed, and Lewis fought to learn how to nurse properly. I gave up a few times and thought to myself that this would be a labor of love and that I would never enjoy breastfeeding him. While I saw many other Moms who had their babies on a schedule to nurse every 2-3 hours, Lewis was still snacking as he nursed. He continued to nurse every 20-30 minutes and I felt like I was at his beck and call every minute of the day. My depression came back as bad as it was back around March since there was nothing to blame as his ties were released.

Finally, I had enough and I was on the verge of yet another mental breakdown the first Thursday in October. I even posted on my Breastfeeding Support Group that I wanted to quit and that I was done. I was advised the typical, "Don't quit breastfeeding on a bad day." I rolled my eyes because I've heard it time and time again, but I thought it must make some sense as I might regret it later on. I decided to see another lactation consultant to see if she could help me not hate nursing so much. There weren't any available appointments until Monday, so I had to wait it out until after that appointment to see if I wanted to quit.

I was so glad as I went, as I needed someone to tell me that I'm allowed to not give into Lewis wanting to nurse every 20 minutes. I remember I told her that I wanted my life back. She told me to try every two hours. If he protests before the two hour mark to give him a full bottle instead. That way I can be confident that he's not hungry. It was a hard adjustment at first, but Lewis and I were happier with this new arrangement. I was always under the impression that I was going to have to exclusively pump, or exclusively breastfeed, I never thought about doing both. It seemed to be a win-win situation! She gave me other advice on how to get Lewis to stop snacking and it worked. Feeding Lewis in the dark right when he woke up was the solution that I needed. The lactation consultant also gave me the confidence that Lewis would be able to nurse correctly soon, as it takes older babies to adjust from their oral ties release. I started to feel more hopeful about my life and I didn't feel so depressed.

Lewis has his nine month appointment in September. I prepared for it by writing a letter to my pediatrician. I wanted to inform her how her misdiagnosis severely affected me. I adjusted the last blog post into a letter to give her the details of what I went through those last nine months. I begged her not to diagnose whether or not babies had lip or tongue ties and provided a list of pediatric dentists and IBCLCs that had the training to properly do so. I was so anxious to give her this letter at his appointment and I didn't know what to expect. 

Unfortunately, the worst possible scenario happened. As I gave her the letter, I watched her eyes dart back and forth down the page. I knew she wasn't reading it word for word and glanced at the second page. She replied, "So, Lewis had a lip tie?" "Yes." "Did he have a tongue tie?" "Yes" "When did he get them fixed?" (I thought to myself, if you had read the letter, you would know that answer.) "July 17th." She started to monologue about how there's not a lot of research on oral ties, and it depends on the baby on whether ties should be revised or not. She also claimed that if she notices a tie that they clip them right there in the office when they're a newborn. (I also thought, well then why didn't we get his oral ties fixed when he was ten days old?!) As she was making all of these excuses, I was dumbfounded. I had no idea what to say to her because this specific scenario was not one of the scenarios I played out in my head. I was waiting for her to say, "I'm sorry for all of the pain that you experienced," or "I'm sorry that I didn't catch his lip and tongue tie." Any variation of an apology would have been worth so much to me. But I didn't receive one. She thanked us twice for the list of recommended providers, but that was it.

After the appointment, I just spiraled and hit rock bottom. I felt so discouraged that she didn't care that I trusted her with her diagnosis and that it was wrong. I was also mad at myself, for not trusting my intuition and that so much could have been different. I would have never have needed to go to a chiropractor, physical therapy, and all of these experiences that brought me so much grief. I thought, "Does my experience not matter to her? Does my life not matter? All the additional 1000 hours of nursing Lewis not matter? Does my pain and grief not matter?" I felt so insignificant and useless. I wish I had spoken up and told her as we left, "Will you please read the entire letter when you get the chance?" But I didn't. I regretted it and thought I should speak up for myself and for Lewis. I felt sick to my stomach.

That same day as I was recounting my experience to one of my good friends, I received some wise words from her:

"Our stories are not meant for everyone. Hearing them is a privilege, and we should always ask ourselves this before we share: Who has earned the right to hear my story?" - Brene Brown 

This made me feel better about my regret in not asking her to read the entire letter. I've tried my hardest to show her to not repeat her mistakes so there aren't any future moms out there that have to go through what I did... But I can't force someone to change. I can offer my advice and they can either accept it or not. Since then, we have changed pediatricians and I will never go back to her ever again. 

In November, I was still feeling really depressed, but in denial that I needed professional help. On my birthday I decided to recommit to praying and reading scriptures every single day. The only music I listened to was Christian Rock to remind me of our Savior. It helped a little bit, but it didn't do as much as I hoped. I did it every single day for over two months, but I was still really unhappy and depressed.

As Lewis got closer to one year, the more and more I missed eating dairy. As I had a plethora of negative emotions towards breastfeeding, I wanted to be done with it. I started to wean Lewis off one nursing session each week to the point where I was only nursing him twice a day.

At the beginning of January, I had another breakdown and I was finally convinced I needed professional help after Spencer gave me a blessing that same day. I saw one my PA's from my 6 week postpartum check-up mid-Janaury and we talked about how I was doing. I told her all about how I experienced thrush, Lewis' reflux, dairy allergy, and the misdiagnosis of his oral ties. She told me even experiencing one of those things would have warranted postpartum depression, but the fact that I had all of them was extreme. She was very grateful that I was there and suggested an antidepressant so I could combat my postpartum depression.

I've been on Zoloft for 2.5 weeks now, and I'm feeling A LOT better. Once the medication started to kick in, I thought more and more about breastfeeding. "Did I truly want to wean Lewis completely? Lewis has been drinking Ripple milk, but it's really expensive. Do I want to add two additional servings of Ripple milk to his everyday diet...?" "Lewis has also been sad that he's not nursing as often, do I really want to stop altogether...?" "I heard that breastmilk can help fight COVID really well if we do happen to get it. What if we get COVID and I'm no longer nursing...?"

All of these thoughts and more weighed heavily on my mind. I also realized that I nursed Lewis for an entire year because I felt that I 'had' to and I had nothing but a negative experience. But now that I'm only nursing him twice a day, I don't actually hate it. In fact, I feel like stopping right now would be even sadder because it would be a new phase of Lewis' life. I would really feel like Lewis isn't a baby anymore who doesn't need me in that way anymore. I decided to stop weaning Lewis because I WANT TO breastfeed past one year. I'll continue to have those happy bonding moments with him. In a way, continuing nursing is a way to help me heal from this last year. Hopefully, as this continues, I'll be able to have more positive experiences to outweigh the bad. I don't know when I'll stop, but I'll cross that bridge when Lewis and I get to it.

To all the Moms out there who may feel the way that I do, or have gone through similar experiences: If you even need someone to talk to, I'm here. Even if we haven't talked in ten years, I will be more than happy to listen to you vent or even give advice (with the one year of experience that I have). It takes a village to raise a child, but it also takes a good support group to help Moms succeed in doing just that.