A Short Story
I am going to tell you why my miscarriage matters.A few weeks ago, I was out for a walk with my 8-year-old and 1 year old. An elderly neighbour couple stopped us, and we spoke for a while. After several minutes of talking about my boys (older people love talking about the kids), they asked me about the age between my boys. They continued to ask why there was such a large age gap. I always dread these questions. I take a deep breath and tell them that we lost twins in two separate miscarriages.
They looked at me with empathy. Almost, embarrassed and unsure of what to say next…or so I thought.
I thought that would be it for the topic, but then came the dagger, “….how far along were you?” I let out a big sigh and though I didn’t need to, I explain that we suspect 8 weeks for our first baby, and we estimated 10 weeks for the second twin. She replies “oh, that’s good you weren’t far along”. It felt like a lightning bolt sending a shock through my body. I can feel myself get fired up with anger. I take a deep breath unsure if I wanted to scream, walk away, or explain myself. In that moment, I chose to end the conversation…though I wanted to tell them my painful story.
My Miscarriage Matters
My miscarriage matters, despite what she thinks. Despite what anyone thinks. My babies were special. They were loved. They mattered.
Sadly, this isn’t the first time this situation has happened to me. In fact, it happens often that my miscarriage isn’t important because I wasn’t “that far along”. You know what, screw you and your opinions. Because, I. DON’T. CARE. ANYMORE.
My miscarriages happened. It happened to ME! They happened a week apart. There was pain, there was devastation, there was hurt, there was heartbreak. There was trauma. Don’t YOU tell me, “at least you weren’t that far along” as if your words are going to make me magically feel better, because you know what, they actually make me feel one hundred times worse!
I wonder if her reaction or sympathy would have been different if my babies were further along?
My babies had heart beats…both of them. Then one didn’t. Then a week later, they both were gone.
If You Want to Say Something…
So here is what I really want to say, if you are reading this and haven’t gone through a miscarriage, please don’t ask the gestation of their loss. Be there for her. Listen to her story. Tell that mom that she is so strong. Don’t make it about you or your comfort. Don’t try to justify the loss or death. Just listen. Be empathetic. Offer a hug. Show compassion.
If you have suffered a loss and someone asks your gestation, ask them if it matters? Tell them what you need. Or don’t say anything at all. I have learned that people don’t respond well when they don’t know what to say. Or when they are put on the spot and don’t have an answer. People want reasonings and justifications. But most of all they want to fix it. I usually tell people that my babies were loved so much. Even if I only had 2 months with them, the love my family and I have for them is enough for a full lifetime. When my time is up earthside, I know that they will be waiting to greet me at the gates of heaven.
Please know that your miscarriage matters. Even if it happened twenty years ago, it mattered. If it happened yesterday, it mattered.
It will always matter.
This is part 2 of my story of the pregnancy loss of my twins, describing the the hope, then pain endured within the space of my children.
My follow-up ultrasound was scheduled one week later; until then I would sit, wait, pray, hope, and wonder if my second baby would survive.
We came home from the hospital.
Home…
It felt empty.
The air felt cold.
I felt lonely.
I put on my brave mommy face and tucked my son in for the night. He knew something was different. I told him that I was fragile and I couldn’t lift him (he didn’t know his mommy had babies in her tummy). I had to protect Twin B and I was going to save my baby.
That night, I called my parents. This pregnancy was going to be a Thanksgiving surprise, but I needed them to know NOW. They live 4 hours away. This conversation was heartbreaking. My mom wanted to come to me that night, but I stopped her. But I kept telling myself everything was going to be ok. That is what I believed.
My husband was awesome. He took time off work, he sat with me in silence; we talked about how awesome it would have been to have two babies. About how awesome Twin B will know that he or she has their very own angel. We spoke about our faith, our life, our future, our children.
Following the doctor’s orders; I slept in, napped, binged on Netflix, no more running and exercising, I ate healthy and took short walks, I prayed so hard, I grieved my lost baby.
Within the Space of waiting…
That week went by painfully slow. I noticed the spotting stopped, so did my pregnancy symptoms. No more nausea, my hair was falling out, I was not as tired. But I kept the faith and thought it was my head playing games on myself…because Twin B was going to be fine. I read online that sometimes with twins one baby does not have a heart beat and the other does…then at the next ultrasound both are beating. Strong beats. Two healthy babies. I told myself “that was going to be my story”; I just knew it and I had to believe it!
My close friends checked in on me, brought us food, texted, all the love helped melt some of the loneliness away. But sometimes I didn’t want to talk, or didn’t reply to texts. Sometimes, I just hid in my room. Sometimes I just stopped being a mom. I didn’t feel worthy of the title “mom”. How could I?
Life went on and I was numb…
My son’s 5th birthday party was that weekend, we had 18 kids gracing us with their squeals and energy. We HAD to be ok. But I wasn’t. The party was planned, it was happening, so we got ready, and we were distracted. I was there in body, but my soul was dreading what was to come…
Ultrasound Day…
It was a Tuesday. The day I had my ultrasound. My husband came with me, despite asking (and knowing the answer), he was not allowed in. Not being able to help it, I cried during this ultrasound as well, this time the tears fell silently.
Without being able to help it, I stared at the technician who was taking a lot of pictures. She didn’t look at me one. She didn’t speak. Never asking how I was. She did nothing. While she was finishing, my crying became louder. Between sobs I asked…no, I pretty much begged, “is there a heartbeat?”. She said that she is not able to disclose any information and would need to have a radiologist look at the results. She quickly left the room, she just left. I knew…I just knew. Just before the door was closed behind her, I collapsed. I fell to the hospital floor. I cried and I cried loudly. From the floor, looking at the screen, it was blank. The computer was off. How cold she was that she couldn’t even give me a picture of my baby?? Literally, I have nothing from that day.
Never given the chance to say good-bye.
I ran out of there, sunglasses on, my husband knew. I needed out of there…again, having to run through a mass of people waiting in the Emergency room witnessing the second biggest loss of my life…I just wanted to be invisible. Inside I was screaming at everyone to stop looking at me. Panic, fear, so much immense pain.
Running to my car, my husband was a stride behind. My faith left behind.
It was over…when it had only begun…
In the car it was more crying…until I couldn’t cry anymore. We drove….just drove in complete silence. My husband called our doctor’s office, they booked me in immediately and we were to be seen in 2 hrs. We got there an hour early. My eyes were puffy and my sunglasses left on. We waited. More people looked at us while we waited. Babies, pregnant women, sick pre-teens, the elderly. We sat in silence. I have never felt so obvious, yet invisible at the same time.
Now, it was our turn. Our doctor told us the news we already knew. We are so damn lucky, we have a husband-wife medical team. They have empathy, compassion, and show comfort. On this day, we saw the husband. He offered his condolences, that’s when I realized, they were dead. Without any rush, he listened. He explained that we will never know why this happened, he told us that the baby appeared to grow further, but sadly died too.
We discussed what we would need to do. He stated that I had the option of a D&C (Dilate and Curretage) or let the miscarriage happen naturally. He explained that allowing myself to miscarry naturally may come with complications. Continuing to say, that I may only pass one baby or neither naturally. He left us with the information and stated that we would have another consultation with an OB who would explain the procedure, if we chose that path…there would be more waiting.
Our son needed us. He needed me.
After the appointment, we picked up my son from school. My husband went in (sunglasses still on) and my little guy came skipping to the car “hi mama!”. I could barely muster “hey baby”. We got home and I rushed to my bedroom. I held on to the ultrasound from the first scan, crying. Unable to do anything else.
While I was crying into my pillow, my little man came in with his daddy. Together we sat on my bed. I wiped my tears and my husband and I told him that mommy had babies in her tummy, but they died.
He was puzzled, this must have been so confusing for him. He asked where the babies were, we told him that they are in heaven. My son saw a painting of his hand that is hanging in my room he had given me the first few days of school. This picture is to represent the book “The kissing hand”. He kissed his palm and put it on my belly and said “my love will bring the babies back, right?”. We told our little, innocent, loving, happy-go-lucky, (almost) 5 year old that once you go to heaven; you can’t come back. It stung to tell him this truth. Looking at us, he said “ok…” and off he played. I am so grateful that he did this.
Another day, the same reality
Unfortunately, my nightmare wasn’t over. The next day was my consult with the OB to again discuss my “options”. When I arrived at the Dr’s office, I saw one of my closest friends, in the waiting room. She had no idea that ANYTHING had happened, but she knew something was up. She said, “you don’t look impressed…” I sat beside her and told her why I was there. She held me and we cried together until she was called in for her own appointment.
Then It was our turn. Meeting with the OB he was as good as he could have been; he explained the procedure and I stated that my husband and I had decided on proceeding with the D&C. The Doctor was very patient and answered my questions about the procedure and about the twins. He was confident that my babies were fraternal (which means there were two separate fertilized eggs). He also reiterated something that I had heard many times during this ordeal (though, not believing it) that “there was nothing (I) could do”. Sorry, but no matter how many times I heard that, it still doesn’t make me believe it. Of course, this didn’t make me feel better.
Continued to Within This Space Between My Children part 3…
Can we talk about post-partum after you lose a baby in pregnancy? I mean, how do you live after the loss of a baby?
When I was home after my losses, I found NOTHING on the internet that was remotely helpful when going through the post-partum grief. NOTHING. Friends or family didn’t know what to tell me. Or what they said wasn’t what I needed.
It was extremely frustrating. I knew that millions upon millions of other women have gone through similar experience, yet no one wants to talk about it. Well, I’m going to talk about it.
Let’s talk about the hormones
Let’s talk about the pregnancy hormones for a second…despite losing one of my two babies; I was still pregnant with my second baby. Pregnancy hormones + grief. Let’s try an organize that first. But wait, I was told and I knew that this second baby wasn’t going to survive, so let’s throw on a dash of hopelessness and a sprinkle of hope that the doctors are wrong! Let’s see what happens. Then, I was encouraged to stay calm, stay positive, stay healthy for baby number two…which they had already told me wasn’t going to survive. Talk about being absolutely confused in a place of already immense confusion.
Then my second baby died.
Here come the post-partum pregnancy hormones crashing down on an already overwhelmingly, oversaturated, immense feeling of guilt, grief, and shame.
It is so messed up. There I was, bleeding, crying, cramping, doing all the things that a woman who has just delivered a baby does. Then comes the leaking of the breasts. The hair loss (yep, that still happens). Then those post-partum hormones do a nose-dive. It was exactly like I had delivered baby, but without the babies.
Here’s what happens next…
Then about 4 weeks after that, Flo shows up. Yep, she’s a bitch! So just before that I was PMS’ing hard! You know, trying really hard to see how good things are, when really it’s complete shit!
By this point, my body doesn’t know up from down. I went from pregnancy highs and hormone lows, to grieving a baby and hanging on to hope for the survival of #2, to then post-partum hormones with the loss of two babies, to getting my period about a month that the ordeal began.
Riding the wave of emotion
To this day, I’m not sure how I walked out of it. What I want from writing about this is for anyone who has had to go through or is going through this to know… it sucks. This whole up and down wave riding sucks! Let it suck. Don’t let anyone tell you “it’s for the best”, or “you’ll get over it”, or whatever other “reasoning” someone wants to say to make themselves feel better… the roller coaster of emotions is real and it sucks!
Feel it.
Live it.
Survive it.
Once you come out of it, you will be a new person. What that looks like, I’m not sure. I just need you to read and know that it’s real. But mostly, you aren’t alone….YOU. ARE. NOT. ALONE! I am proof that you can live after the loss of your baby. It may not feel like you can, but yes you can and you will!
This is my story within the space of my children…This is the story behind Within This Space.
I am a mom to two amazing boys that are six and a half years apart. “Wow what a big age gap…”, is something I often hear, or “did you want such a big space?”… There was always going to be a gap. Now, there will always be a gap.
Here I go…
I didn’t want such a big gap. I always envisioned my first child going to school and then we would welcome baby #2. It didn’t go quite to plan. There is a big age gap between my two boys, because we have two other others. But they died.
When my second son was born, I should have been preparing for my twins’ first birthday party. But it never happened because they never came. They were never born.
Writing about them is therapeutic but it also makes me relive the trauma that I went through. That time was a very dark in my life; I honestly didn’t think that I was going to come out of it. I sound so dramatic, but the loss of a child (or in my case, two) it does something to you as a parent. It cuts you deep. It creates a wound so large that you know that the scar will be there forever. But there is something else there is a sense of self-betrayal. Your body betrayed you and those babies; it really messes with your head. The space between my children was large to begin with and with the loss, the gaping hole refused to close.
Of course, I know that I am not the first person to have a loss or even a multiple loss. Sadly, that offered me some comfort but also made me so incredibly sad.
This is my story…
I’ll take you back to August 2017, I took a pregnancy test and it was a big, fat, and FAST positive! Shaking and in complete shock, I couldn’t believe this was real. With my first son, I had several negative tests and only got a conclusive positive result after a blood test at 8 weeks pregnant.
Taking a deep breath, I walked down the stairs and my husband was sitting at the table with our almost 5 year old son, and shoved the test in his face. He looked at it, and then looked at me. He asked, “what’s this?”. I rolled my eyes and said “really?”. I sat on the couch, shaking, laughing, and crying. Looking at my clueless singleton son would not be a singleton any more. My husband and I sat on the couch hugging and crying, so happy in that exact moment. I had never seen my husband so excited.
Here we go, we thought!
That day and the weeks after, I went to work as usual with our little-big secret held tight between the two of us!
A month later…
I remember patting my belly saying “stay with me, I need you, I love you…stay with me”.
On September 18, 2017 almost a month after I took the positive test, it was an unusually warm day (also my nephew’s first birthday). My pants became so tight, I was limited in what I could wear to work.
That day, despite how warm it was I wore the only pair of pants that fit (thank you stretchy jeans). I was super hot and sweaty all day, super uncomfy. Remember, I was pregnant, so I peed…a lot. While in the washroom at work, I noticed blood. More than just spotting, there was blood. “What’s going on? No…no…”. I panicked…I paced and walked in circles in front of the toilet of my two-stall communal staff washroom,unable to breathe; unsure of what the hell to do.
Literally, running down the hall to my office, hoping no one would see me, a friend who I spilled the exciting news to saw me, following me into my office. She begged me to tell her what was wrong. I couldn’t speak. I just said “I’m bleeding”. She held me. She said “what can I do?” I told her to tell my boss I was leaving. Running to my car, unsure how my feet were moving, I left…
I was shaking. Somehow I managed to call my husband at work. He didn’t answer his cell, I started to panic. I called his office, again, not sure how I managed to spit out a sentence, I was short and told them to page my husband and find him right now, it was an emergency. He answered the page, I somehow managed to say “Get to the hospital”. I raced as fast as I could to my local hospital ( I worked in the city almost 40 minutes away). As I was driving, I remember patting my belly saying “stay with me, I need you, I love you…stay with me”.
We waited…
Waiting in line at Triage at the hospital…barely breathing and having people with their own emergencies looking at me and maybe wondering why I was there and what was wrong with me….my husband came. Finally. He held me. I cried, I lost it all. He was strong and I was not. My husband left me briefly at the hospital, picked up my son from school, and take him to our closest friends home where he could play and be loved (I will be ever grateful for them that day).
He returned and I was (finally) seen by a doctor and waited for what seemed to be forever before I had an ultrasound. My husband wasn’t allowed to come in; I had to do this alone. I was absolutely terrified.
Laying on the bed, I continued to cry as the ultrasound tech did her job. She was kind; I knew she was not allowed to tell me anything. I cried more as I laid there with the wand gliding across my stomach. That was it, feeling like brief moments but also feeling like it lasted forever, and it was over.
The nurses were so amazing and gentle with us. They took us to a private room and told us that there are some more tests and the doctor would see us soon. They took blood from me, offered me snacks, water, juice… I didn’t want anything.
I didn’t want to be there, I didn’t want to be in that moment, I didn’t want this to be real. This wasn’t supposed to be my story.
The moment where my reality became my hell
The Doctor came in. I could see it in his eyes and in his stance that he hates this part of his job. Sitting down, he let out a big sigh. He took a deep breath right along my husband and I, telling us the ultrasound showed that we had twins. “HAD”… that was it, the key word.
Sadly, Twin A did not have a heart beat and Twin B was alive, but the heartbeat seemed quite slow. He told us that we could be hopeful but also prepare to lose Twin B. At that moment, the room started to spin and I sobbed. Unable to comprehend what he was telling me. “Devastated” is the only word that I can describe that moment. He put his hand on my shoulder offering his condolences, he ordered me off work and put me on bedrest. He asked me if I needed anything, between breaths, I asked for my ultrasound picture.
Thank god they gave me my ultrasound picture because it’s all that I have of being a mom of twins. I stared at the picture in disbelief. I shook my head, almost to wake me up from this dream and told my husband that we had to leave. But first, I had to walk out of that Emergency Room with all the peering eyes watching me stumble into my new world, and prepare for what was next…
Continued on Part 2 of Within The Space of my Children..
