This most recent loss is fresh and feels like a recurring bad dream. Just two weeks ago, I peeled myself out of bed having been laid up with both morning sickness (which is all-day-long for me) and a covid infection for the best part of a week. I had an appointment with my OB; I was seven weeks and two days gestation but due to having two previous miscarriages she was careful to book in regular scans from early on in the first trimester. Heading to the clinic alone as we’d all had Covid and Remy thus couldn’t join me, I was nervous. When I walked into the waiting room it felt like deja vu. The OB called me in with a smile and before long she was squeezing the cold lubricant on my belly and running the ultrasound. This time I could instantly see the sac, the yolk sac, and a little fetus! Better yet, we detected a heartbeat. “This is great news” the OB told me in French. I was ecstatic, overwhelmed with emotion, and let out a couple of tears. Despite having been completely wiped out with Covid, the baby was healthy, measuring in at 5.4mm. We recorded the heartbeat and pictures to share with Remy later. The OB booked me in for a follow up in 10-days; she still wanted to keep a close eye on development due to the history.
Finally, normal growth and a heartbeat! Everything was on track at 7 weeks 2 days.
I rushed out of the hospital and called Remy with the good news. We were both overwhelmed with emotion. What a relief. Back home, I continued the pregnancy-safe anti-nausea pills I’d been to manage the nausea and went back to resting most days with all the ‘positive’ signs of a healthy pregnancy: fatigue, nausea (the pills take the edge of and make it possible to eat something but the nausea never really goes completely away), constipation, and a growing belly.
Come Tuesday, we were just about to reach nine weeks gestation. Remy joined me to visit the OB, excited to see his baby finally. He hadn’t been to the clinic since the last miscarriage and deliberately sat in a different chair in the waiting room. Not that we’re particularly superstitious, but there was certainly some lingering trauma. The OB called us in and before long I was in the chair having the external ultrasound. I knew instantly something was wrong, as what should have been an easy-to-see and bigger-than-last-time baby was looking like a bit of ‘mush’ next to the visible yolk sac. I heard Remy sag his head into his hands sitting in the chair behind me. Not again, I thought. The OB mentioned that this machine was not as powerful as the one we’d used in a different room just 10 days before, but I wasn’t buying it. She went in for an intravaginal scan and sure enough, the baby had begun to dissipate and there was certainly no heartbeat anymore. We’d lost another one. What the actual fuck?
Another round of Misoprostal at home. Sage was there to help me through the pain.
No tears came to me at first. I had always said that if it happened again, we’d know what to do and know that we could get through it. Grief comes in waves, though, and it has really started to hit me a couple days on. Due to the complications of the previous pregnancy, I am no longer able to consider a curette. Had I have opted for one whilst tissue was attached to the artery, the procedure could’ve eventuated in massive hemorrhaging and, at worst, death for me. Being at risk of infection if we wait too long for the body to kick off the miscarriage itself, and, just wanting to get it done, I took Misoprostol once more. This time around, the pain was much more intense, quite like being in the early stages of labor. The bleeding came furiously by nightfall after several hours of contractions, and I passed – I think – most of the lumps on this first night.
Two days later, I was left feeling the depths of these losses. Three in a row now seems unusual. We have testing scheduled with the OB once I heal to see if we can identify the possible cause of the recurring miscarriages. As I have had two normal pregnancies, and seem to get pregnant in a whiff, it doesn’t seem to be a fertility or age/egg issue. I hope we can discover what the problem is and have options for solutions. But there’s also the realization that life is unpredictable, and creating life is – indeed – a miracle.
I know we will get through this. I know future pregnancies will come with anxiety and possibly even more trauma. But I hope that we will one day hold our baby in our arms and bring him or her into our adventurous, loving family.
I chose to write about my experiences because, first and foremost I am a writer and I find it healing. Secondly, Voyage Virage is about the twists and turns of life. It’s about following the winding path and experiencing life holistically. Life is not the endless set of curated moments you see on Instagram. It is full of moments that bring a whole spectrum of emotions, and not every moment needs to be joyful for life to be fulfilling. And I also chose to write about my experiences because there is so much stigma around miscarriage. Women often suffer alone. Though miscarriages are extremely common, recurring miscarriages are less so. Yet, there are many out there who experience them, and I have seen that coming together to share our stories helps in healing and moving forward.
