The Bean

He would have been three years old today. Or last week, or next week. I'm pretty sure he was a he, based solely on how different the pregnancies were. For example, in the first pregnancy I had no interest whatsoever in chocolate, which is drastically different from my usual life and definitely different from my pregnancy with Gwen, wherein eating Kit-Kat bars every morning was the only thing that prevented me from violently vomiting at precisely 9:30am every damn day.

Anyway. I have my amazing daughter, and to wish that I'd never miscarried would mean to wish that I didn't have Gwen. I can't possibly wish that. I wouldn't change any of what I've been through, with the exception of wishing to be more informed, before the fact, about what miscarriage could entail. And that's why I post this story; not out of a desire to be maudlin or overdramatic, but because miscarriage is far more common than we think, and we're subtly pressured not to talk about it for fear of scaring other would-be mothers. To me, what is more terrifying than the possibility of miscarriage is facing the reality of it and feeling alone, not knowing that what you're experiencing is normal, and that millions of women before you have gone through it too. I post this so that anyone out there who's going through the same thing, at any time, will know that she is not alone. (Warning: post linked is very graphic.)

I am at peace. I wish the same for all of you.

November 19th

Today is/was my original estimated due date.

This date has never been far from my mind, through all the events of the spring, summer, and fall. I asked Chris if he'd remembered what today was, but he doesn't have the head for dates that I do (which in this case is perhaps a blessing). He also said he's been so focussed on our "real" due date - which he quickly amended to "current" due date - that he's obliterated the other one from his mind, somewhat. I don't blame him for this at all, but I'm just not capable of doing the same.

I feel like I should mark today, somehow, but I don't know how other than acknowledging it here. I feel okay, really - a bit wistful and melancholy for what might have been, of course, but on the whole I am in a good place and I am confident and happy about our current pregnancy. I'm past 16 weeks now, which is all kinds of crazy - I've missed four periods, I'm nearly halfway there, we've heard the heartbeat and are soon to see the ultrasound and feel the baby kick. These things are a pretty solid consolation for dealing with the loss of our November baby.

But I also want to note here two other things that have helped me heal in the past six months. The first was using my skills as a singer/songwriter to compose the following, which I call "ftb" (for the bean).

The sun is setting, evening’s comin on
Stars are appearing, another day is gone
You are my little one, and I love you so
Gently rocking, sweetly singing, soft and low

So goodnight, my little one, goodnight
Hush now and close your eyes, everything’s alright
Soon I’ll have to let you go but now I’m holding tight
So goodnight, my little one, goodnight

You grew within me and brightened every day
Til the day they told me you had gone away
You left an emptiness that only time can fill
But here inside my heart you’re with me still

So goodnight, my little one, goodnight
Hush now and close your eyes, everything’s alright
Soon I’ll have to let you go but now I’m holding tight
So goodnight, my little one, goodnight

Bridge
I’ll never know the reason why
Before we said hello, we had to say goodbye
Our hopes and dreams will wait and then
Someday you’ll be with me again

So goodbye, my little one, goodbye
I’ll keep your memory close as the days go by
(Hush my dear one, sleep serenely, now my lovely, slumber deep)
(Mother rocks you, humming lowly, hush my dear one, go to sleep)
Now it’s time to let you go, no more holding tight
So goodbye, my little one, goodbye
Goodbye, my little one, goodbye

I don't know if I'll ever get to record it, as I can't get through it without breaking down. But it was important for me to write it.

The second thing was a miscarriage butterfly necklace from La Belle Dame jewelry. The instant I saw this necklace, I knew it would be an important piece of my journey. It was as if by wearing the necklace on the outside, I could let go of some of the pain I was carrying inside, and still feel that I was acknowledging and honouring the life and death of my first child, not forgetting it in the name of "moving on". I chose to have the November birthstone - topaz - added to the butterfly as well. There has rarely been a day since I received the necklace that I haven't worn it. Every once in a while I wonder when I will feel okay about not wearing it every day, but I am accepting of the fact that that day hasn't come yet.

So, those are my healing tools. Those, and talking/journalling. I hope if anyone else out there reading this has the same kind of loss, that these tools might be of help to you as well.

Miscarriage Story (Graphic)

As mentioned previously, my sister's two miscarriages were virtually painless. This one? Not so much. I've done a bit of reading on the net just to confirm that what I experienced has in fact happened to other women, and it has. I didn't know anything about "this kind" of miscarriage, and I really wish I had. At the same time, it's so taboo and unacceptable to talk about it, so I don't even feel comfortable passing this hard-won knowledge onto others, even in a filtered post, behind a cut, following this giant disclaimer.

Okay. Sometimes, when women miscarry, it's a blighted ovum. This means that the embryo never actually develops, and eventually the body will flush it out. I was very afraid of this, but this is not what happened to me. My baby developed normally from a blastocyst to an embryo and finally to a fetus. We heard it swimming around in the uterus at 10 weeks, and even caught the heartbeat for a fraction of a second. Chances of miscarriage after obtaining this "proof of life" are about 10%.

When miscarriage results from a blighted ovum, the amount of tissue or "results of conception" are fairly minimal. In my sister's words, "golfball-sized" at a maximum. In my case - and in many other women's cases, from what I've read - the miscarriage can be quite a different experience. What I experienced on Saturday evening was no less than a mini-labour. I had contractions, I had to push, I was grunting and moaning and obeying my body to get the baby out. And when it finally came out, it was immediately apparent what had happened - I could feel it ~slithering~ out of me. (Sorry, I warned you this was graphic.) It was without a doubt the strangest thing I've ever felt. But I was immediately filled with relief, because that was unmistakably *it*, and that meant the pain and the ordeal was over. It was done.

We had done it.

It was large, this fetus, this thing that had been living and breathing and swimming inside me only a week before. It was a little larger than my fist. No wonder it was so much effort to expel it.

I write all of this because I didn't know miscarriage could be like this. I wasn't prepared for this. I'm grateful that Chris and I had the four days prior to the actual miscarriage to get through the emotional stuff. By the time Saturday night came, with its intense pain and confusion, we were able to deal purely with the physical aspects. Which demanded our full resources anyway.

I was glad I had read so many birth stories online. Once I started listening to my body and admitting what was really happening - "Oh. The reason my body hurts, then feels okay again, then hurts again, is that I'm having fucking contractions" - it got easier. Once I stopped hiding my pain from Chris and instead asked him to come support me, first by rubbing my back, then by pulling my arms and talking me through the contractions, once I let myself feel free to make the noises and get in the positions I needed to - it was a lot better. I felt that I was in control of the situation, and my body was in control of what it was doing, and I just had to keep up with it. I described it all to my sister and she said I was like a pro, and that labour "for real" would be much easier. I've already got those pushing muscles totally nailed - I hope I don't forget them in the next year or so.

Anyway, there's a lesson for any of you who didn't know. Sometimes miscarriages are a lot harder than they make them out to be in Hollywood or on soap operas. I've even read accounts from women who've experienced both miscarriages and full-term births and say that the former is far more difficult physically (as well, obviously, as emotionally). So I've just had a crash course. Hopefully before too long I'll get to experience the real thing.