My youngest sister tagged me in a post this morning. It’s October, I was unaware that October is pregnancy and infant loss awareness month. I’ll be honest, she has been the first one to mention me in relation to anything about “miscarriage” before. It got me thinking and it got me reading… I am 1 in 4.
In regards to this particular topic, I last left you where I found out I miscarried and had to terminate the pregnancy. The first lot of medication I took didn’t work as well as it was supposed too. I made the impromptu decision to be part of a trial. This trial was ran to determine wether or not the first tablet you receive to start miscarriage was really relevant or not. Turns out its a lot relevant. The only reason I chose to take part of this trial was because it meant I could go home. It meant that after the second lot of tablets were pushed into my cervix that I could go home and let whatever was going to happen happen.
A few days after returning home I had to go back for another ultrasound. To make sure I had passed the gestation sac from my womb. I remember being at home and in bed that weekend when I left hospital the second time, I remember the cramps and taking coidene and paracetamol every four hours, I remember thinking that it wasn’t so bad, that I thought it would be more uncomfortable than it was. The main reason behind that was because, well the gestation sac occupying my womb was still there. The first round of the medication hadn’t worked. It hadn’t worked because I chose to take part in that stupid trial. The trial where one of the tablets was more than likely a placebo. So something that should of been over with in three to four days ended up taking almost a fortnight. Something I was so happy to be able to do in the comfort of my own home, I was going to have to do in a hospital after all anyway.
I had never been admitted to hospital, ever. I had never been to hospital for anything, since birth. Then there I was, with my overnight bag packed with spare clothes, pyjamas and my phone charger in hospital waiting for the second lot of tablets to be shoved into my cervix again. The first tablet I took orally again after my second ultrasound. I remember sitting in the hospital bed on that Monday morning in November just wanting it all to be over with. I was tired. I was so tired of coming back and forth to hospital, I was so tired of not telling my family because what difference did it make now if I did? I was tired of speaking to doctors and signing forms and hearing the same information over and over again. I’d had enough of the whole damn thing.
I spent 13 hours in hospital. I went 13 hours the closest to labour I had ever felt. I spent 13 hours writhing in pain. I had 13 hours of coidene and liquid morphiene at various intervals. I tackled 13 hours of being unable to walk on my own. I don’t even want to know how much blood I lost. I felt terrible, I looked terrible. And still, my womb wasn’t empty. Nurses were using words like “monitor”, “theatre” and “remove”. I think by this point it was passed dark outside and I just wanted to sleep. I was so out of it, I didn’t really know what was happening. I was lay on a bed hidden by a curtain, naked from waist down. There were three nurses and a doctor, one nurse was stood by my head and she held my hand. What happened next, I can safely say was the most excruciating pain I have ever experienced as a woman.
Then it was over. I was put under observation for a few hours and had more pain relief. I was prescribed some antibiotics to take for a week or two to prevent infection and then finally I could go home.
I fell pregnant accidentally. I haven’t tired to have a baby since. It’s a scary thought that miscarriage can happen more than once to the same woman. It petrifies me that it could happen to me again. I was six weeks pregnant with something that should of grew to be my baby. I kept track for those first nine months after it happened, to see how far along I would of been. I’ve never told anyone that before. There are still days now where I wonder, wonder what being a mother would of been like.
I am 1 in 4. My pregnancy mattered too.
Thanks for reading x