Reacurring Miscarriage

"Really, the way to get over a miscarriage is by having a baby”. My kind, purple hair, physician
explained to me. And I couldn’t agree more.

I opted against stopping at Megs to use the bathroom after getting off of the camp bus, so it was a rather hurried drive home. I was headed to a job fair in Burns Lake the following day, so I thought I’d indulge in a nights' sleep at home. And this is when it started. The relief that came from emptying my bladder quickly formed into fear at the pit of my stomach a small stream of blood pooled in the toilet after.  It didn’t happen at home, or on my work trip in Toronto, no, it happened at work in camp. But I think back to that moment and the idea that I made this happen still haunts me.

I urge Mike to help me escape our reality so we head towards Smithers. Along the way, Mike suggests we hike China Knows (or China Nose, you choose), a hike that has always been talked about, but we’ve never actually done. It’s a fairly gentle and six kilometer hike round trip.

And each step I take is harder than anticipated, and despite the heavy breathing and aching quads, I can’t get out of my own head. I can’t focus on being outside. I’m not appreciating the wind relieving us from the sun, because I'm angry. I am so mad. It’s like purchasing a red car and then suddenly seeing them everywhere: I see pregnant women everywhere and so many new mothers. I openly admit to my massage therapist how much I resented those shitty, undeserving parents who have children. It's hard not hate everyone and their petty problems. Days ago, Mike and I were perfectly fine swimming in the river, and then something shifts and takes me back to the realization I am no longer pregnant and I become quiet, because, out of nowhere, I became angry.

Finally, we make it to the top of the mountain, where the hike quite literally ends, leaving us at a cliff with the vast view of trees that are so far away they look like green icing tips and we use binoculars to see sheep scattered throughout the rocks. I would like to say the hike was gratifying and the site made me forget about my grief, but instead I feel defeated and hostile.

And then Mike starts hocking up loogies and spitting them off the hundred foot drop. I stand there baffled as his spit ball goes up instead of down, narrowly missing the both of us, and I laugh.  I start collecting saliva in my mouth and let out a slimy snot ball and I cannot believe the wind is that strong that these balls of grossness defy gravity and keep coming back as us. Mostly, I can’t believe he knows how to do this as I’ve never thought to do as a child. We do this for, at most, seven minutes, sharing and enjoying a beer to get more saliva. And for seven minutes, for the first since I woke up in camp bleeding, for the first time it was confirmed that I had miscarried, I forget the destruction of this loss. For a few moments, I forget to obsess over the future. I forget that I’m devastated.

We cut our trip short and head home not long after because I’m feeling unwell. After an emergency visit and a few rounds of blood work, my purple haired physician confirms that my HGC (pregnancy) hormones were not nearly as low as they should be. She explains that I need to take medication to empty out my uterus. I gently push back. Can we can wait a few more days to see if perhaps my body absorbs the remains? She would rather not wait, in that not taking the Mifegymiso could lead to having to have a physical abortion (Dilation and Cuettage (D&C) later on. So I agree.

The summer is not a convenient time for mental health issues. Combined with the season and Northern BC, well, much of Canada, having a shortage of mental health support, after a few weeks, I finally get in to speak with a Counsellor. I tell her that I’m angry and I want some tools to help me stop. I can hardly withstand hearing about the struggles of my own people, the issues that my handful of people I love, let alone dealing with concerns and issues for those at my job. She tells me that I need to feel and that I need to grieve this loss. She explains that four weeks is not a very long time to go through all that I’ve gone through.

So I feel and I grieve. While running on the Museum Trail I see big letters chalked on black rocks: Dad. I run past them simultaneously breathing hard and chocking on my own sobs until I finally rest my hands on my knees to let myself cry. It seems I cry all the time now.

My sister thinks this has been difficult because for so long I didn’t want to procreate. I didn’t feel the need to pass down my anxious and at times, irresponsible bloodline, and I never felt the necessity to leave behind a legacy. It wasn’t until I met Mike that I realized I wanted to have his child. This was a decision that we consciously made.  I’ll see a mother back packing with her tiny human and it will only reconfirm my desire to have my own, except it seems my body won’t let me.  I know that there are so many silver linings I could take from this loss: that my body made the decision for me, so I wouldn’t have to. With enduring this, it really confirms that I want to have a child. Now I can appreciate Canadian healthcare with legal abortion. There are options: Surly I could adopt.

But, I don’t need silver linings. I need examples of people who have gone through this and how they came out okay. I not only want to know why this happened (and my Doc with purple hair is working with me on this, so I don’t need opinions from non-professionals), but I want to talk to people who have survived this. What I need is for people to tell me how they got through this, with or without the end result being a newborn, and that they are okay, because right now, I am not.

I’m talking about this because when Mike told me that everything would be okay I looked at him and asked him if he knew anyone who has had two miscarriages without having children prior to this. His respnose was no, and mine too, but I guess now we both know.

Kirstin

Getting Pregnant and Staying Pregnant are two different things.