I'm Not Angry

When I published the recap of my day miscarrying in the emergency room, there was a surprising response from some of my readers. I'm sure everyone who read the story probably felt in some way indignant at my mistreatment and neglect by the emergency room staff that day. Even I, while writing about it, felt some of those feelings myself. Some suggested that I report it to the hospital or even seek retribution or litigation for it. Surely, I should want justice for having to endure such treatment at such a sensitive and difficult time.

I really, truly appreciate every bit of support I've received from my readers and friends regarding my miscarriage. I really needed that support, and probably still do need it. The emotional reactions we all felt to what happened were natural human reactions. Something wasn't done right, and it needs to be fixed. It's an instinctive response.

So here's the deal: nothing can fix what happened. I'm not saying that to be depressive or negative in some way. It's the simple truth. What happened, happened, and I'm actually not upset toward anyone about it. I never felt angry toward the overwhelmed emotionless doctor or the snickering nurses. I didn't feel upset that they basically ignored me while I miscarried right there in the ER bed. It's strange. I guess I should feel some of those things, but I don't.

I understood the circumstances, and I actually empathized for those people who were supposed to be entrusted with my care. I knew they were overwhelmed with a full emergency room that day, even before I was given a bed. I knew from the moment I got in there that the doctor was in the ER for the first time ever, and I didn't expect to be emotionally supported by him when he was essentially on a crash training course. I went there for an ultrasound. I never expected to fully miscarry right there, and I'm sure the hospital staff didn't expect it either.

They offered me the care they knew how to. They suggested treatments which I declined even before I was officially diagnosed, and they probably didn't know what to do with me because I really didn't want or need any medical treatment for a naturally occurring event that just so happened to take place in their territory. They certainly were not OB specialists and didn't know what an obstetrician would do under the circumstances. They referred me to my obstetrician because of this. They made assumptions of what the OB would probably do, but those assumptions were wrong. How were they to know that?

A few weeks after the fact, I spoke with a friend of mine who is a labor and delivery nurse. She told me that they don't routinely do D&C's on women who are miscarrying, and that the emergency department probably wasn't even aware of how the labor and delivery department would handle it. They were acting out of the knowledge and training they'd had, and it was in no way perfect for the situation.

Seeking financial retribution would be pointless and wouldn't fill the emotional pain of having a miscarriage. That pain would be there regardless of where or how it took place, and trying to get revenge on those who happened to be there with me at the time wouldn't serve any purpose to me. Yes, part of me would like to sit down with the group of individuals who interacted with me that day and let them know just how it felt to be in my shoes. Maybe that would help them be more sympathetic to the next woman who comes in with a similar situation.

I also realize that the hospital staff were practicing defensive medicine the entire time I was under their care.

• I came in for an ultrasound and they inserted an IV before anything else was done. They were preparing for the worst, which would have likely been ectopic pregnancy requiring immediate surgery or a miscarriage requiring surgical intervention. All they knew was that I was pregnant and bleeding. Telling me they might need to give me fluids, in my opinion, was a load of bunk. I really don't think that's what they were preparing for. They were assuming the worst, which I suppose is their job. I saw it, I knew what was happening as it happened. I guess that's why I'm not mad. I didn't feel fooled by anything.
• Not letting me have anything to eat or drink. This was the worst part of my treatment, in my opinion. I was bleeding and hadn't had any nourishment for hours. What I really needed was something to keep me stable and healthy, but they wouldn't give it to me because once again they were assuming the worst. What if they had to send me to the OR? What if I had to be put under general anesthesia? They couldn't run the risk of my having anything in my stomach “just in case”. I knew I didn't need any of those things, and I needed to eat. But once again, defensive medicine called the shots.
• Refusing to take out my IV. Now this was just stupid. The same rules apply. They were sending me to my OB for follow-up care. “What if her OB decides to draw more blood or do a D&C?” I guess logically it made sense that the OB's office could just take it out for me, especially since I was only walking next door, but that didn't happen. It was easy enough to remove it myself when I had to.

I guess what my story shows is how defensive medicine can fail. Sure, if my case had been the worst-case scenario the hospital's legal behinds would have been covered by their defensive medicine. But it wasn't. It was a natural miscarriage needing no intervention, in which case the so-called “care” provided was horribly sub-par.

My story resembles so strongly the active management of the labor and birth of an otherwise healthy mother and child in the hospital. Every day expectant women are subjected to unnecessary interventions “just in case” which increase their risks and deprive them of the nurturing loving support they need and deserve. Whether it be induction, epidural, continuous fetal monitoring, restriction to bed, no food or drink, or even cesarean section: all are done routinely for the sake of defensive medicine. Now, that makes me angry!

Approaching Pregnancy After Miscarriage - Personal Feelings

I've entered an entirely new area in my life.  I lost a pregnancy just a few months ago.  It was my 6th pregnancy, and my first miscarriage.  I wrote as a form of therapy about the entire experience, even as I was going through it.  It's a long story, filled with a roller coaster of physical and emotional turmoil.  There was healing even in the midst of the turmoil, and even though it was a very difficult thing to experience, I felt I was blessed and able to learn and grow from it.  Even though I still didn't understand why it had happened, I was able to find some meaning in it.


What's surprised me is how my feelings toward pregnancy have changed.  I've experienced nervousness before, wondering whether I was pregnant, whether we were ready for another baby at that time, reflecting on how I would handle pregnancy and one more child.  I remember being most nervous with my first pregnancy, but I also had a sort of ignorant bliss.  As informed as I thought I was, I really was ignorant when it came to pregnancy and birth.  I was 21 years old and embarking on a completely new life experience.  It was something I had wanted and hoped for since I was a little girl, a fulfillment of dreams and goals.  There was a mystery and wonder to it all, and I was mostly fearless.


I had 5 wonderful mostly uneventful pregnancies, all ending with full term healthy babies.  I had amazing birth experiences and learned how strong and capable my body and spirit were to be able to carry several babies to term and to birth them all vaginally, and 3 of them without any pain medication.  I even birthed a breech baby at home!  I felt somewhat invincible when it came to pregnancy and birth.


After losing a pregnancy I find I'm questioning myself.  I know I'm capable, that confidence is still there, but there's a new element.  I wonder about a lot of things.  Will the next pregnancy stick, or will my body flush it out like the last one?  Is one miscarriage all I'll have to experience, or are there more in my future?  If I have to go through that again, do I really want to get pregnant?


For the first time in my life I wonder if my body is somehow broken.  I have an inkling of how a woman must feel when she's told her body is incapable of birthing on its own and she must have a cesarean.  I know it's a lie, and yet the feelings are still there.  


Why would my body work and then suddenly not work anymore?  It doesn't.  It's like when I asked my midwife how delivery of the placenta is achieved in a home birth without the aid of pitocin.  The response: "Why would your body be capable of doing everything itself only up until a certain point?  Why would you be able to birth your baby without medication only to need medication to get the placenta out?"  It doesn't suddenly stop doing what it's been capable of until that point.


So I'm not broken.  I know that.  But do I believe it?  Yes and no.  I realize, more than ever, that I'm not the one in charge.  I can do everything within my power to have a healthy pregnancy, and I could still miscarry for unknown reasons.  Does that mean my body messed up?  I don't think so, but I still don't understand how it works.  I guess it's not for me to understand.  Like I said, I'm not the one in control.


I don't want to try to get pregnant and I don't want to try to prevent pregnancy.  If I try to get pregnant I feel I might be setting myself up for another failure.  If I prevent pregnancy then I feel I'm denying my spirit and body what I know they need and can handle.  I know there's another baby to come to our family.  I just don't know how many pregnancies it will take to get her here, and I'm not sure I'm up to the task if it means experiencing more loss.


Maybe this article helps explain why I feel this way.  At least it gives me a little validation.

The Roller Coaster: Normal?

This is the eighth post in a special bi-weekly series.  It's a sequel to The Longest Weekend of My Life series.  Please check back next Saturday for Part 9.

Part 8: Normal?

Life seemed to normalize for the most part after I'd had my break down and gained some perspective.  The bleeding had turned to spotting, and in all it had only lasted a week.  


I consulted with my midwife, who said that the bleeding could have been any number of things.  She said my body could have been trying to have a period even though it was pregnant, or it could have been implantation bleeding.  I asked when implantation usually happened, and she said at 9 weeks.  I said “but my bleeding was from 6 to 7 weeks” and she told me my dates could have been wrong.  I hated that.  I had been told with my first pregnancy that my dates must have been wrong, and it felt like a slap in the face.  When I've been writing things on the calendar, tracking every single date, they have the nerve to tell me I was wrong?  I had to let it go, and realize that even though I had been tracking everything, my body might not have been doing what I thought it was doing when I thought it was doing it.  Apparently I didn't know my body as well as I thought I did, and that was a discouraging thought as well.


My midwife wanted me to move forward with the pregnancy as though everything were normal and healthy, and I just felt I couldn't do it.  Emotionally, I couldn't act like everything was fine when deep down I was still worried.  Yes, the worst seemed to have passed, but I still didn't really know whether or not I was still pregnant.  She wanted me to come to the monthly forum at her house, when I would be only 8 weeks along.  There would be no hope of getting a heart beat, even with a hand held doppler, at least until 10 weeks or more, and I saw no point in going through the motions until I had some kind of proof that things were still OK.


I was feeling occasional waves of nausea, but they were mild and at odd times.  Most of the time the nausea would hit just after I'd eaten a good size meal, and it would pass within a minute or so.  I was also feeling tired a lot, especially in the afternoon and evening, accompanied by great bouts of grumpiness.  More than one night I would lie down with my youngest 2 children to help them fall asleep, and end up falling asleep myself hours before I intended to go to bed.  This was common for me in early pregnancy, but I was still nervous to really believe I was still pregnant.


My husband had turned inward.  When we talked one night about the situation he told me that he couldn't even think about the pregnancy without considering all of the possibilities, which scared him.  I understood how he felt, because I was feeling the same emotions.  However, I felt alright talking about the situation, and felt that in some cases it was helpful for me to do so.  We had agreed early on that I could talk with whomever I felt I needed to, and he would deal with it in his own way.  The hard part was that I felt a disconnect with him because of this.  The closeness we had felt just a week or so earlier had turned into a chasm.  I felt that chasm wouldn't close or be filled until we had more information, and according to what I'd been told, that would take at least another 2 weeks to get.

Part 1: Looking Up

Part 2: Seeing Red

Part 3: Malaise

Part 4: Possibilities

Part 5: Break Down

Part 6: Support

Part 7: Perspective

Part 8: Normal?

Part 9: Hindsight

Part 10: Shift

Part 11: Empty

The Roller Coaster: Possibilities

This is the fourth post in a special bi-weekly series.  It's a sequel to The Longest Weekend of My Life series.  Please check back next Saturday for Part 5.

Part 4: Possibilities

When I got up Friday morning, I noticed the bleeding had lessened. It wasn't even as much as a normal period. I had no cramping, and still just a bit of aching in my lower back. I tried calling my midwife but her son told me she was at a birth, and I knew my chances of having a really good detailed conversation with her at that time were not good. I talked with my sister on the phone, who reminded me of the peace I'd felt throughout my experience, and reminded me to trust my feelings.

I also reached out to a friend who works as a labor and delivery nurse, for some feedback. She told me that I was probably alright, but I could be having a miscarriage. She said that if it were an ectopic pregnancy I'd most likely be in a lot of pain, which I wasn't. In either case I would be alright without seeking immediate medical attention. We talked for a while and she suggested that I could check in with my OB's office and see if they would recommend any blood tests or an ultrasound to check things out. With it being a Friday I didn't want to miss the opportunity to settle the matter before the weekend, and I definitely wanted to avoid having another Longest Weekend of My Life. I also thought about the fact that my OB's clinic has an ultrasound and lab right there on the premises, and wouldn't likely send me to the hospital for anything unless there were something imminently serious.

On the other hand, I didn't want to jump to conclusions and subject myself to unnecessary worry or testing. I prayed and decided that since the bleeding was less and I was mostly comfortable, I would wait, and I felt peaceful about my decision. In my prayer I also asked that if there were any reason I should seek medical attention, that I would have more pain or something to alert me to that need.

I felt the cramping increasing a bit. It had gone from just in my lower back and spread through my whole midsection. I put some yam balancing crème all over the achy parts, because that had always been helpful for menstrual cramps in the past, and I called my midwife. She was very calm and reassuring. She said that it could be any number of things happening. The first possibility was that it was a normal pregnancy with a period, and nothing wrong. Another possibility was that I could be miscarrying. It could be a single miscarriage or the miscarriage of a twin while the other remains viable. She also mentioned that it could be molar pregnancy or blighted ovum, where the body thinks it's pregnant and acts pregnant even though there's actually no actual fetus growing. It usually passes on its own. She told me that it's important to be open to all of these possibilities and not resign myself to a certain result. She said that the doctor wouldn't be able to do much other than run blood tests and such, and assured me that the best thing to do was to rest. I was tired, so that's what I did.

Part 1: Looking Up

Part 2: Seeing Red

Part 3: Malaise

Part 4: Possibilities

Part 5: Break Down

Part 6: Support

Part 7: Perspective

Part 8: Normal?

Part 9: Hindsight

Part 10: Shift

Part 11: Empty

The Roller Coaster: Seeing Red

This is the second post in a special bi-weekly series.  It's a sequel to The Longest Weekend of My Life series.  Please check back next Saturday for Part 3.


Part 2: Seeing Red

Thursday morning I noticed a slight brown tinge in my underwear when I went to the bathroom. I thought “OK, it could be nothing. Stay calm. Just watch and wait.” I pushed it to the back of my mind and went about my day. Later that afternoon however, I noticed blood, like the start of a period. I said to my husband (who was in the other room) “I'm bleeding” and he said “You're calling the doctor right now!”

I didn't want to call the doctor. In my mind I was telling myself that bleeding in pregnancy can be normal and harmless, and there was no reason to panic. Even as I thought this, my mind was also reminding me that bleeding during pregnancy was NOT normal for me! I had never had a period or any bleeding whatsoever during pregnancy before. I'd had 5 completely normal, uncomplicated pregnancies, with no bleeding! If it had been a stand-alone occurrence, without the events of the previous weekend, I might not have been so worried. However, with the situation I was in I didn't know what to think. I really didn't want to overreact and end up going through pointless tests and procedures for something that could be nothing. I also didn't want to be negligent and think it was nothing, only to have it turn into SOMETHING.

I started to dial my OB's office. My husband said “Are you calling the midwife?” I hung up and said “I don't know”, but I thought it was a good idea. I called my midwife's home and was told she was gone but could be reached on her cell phone. She answered and I explained the situation . She calmly told me that it could be nothing. She said that if it was time for my expected period I could just simply have the period and be fine. She said “You could still be pregnant, and it's safe to assume so unless you have reason to believe otherwise.”  She then said that she was at a prenatal appointment and asked if she could call me back in about an hour. I agreed, thanked her, and said goodbye.

Then I thought “What in the world did THAT mean?” I hoped she would call back and could explain things a little more clearly.

Part 1: Looking Up

Part 2: Seeing Red

Part 3: Malaise

Part 4: Possibilities

Part 5: Break Down

Part 6: Support

Part 7: Perspective

Part 8: Normal?

Part 9: Hindsight

Part 10: Shift

Part 11: Empty

Finally, to take a step without feet

by Amy

"This is love: to fly toward a secret sky, to cause a hundred veils to fall each moment. First to let go of life. Finally, to take a step without feet." -Rumi

I keep re-reading this quote, over and over.

This quote perfectly describes what the conception of this baby and this pregnancy is for me. It came out of so much sadness and heartbreak, after being pregnant for 12 weeks then suddenly no longer pregnant. After trying desperately to fill my womb again with another baby for more than half a year with no success. Desperately wanting to be pregnant, yet absolutely terrified at the same time.

This is love.

Facing your worst fears of painfully losing another baby because you love your unborn child so much, before it is even conceived.

To fly toward a secret sky.

Trying to conceive. You don't have the power to control it. It's deep, dark, secret. There's no way to see what goes on inside of your own body. Waiting, waiting to find out. Waiting and flying all the time towards that secret sky...

Then, not knowing if the baby you conceived is alive inside of you, or if it has died. Perhaps the sky is dark and secret for a reason.

To cause a hundred veils to fall each moment.

Realization dawns upon the secret sky. You cannot be in control. Struggling with faith, fear, doubt, and then faith again, while your baby silently forms in that secret place within your womb. Each moment brings a new wave of emotion, new thoughts, new fears.

First to let go of life.

I cannot control fate. The only way to escape the constant anxiety is to let go of life. Nothing is my own. Not my life. Not the life of my children. If it is possible to let go of life, it's possible to see everything in a new light. To breathe deeply just for the sake of enjoying a deep breath. To know that here, in this moment, I am breathing, I am alive, and everything is ok. My baby is alive and in the safest place she can possibly be at this moment. What happened yesterday or what happens tomorrow has no hold over the perfection of *this* moment, right here, right now. To let go of life means to truly live life, to soak up each second as it occurs.

Finally, to take a step without feet.

Birth.

What could be a more accurate description of birth but to take a step without feet?

This is what I am preparing for. The faith to take a step without feet.

We can pretend there is some control by managing birth, but really is that a substitute? A poor one, if anything.

Rosie's birth was two experiences.

On one hand, it was terrifying. The lack of control--both control of my body as it took over to give birth, and the control of myself I turned over to hospital staff.

It was no longer my choice whether I wanted to eat, drink, soak in the tub, stand up, or sit down. If my body told me to push on all fours, the hospital staff said no. They were in control. Over all, Rosie's birth was not terrible. I was still able to do as I pleased through 80% of the laboring period. But the other 20% where I was not able to made a huge difference. The anxiety caused by simply being in the hospital also had an impact. I had no control over who was in the room, no chance to make totally informed choices for myself or my child once she finally emerged. Her first days of life were in the control of hospital policies, not bonding or motherly instinct.

I was totally unprepared for the trip my body took me on. I couldn't get off if I wanted to. There was no stopping once it started. Contractions came, and I knew they were coming, and I had no way of changing that. Pushing happened, and no one warned me that it felt like throwing up...only in reverse.

I realized something important during this. My body is extremely powerful. It knows something that I don't. It knows how to create a baby in a secret place. It doesn't need instructions from mankind to know how to grow a human being. It just does it from some ancient source of knowing. My body can create a fully formed human being, and if it is capable of that my body is also capable of birthing the human being it created. If my body can create a baby without any instructions needed, it certainly must know how to birth a baby in the same manner.

I could tell, as I was in labor with Rosie, that my body had taken over. Everything was different. Pain registered differently. Time warped. I went somewhere else, either deep within myself or outside of myself. I'm still not sure which. This was the second experience. Something powerful within myself, something I did not know previously existed.

While I was in labor I realized that I had made a terrible mistake by subjecting myself to the hospital. Every time I would get to that amazing deep place, that time warped world, I would be forced back to reality where pain was sharp and intense and anxiety was magnified. It was such a stark contrast. At one point it was so startling that my body reversed progress, from 8 cm back down to 6 cm. No wonder so many women have labor that stalls.

It was the hospital policies that kept causing this to happen. I would have to regularly be violated with a cervix check. Regular time spent in the bed strapped to the monitors for 15 minute periods. People were coming in and out of the room. Lights were too bright. Eventually, against my will, I was forced to get out of the water and lay naked on the bed with my feet in the air and strangers standing around. That safe place vanished completely.

I kept catching glimpses of that place, the time warped world where the pain changes to some sort of ecstatic level of being. It wasn't frightening there. It was powerful, and overwhelming, but it was right. It was where my body--the same body who knew how to grow the baby without any instruction--was trying to take to me in order to birth the baby it had created. The birth was to be the completion of the instructions my body was carrying out, the final step in creating my baby. The finishing touches, so to speak.

You can have a final product without the finishing touches, but is it all that it could have been?

What happens to your body when the instructions are prevented from being followed properly?

Things go wrong. It hurts.

It's painful. It's not supposed to be that painful.

This time, for this birth, I know better. I'm preparing myself to reach the secret place with the ecstatic feelings and the time warp. This time, I'm going to stay there.

I understand now why women need drugs to give birth. The drugs are a cheap substitution for that place. Either use drugs, or suffer horrific pain. That is the choice you have when outside forces prevent your body from completing the final bit of instructions it has been carefully following for the past nine months.

I will not make that mistake again.

There is a third choice, aside from the drugs or the pain, that mainstream society has forgotten. It's been traded for efficiency, for the sake of being modern, for technology, for the illusion of control.

The third choice is still there, still available to choose.

In our modern society there are always voices asking, "what if..."

But what good do those voices do? Seeds of doubt, fear, anxiety. Women love to share horror stories, tell you how much it hurts.

Those feelings cause tension. Tension causes your muscles to tense up. What hurts worse than tensing up a muscle that is working hard to gently open?

I'm purposefully letting those thoughts of "what if..." go. Those thoughts of my own, and of others. "What if..." will be what it is. I'll deal with that if it happens, when it's happening. I have a midwife I trust who will be there, quietly waiting without interference, to recognize a "what if" situation, and that is enough for me.

"What if..." is a lot less likely to happen when my body is allowed to follow the final instructions, to give birth with myself safely tucked deep into that place.

My body knew how to grow the baby. My body will know how to birth the baby.

Finally, to take a step without feet.

*****

"In my experience as mother and midwife, birth is more like a labyrinth than a runway.

When walking a labyrinth, sometimes it looks as if we are going away from the center, even backwards. Yet, eventually all of the twists and turns bring us to the destination. Progress cannot be measured in that realm. What is important is the journey because, once arrival at the center is achieved, there is the walk to get back out again. If you give up, you might feel lost, for in the Western myth of the labyrinth, the Minotaur at the center holds the secret of how to transform fear into the power to give birth.

Without meeting the Minotaur in the center of the labyrinth, that is, confronting our innermost fear, the way back may be more confusing. Tragically, when some women keep trying to avoid the Minotaur, they never make it back..."

--Jeannine Parvati Baker