Emotional Aftermath of Miscarriage – One Woman’s Story

So I dedicated one entire (long-ass) post to just the physical part of my miscarriage.  Today is a good day for me, so I thought that maybe I could delve into the emotional aftermath of my miscarriage.  True Beanie fashion to take a good day and ruin it with sadness and tears.

I hope this entry is shorter.

Of course, I was happy happy happy during the pregnancy.  I think there was always a part of me that thought something would go wrong.  I’m a Negative Nancy, but a realist as well.  I have PCOS.  I had to use fertility medications and treatments to get pregnant.  I’m diabetic.  All of these put me at high risk for miscarriage.  So I researched and researched some more.  I constantly stared at my ultrasound photo to see if I could see anything inside the gestational sac that would ease my mind about impending doom.  Some days I was alright, other days I wasn’t.

Just before I’d gotten my BFP, I remember having a dream.  In my dream, I was at the RE’s office and Dr. C had taken my blood.  She came out of her office and told me “Beanie, now you can breathe.”  It was a day or two later and I found out I was pregnant.  The same thing happened around the time of my miscarriage… only in that dream, the doctor was confirming my miscarriage.

So many tears.  As was expected, I cried while in the ER.  I cried during the horrific, traumatizing ultrasound.  I cried when we had confirmation that I was miscarrying.  I cried for days.

… And then I didn’t cry every hour… instead, maybe just once a day.  And then the daily cry was every second day, then to a couple times a week.  You might think I’m insane – but my lack of crying scared me.  I was terrified that I was moving on too quickly.  I didn’t WANT to stop crying.  I didn’t want anyone to think I wasn’t still sad – cause I was.  I did not want to move on from my Bumble.  My confusion of how I was feeling caused me to lash out at Cody.  Since he wasn’t crying, I accused him of forgetting about our baby.  When his mom didn’t call me to ask how I was doing, I called her a wench and cussed out the rest of his family*.  I felt that they were insensitive to me, and clearly they didn’t care about Bumble.  He was only 7 weeks old when we lost him, and apparently it didn’t matter to anyone but me.  Everyone else was acting like he never existed… like I was never pregnant.

I don’t help my case.  For the most part, no one could comfort me since no one knew I was pregnant.  How could I tell people I was going through one of the worst moments of my life when they didn’t even know I’d been expecting to experience the best moment in August 2014?  However, one day my friend Corrine sent me a Facebook message.  She told me that she’d had a miscarriage and that things were really rough for her.  Initially I was shocked and put off – the jealousy of her and her husband trying and being successful was sneaking through.  Then I was really sad for her.  In that moment, I broke my silence.  I told her I’d had a miscarriage as well.  Turns out we miscarried within days of each other.  I’m so thankful that Corrine confided in me.  She is so brave to talk about her miscarriage.  She helped me without even realizing, I’m sure.  After I told Corrine, I told her sister (my BFF!)… and then I told my cousin.  They are all women who I’m close to and who didn’t even know we’d successfully gotten pregnant in the first place.  And they were all so supportive once they knew we lost Bumble.  If anything, I need to realize I’ve had the same friends for 25 years for a reason.  They are there when they are needed.  I don’t know why I keep forgetting that.

Another couple of weeks passed and all of a sudden it was time for our trip to Iceland!  I’d been looking forward to the trip for a long time.  It was time for Cody and I to go away and get back to being ourselves.  We both had an amazing time and I didn’t want to leave. At one point I was starting at some mountains and I said to Cody: “How could anyone expect me to want to go back?  I’m the happiest I’ve been in a long time… why would I want to change that?”

Reykjavik helped me.  Cody and I (stupidly) planned an excursion where we’d be climbing a glacier.  Friends, it’s a lot f-word harder than it sounds.  I am NOT in shape.  I was climbing that glacier, Cody by my side and I decided I wasn’t going to make it all the way up.  Wheezing, I told Cody that I needed to go back down.  He tried to tell me we were almost at the top (we were not), but I just couldn’t do it anymore.  He looked at me and said OK.  I told him to keep going, but he said he wasn’t leaving me.  If I needed to go back, he was going with me.  Our guide saw us falling behind and I had my out… but I didn’t take it.  I climbed, and wheezed, and cussed, but I made it.  And as cliché as it is, I saw this as a turning point.  I never give myself enough credit – I can handle more than I think.  Sometimes I just need to push through the unpleasant moments.

As a side note, if you ever want to visit somewhere, Iceland is it.  It was beautiful, the people were amazing, the food was delicious.  I’m actually changing my 5 year plan.  Instead of selling our house and buying a farm, I am going to learn to speak Scandinavian, move to Iceland and teach.  Seriously, I was so happy while in Reykjavik.  I felt peace.

We came home and I had more moments of sad.  We put two and two together and realized we’d tied our trip and “moving forward” together.  Coming back to Canada meant we were going to start trying again.  Trying again meant more doctors, more tests, medications, ultrasounds.  I was – and still am – scared.  I am ok with trying again… I just don’t want Bumble to think I’ve forgotten him.  Or that he can be replaced.

So to sum it up, I guess presently I’m a mix of emotions:  Sad I’ve lost Bumble.  Pissed off at my out in-laws.  In love with my husband.  Happy to be home.  Missing Iceland.  Hopeful for another (healthy) pregnancy.  Wishing I didn’t have to think about a new pregnancy.


* My in-laws are mean.  I don’t know if it’s deliberate, but they have a way of making me feel awful all.the.time.  No one contacted me about the miscarriage.  I didn’t hear from anyone or see them until we were sitting at their kitchen waiting for them to drive us to the airport.  It was at that time that two of my three sister-in-laws decided to blurt out that two of their cousins are pregnant.  But one of them was “having issues” and didn’t think the baby would survive.  I sat in silence, holding back tears when my husband looked at me and said “What’s wrong?”.  I wanted to sucker punch him.  And them.  I got on the plane that night and tried not to bawl my eyes out.

Whine, No Cheese

First, I had a miscarriage.

3 weeks later, I caught a cold.  No biggie… except that it had literally been 2 years since I’d had a cold, so it was a little rough.

I then went on vacation, came home and experienced an unexpected, unprepared for migraine that made me puke my face off for a couple of hours.  That was new.

Now, I have bronchitis (which is apparently just a fancy way to say “chest cold”) with the inability to actually produce phlegm.  And a swollen uvula.  Just so we all know, the uvula is the dangly thing at the back of your throat.  Not a lady part.

Yes.  Woe IS me.

Oh, but wait.  Didn’t Canada just whoop some ass at the Olympics?  Yes.  Yes we did.

Well, that makes me feel a little better.


* Obviously a cold, migraine, and phlegm combined could not compare to the pain of my miscarriage.  But being sick is never fun, I’m getting minimal sleep and I’m whiney.  So why not blog about it?

** I have a lot of Canadian pride.  And a pretty competitive side to my personality….

A 2629 Word Essay Detailing My Miscarriage :-/

DISCLAIMER:  First, this might obviously be a trigger.  It is the story of my miscarriage – in detail.  Second, I just looked down and I’m at over 1800 words.  And I’m not even close to being finished….. so I might lose ya.  Sorry!  Make that 1942 words…

I think it’s finally time for me to tell my story.  Or continue my story, I guess.  Afterall, it ain’t over yet!

I’m going to rewind and start from December 5th, 2013.

I took a pregnancy test around 10AM that day.  I didn’t think I was pregnant and was really only taking the test so that I could be miserable and cranky and tell my husband that we could drink our faces off over the holidays.  I took the test in the bathroom and went and waited in my room, on my bed, the allotted 2 minutes.  I walked into the bathroom and grabbed the test off of the side of the tub and looked.  I couldn’t believe there were two pink lines.  I’d only once ever seen a second line and I’m pretty sure it was an evaporation line.  Anyway, I almost dropped the test, said “Really????” out loud like 53 times, cried, and then read the instructions for the test again, cause I was sure I was somehow reading it wrong.  I then debated calling my husband and telling him, but then remembered that I wanted to tell him in a special way.  Well, after 4 minutes, that went out the window and I called him at work and screamed “I’m pregnant!!!” into the phone.  I later picked him up from the train and we kissed, giggled, and ate dinner in complete happiness.

The next day (a Friday), I had my pregnancy confirmed by the RE.  However, there were instructions that my progesterone was a little low, so I would need to take 4 suppositories instead of 3.  A couple of hours later, I was getting ready to leave work and I’d started bleeding.  It was too late to call the RE.  I went to my car and called my husband to tell him I thought I was miscarrying.  I cried so much that night and took 2 more pregnancy tests (not entirely sure what I expected to gain from that, to be honest).  Over the weekend, I continued to worry, continued to bleed.  It wasn’t really fresh blood (mostly brown), and there was no pain, no tissue.  But I was still bleeding and not happy about it.  Not being able to talk to a nurse or doctor was slowly killing me.  My husband eventually convinced me to email my doctor.  Dr. R, being the wonderful man he is, replied back almost immediately and told me that it is fine and very common to have spotting in early pregnancy.  He told me to come back in on Monday and we’d do some more tests.

That Monday, my HCG was confirmed to be rising “very nicely”, but my progesterone was still on the low side. I was told I’d need to take the “progesterone in oil” (PIO) shots.  I was scheduled in for an ultrasound at what would be around the 6 week mark.  I came home and was worried, but trying to stay positive.  Cody was a trooper.  The PIO shots go in your ass/hip. Let me tell ya – no matter what “methods” the nurse shows you, there is no way to avoid the pain.  One night, Cody was giving me my shot and it hit something.  I think it was too close to the last spot that was injected 2 days before and it HURT like a mother f-er.  I actually cried.  I felt bad about crying and it made Cody so upset that he had to do that.  As a side note – my ass still has some pain at the injection sites – almost 2 months later.

I didn’t have any cravings.  I was eating a lot of soup and drinking a lot of water – which is weird for me, but other than that, food was fine.  I found myself eating less, but more often.  I was tired all of the time and my boobs were super sore (and itchy…ugh).  Things were relatively mild.

Once I started the PIO shots, my spotting stopped.  I figured that my low progesterone was contributing to the spotting.  You would think that would have made me happy and I could have chilled out a bit… no.  I mean, I WAS happy, but for some reason I liked torturing myself and would research blighted ovums, missed miscarriages, miscarriage statistics, PCOS and miscarriage, diabetes and miscarriage… you get the idea.  My ultrasound was approaching on the 20th and I was terrified there wasn’t going to be anything on that tiny little screen.

I sat in the waiting room while the nurses gave me happy faces and talked to me about pregnancy.  I was called to the back and Cody came with me. I hopped up on that table and my nurse did her thing with the transvaginal ultrasound.  She happily told me that the pregnancy was in the right spot and I measuring at 5 weeks 6 days.  However it was too early to see much or hear the heartbeat.  I was OK with that.  I jumped off the table and got dressed.  I looked up and Cody was in awe, holding our baby’s first picture.  I was also told I could reduce the number of PIO shots to every second day.

Over the next 9 days I was mostly normal. I had some craft shows to go to, which was probably good since I was able to stay distracted.  I was adamant about not buying things for the baby yet, but caved on a handmade crocheted Minion hat.  To this day, it’s the only thing we bought.

I had a hard time telling people and even harder time not telling people.  My parents knew the day after I took my pregnancy test.  My brother knew a couple of days after we had our ultrasound.  Two friends knew.  I went back and forth on telling Cody’s immediate family.  Cody wanted to wait until there was a heartbeat, but we had a picture to show them so we decided we would tell them over Christmas.  On December 26th, we slipped the ultrasound picture into a card for them.  After all of the gifts were exchanged, we handed them the card we “forgot” to give them.  Cody’s mom cried, his dad took a picture of the ultrasound photo on his cell phone.  We told them that we didn’t want it to go any further than that room because of the progesterone issues.  I even opened up to his mom… kind of.  I told her we’d been trying for a long time and that we were seeing a fertility clinic.  When she asked me if it had gone as far as IVF, I told her no.  And then for some unknown reason, I told her that I was just getting help with ovulation.  I could not bring myself to tell her that it was both of us with some issues.

On December 30th, I was at work.  I had moved a couple of heavy-ish boxes.  I was putting medications away.  The pharmacist was with a patient.  I felt cramps.  Not the ones I’d been feeling for the last 25+ days.  I ran to the washroom, but it was occupied.  I came back to the pharmacy and prayed and pleaded with God not to take my baby.  I waited a couple of minutes and went back to the bathroom.  I got in that time and there was nothing on my underwear.  I wiped.  Bright red blood.  I quickly walked back to the pharmacy and told the pharmacist I had to go to the hospital.  I got in my car and called Cody.  I started to cry harder as he told me he was already on his way to me.  I realized I was going the wrong way to the hospital and had to turn around.  It was then that it registered to me that I didn’t even know where the hospital was since I’d never even been there before.  As I was driving I was crying silent tears and praying.  I remember noticing that it was a bright, sunny day.  I acknowledged at that moment there was no saving my Bumble.  If it had been raining or snowing, then God would have been telling me that it was going to be ok.

I made it to the hospital and was greeted by someone very sweet.  I asked her where emergency was and she asked me if I was ok.  I told her I thought I was miscarrying.  She got very panicked but was able to quickly bring me back to triage.  I answered all of the triage nurse’s questions (even though she was bitchy).  I was given a bag and I went to the bathroom.  In the “care package”, there were hospital issued mesh underwear (I didn’t even know those were a thing), a mat?, and a few HUGE pads.  I threw out my own underwear out at that point since my bleeding had increased.  I was walked back to a room and was thankful to be put in a room with an actual door.  My main nurse came back and told me that it might be a while before the doctor came in, but if I was actually miscarrying, there was nothing they could do anyway.  In some weird way, I appreciated the complete honesty.  The doctor came in after a while.  At this point I was bleeding more and having back pain.  He told me that this was common and no reason to get upset – yet.  I knew I was miscarrying though.  There was no way that this level of blood would mean a good outcome.  He told me that they would do blood work and an ultrasound and we’d go from there.  He left and eventually the nurse doing blood came by.  She also had no personality, but she did her job well.  After another half hour or so another nurse came by and told me that we were going to head to the ultrasound.  Before we walked over, I asked to go to the bathroom.  She was so sweet and told me that she was going to stand outside of the door in case I needed her.  I wish I knew her name.  Anyway, at that moment, I passed my first clot.  I was bleeding much heavier and it was hard to stand up straight.  I remember looking down at my ugly black work shoes and thinking that I’d rather be walking in my socks than in white sock and black shoes.

The ultrasound.  I have never been through something so traumatic in my life.  First, I was sitting outside the room while looking at a poster that showed how a “normal” pregnancy progresses.  The I could hear a woman having her ultrasound done and the baby’s heartbeat was strong.  Very strong and loud.  I was called in and we started with an abdominal ultrasound.  She couldn’t see anything.  We moved on to transvaginal where she couldn’t see anything there either.  It was painful and I told her that, but she told me that she had to keep going.  A few minutes or an hour later and the main radiologist came over to have a look.  The fucking “dildocam” was still in me and they kept pushing harder and harder trying to see something.  The radiologist was getting frustrated with me flinching and pulling back.  She told me off, basically, with saying that they needed to find the sack to find out (A) how far along I was, (B) to confirm I wasn’t having an ectopic pregnancy, and (C) to see if I was having a miscarriage.  I told her that I knew exactly how far along I was and that it was a normal fucking pregnancy since I’d already had an ultrasound for all of this shit.  They kept up their crap and I had enough.  They were hurting me and I couldn’t take the pain any more.  I told them that if they didn’t stop I was going to puke everywhere.  Well, let me tell you how quickly I was “released”.  I got up and was mortified.  There was blood everywhere!  All over me, all over the bed.  I started to cry and apologize for the mess.  The ultrasound tech found it in her heart to comfort me at that moment.

I went back to my room and waited for Cody.  I started to cramp pretty badly and was so tired.  My main nurse came back and brought me a warm blanket and some Kleenex (she had to go searching for it, apparently).  She even tucked me in.  Cody finally got to the hospital and I broke down as soon as I saw him.  He let me cry before asking what the doctor said.  I told him that I didn’t have any answers and that I was upset about the ultrasound.  After a long time, a new doctor came back.  He kept staring at me and winking (nervous/awkward tick?  I hope so.).  He confirmed my dates and then eventually said what we didn’t want to hear but we already knew.  I was miscarrying.  I was told that I would probably bleed for 2 weeks and then my period would eventually come.  He then also said that while they did my blood work, they discovered I was 0 negative blood type (I could have told them that..).  Since Cody is A positive it meant I would need a shot called Rhogam.  True to the fashion of that day, he left and my main nurse came back in.  She took my blood pressure again (still high, but to be expected), gave me a script for Naproxen, and then gave me my shot.  In the ass.

We walked out of the hospital and I noticed that I should have paid for parking.  Oops.  We came home and Cody called my parents.  I cried a lot that night and the pain was intense.  I passed a lot of tissue and clots.  Eventually I passed out from a combination of pain, exhaustion, sadness, and maybe a little too much medication.  The cramping lasted about 3 days.  I bled for a week.  I had an ultrasound about a week later and it was confirmed that “everything {was} out”.  My RE told me that miscarriage is common and that it was likely I miscarried due to something not developing as it should have been.  And then I was told the most UNcomforting thing:  AT LEAST WE KNOW YOU CAN GET PREGNANT.  Awesome.  I really would have preferred to carry full-term and brought my baby home, thanks.

Eventually, the ultrasound picture became too much.  I had it in a drawer, but even there it was bothering me.  On my 3rd day off of work I put the ultrasound picture, pregnancy test, and baby hat away.  It didn’t feel good, but it needed to be done.  

I kept my pain hidden and to myself.  And finally, after a moment neither my husband nor I are very proud of, I found myself on the bathroom floor sobbing that I killed our baby.  It was that moment that my husband really saw how I was handling the miscarriage.  It was also the moment that he (literally) picked me up and helped me move forward.  It is because of him, my parents, and a few really good friends that I am even writing this blog entry at this moment.  But I will talk about them in a separate post.

Sorry for the super long post.  It’s cathartic, in a way, to write it all out.  And I made it through without shedding a tear.




I have hundreds of hopes and wishes each and every day.

I come onto to WordPress and filter by the topic “Miscarriage”, as I find it helpful to read the stories of women who’ve been through a similar experience to mine.  I do not want to read about current pregnancies and/or their progress at this time.  I want the support of other women trying to make it through their miscarriage like I am.

My wish?  That I could filter by the topic “Miscarriage” and there wouldn’t be some inconsiderate d-bag posting their BFFFFFFFP/Ultrasound/Baby Belly pictures in that topic.  I want to rip them a new one every friggen time.

As the familiar saying goes:  Common sense is so rare, it should be classified as a superpower.