What is it they say, fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me I should heed my own advice, even if it is over three years old. Last week, when I learned that life had ended, I should have gone through my journal and read the entry from that fateful and eventful day, March 28, 2003. It was my 38th birthday. It was the day my body finally gave forth the lost twins, after holding them in for over a month past the time their lives had ended. The same day I was scheduled to have their remains surgically removed. I should have learned from my past. But I didn’t, until after the fact, or rather, after it was too late.
Had I read my journal, I should have paid special heed to the phrase, “Maybe labor is mentally more bearable because you know you’re bringing forth new life, instead of purging lost life. It was so painful. I wouldn’t wish that on anybody, and God forbid I ever miscarry again, but if I do, I want the D&C right away. I don’t ever want to go through that again.”
People may say it wasn’t labor, but if not, what is it when the body convulses in pain, the lower back throbs and aches, the abdomen contracts in what feels like a massive charlie horse, every three minutes or less for hours on end Because that’s what it was, at that time, in 2003.
Sadly, I didn’t learn from my past. I didn’t read my journal. I opted to wait a little longer to see if nature would do its thing, and after the alotted time had passed, I scheduled the D&C. Nature, schmature. Nature’s way –similar to a very heavy period, according to several internet sources. A heavy period is not daunting. Nature’s way sounded good. And natural. I could handle that. Or so I thought. I am here to say that Nature’s way is not, NOT, EN OH TEE NOT, in any way, the least bit, not even remotely akin to a very heavy period. (Not in the case of a missed miscarriage, anyway –perhaps it’s different if the body passes the remains immediately upon cessation of life, but that has not been the case with me.) Do NOT wait! Get the D&C immediately, ASAP. Do not wait. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200. Go DIRECTLY to the hospital. GO!
What did women do in the days before modern medicine One cannot go through the day as any other day, as if one were having a heavy period. One would have to find a place to curl up in fetal position and lie in the ever increasing pool of blood amid the terrifying massive clumps of matter that the body expels, until it’s over. Or die of infection. Or both.
The phases of a missed miscarriage (according to me):
The Nagasaki Moment.
The moment one learns that life has ended. There is a stunned silence, followed by a shockwave of sorrow and anguish, then a mushroom cloud of scattered emotions. With the knowing comes a peace, though. The torture of not knowing, of waiting, of uncertainty, unanswered questions and what ifs is over, and with that, a form of peace.
The Matter of Decision.
Let Nature take it’s course, or have a D&C Being the composting, recycling, semi-conservative sort that I am, I mistakenly assumed that Nature’s way would be better. After all, it’s Nature. In retrospect, and now from two-fold experience, I should have made an immediate decision for immediate D&C. Before the fact, one might think that surgical extraction is unpleasant, unnatural, and comes with risks associated with any surgical procedure. All that is true. What is left unsaid is that with an immediate D&C, the waiting is over. The uterus is clean. The hormones revert to normal which works wonders on one’s mental state. There is no wondering how long the miscarriage will take, what it will feel like, how emotionally and mentally difficult it will or will not be. There is less risk of infection from decaying matter not flushing from the system as it should. There is more immediate closure.
Nature’s Way.
This only applies if immediate D&C does not occur, and this is only my own dreadful experience. Hopefully it’s uncommon. It would be awful if this is what women normally go through. I would not wish this upon anyone. Ever. The bleeding begins and one might think with a little relief that it will be like a heavy period, and the day can go on, even though there will likely be some unpleasant discomfort and cramping. The cramping begins. It is unpleasant. My D&C is scheduled for 1:30 this afternoon. I just have to make it until then. No food, no drink, no pain relievers, as instructed in preparation for surgery. I have the bright idea to run some errands before admitting myself to the hospital. You know. To pass the time. I won’t be in any shape to drive and run errands afterwards, so there’s no time like the present. Idiot. The cramps get worse. As does the bleeding. Deep breathing. Lots of deep breathing to get through the cramps and contractions. How can there be so much blood In the women’s room at Bed, Bath & Beyond I pass a horrifying object the size of a tomato or an apple. I sit there on the toilet and sob, traumatized by what came out of me, wondering what I’m supposed to do, and why I am here, in this public place, going through this private thing. I’m an idiot. I compose myself and go find Mr. Gadget, who is patiently waiting for me. I keep asking him the time. How soon can I check in to the hospital, I wonder. It’s 9:30 a.m. and my check-in time is noon. We go to Linen’s and Things, in search of the pie plates I expected to find at BBB, but I sneeze and something happens. I find the women’s room and again, sit on the toilet and sob. Sanitary napkins are useless. I had 5 with me, thinking I’d make it to noon with them. I was left with one and it was 10:00 a.m. There is so much blood. I made a mental note of the neighborhood and decided the closest place where I could buy more was Target. I decided to try baby diapers instead. I know they hold a LOT of liquid, and the leftovers would be put to good use with my son. Ever practical. Of course, every express register at Target had a long line at 10:00 a.m. on a weekday. I told Mr. Gadget I couldn’t wait, ripped open the package, and stomped off to the bathrooms, diaper in hand. It’s funny how modesty and social graces can so easily be brushed aside in times of crisis, although I did vaguely wonder what the people were thinking when they saw a distressed not-so-young woman heading to the bathroom with a diaper in hand and no baby in sight. Crazy shoplifter. More trauma and sobbing in the loo. Trying not to leave a biohazard trail. By now my clothes were soaked and I was thanking my lucky stars that I chose to wear dark chocolate brown today. How I wished I had packed extra pants. I was tempted to buy new pants while at Target, but decided I wanted to go to the hospital NOW. Enough was enough. Not that there was a chance to fit me in early, but at least I’d be there. Thankfully, they let me have a room without waiting too long, and I could curl up in fetal position and bleed in peace. For four and a half more hours. Around 1:00 p.m. they finally checked on me and took my blood pressure. The machine tried several times to get a reading before it pronounced me low. Do you normally have low bp, inquired the nurse. No, but I have been bleeding quite alot, if that makes a difference, I said in my own special sweet yet sarcastic way. Does your doctor know you’ve been bleeding, she asks Ummmmm, I am here, at the hospital, 2 hours early, due to heavy bleeding. I don’t know, I said. (So, as I am wont to do, I dropped the communication ball, assuming that somebody would have pulled my chart and notified my doctor when they put me in the room. My bad.) She’s a very kind and sweet nurse. Lola. I like her. I overhear her talking to my doctor. She returns, and gets me prepped with an IV. FINALLY. Drugs are on the way. My doctor ordered petossin. I thought that was for inducing labor, and lack of contractions was not the issue, but I didn’t care. Was it supposed to slow down the bleeding I was relieved to be getting any medical attention at all, and once that IV was in, they could administer pain relievers. Which they did. Not that they did much. I felt the drug hit my veins and make me dizzy, but the cramps continued to surge and they remained painful. I was still glad to have the drugs. It helped me keep up with my deep breathing and counting the minutes until surgery and sweet nothingness of general anesthesia. My ticket home.
Surgical Extraction.
Preop instructions. No food or drink between bedtime (the night before) and surgery time. This can make for a long and hungry day if surgery is scheduled in the afternoon. Arrange a ride home. Patients are not released to drive following general anesthesia. There may be grogginess, dizziness, and disorientation, so driving is a liability. There is the normal hospital waiting time. It shouldn’t be too big of a surpise if a 1:30 surgery takes place at 3:30. Especially after the city is recovering from a severe wind storm with extensive and extended power outages. There’s nothing like loss of electricity to bring a population to its knees. Say goodbye to modesty, but if you’re lucky, you’re under before you have a chance to think about it. There is a pin prick from the IV, and the cold feel of the liquid entering the body. The oxygen mask goes on, the anesthesia begins, and the next thing you know you are awake. You may cry. General anesthesia does a number on the brain. I had a wash of emotion where tears rolled down my face as I said goodbye and hoped and prayed that there will be a next baby and that the baby would live and that I wouldn’t find myself waking up again from GA after another D&C. Along with that, there was a relief that it was all over. There was a refreshing feeling of an empty and clean uterus. It may be psychological, but it doesn’t matter. It was a good feeling. It opened the door to hope for the future and the peace of proper closure.
In Conclusion.
I had a bad day. After writing it all out, it doesn’t sound as bad as it was, but it was horrifying. Now it’s over, and there is a lifetime of happy tomorrows ahead of me.
Sometimes the system goes on the blink
And the whole thing turns out wrong.
You might not make it back and you know
That you could be, well, oh that strong.
And I’m not wrong…
(Daniel Powter – Bad Day)
Two more aprons have joined my collection (one, an artist’s smock style, which I think I like best so far, is in the wash, so no picture; the other is sort of a basic style with a huge pocket and a slightly scalloped hem), and an arsenal of pumpkin pies have made their way from my kitchen to the MIL’s for Christmas Eve dessert. I spent an entire day on those pies, cooking the pumpkin (formerly Halloween decorations, and already cooked once, then frozen for future use). I followed the America’s Test Kitchen recipe to the letter, froze then shredded the butter and cut in the flour, kneaded the dough, chilled it again, rolled it out, formed various and sundry pastry and pie shells, chilled them again, pre-baked them, cooked the spices into the filling on the stovetop, and finally loaded the warmed pie shells with the hot filling for the final bake. ATK didn’t disappoint. The resulting pies had a rich, smooth and creamy filling in a nice flaky crust. Of course, MIL, fully aware that I was bringing and preparing all the food for the family get-together, made 5 pies of her own. All told, there were nine pies at the Christmas Eve meal. Couple that with the no-shows, and there was approximately one full pie per person. At least she didn’t have a meal prepared when we got there. It’s just the kind of thing she would do. She wasn’t happy with the spiral cut ham, because the slices were too thin. She wasn’t happy with the cauliflower, because it didn’t have the family fake Hollandaise sauce that she expected. They mix mayonnaise with mustard and call it Hollandaise. I can’t bear it! At the last gathering, the green beans were criticized, so I prepared them differently this time. Some of the family members are lactose intolerant, so I used milk substitute in the mashed potatoes, and the resulting texture was far from fluffy and altogether disappointing. I made two kinds of gravy, in case people preferred one over another, and I made a special apple cider shallot sauce for the ham, which nobody tried but me (and it was delicious, I might add). I made it clear that we were NOT taking any pumpkin pies back home with us, so everybody had to take a heaping plate of leftover pie home with them. I’m developing a thick skin for dealing with the MIL. She can be abrasive and generally unkind. At least all the cooking, chaos, and general discontent kept my mind off of my broken heart, and helped me get a few steps further from my sorrow.
I’m generally a wash and wear kind of person, as the things I wear are often covered in toddler goo of some sort or another, but I had some pretty fabric that I’ve had stashed in a closet for years, and decided it would make a nice apron. I wanted a specific style, and after a little googling, found that the style I like is often referred to as a 1940’s apron. I found a few cover shots of vintage patterns to get a general idea of construction, then made my own pattern. I love one of the vintage pattern descriptions. It said something like “crisp as celery, neat as a pin.” Of course the models have 18 inch waistlines. That would be one of my arms, maybe, or a calf, perhaps, but not a waist. Not since I was maybe 4 yrs old or so. The end result isn’t neat as a pin, or crisp as celery, but I guess I like how it turned out. It’s fully lined and I even hid some pockets among the front seams.
