Disclaimer: this is not my usual self-deprecating blog post. I’ve tried to see the humor in some of it but, honestly, this doesn’t have a happy ending.
The day Matthew and Nancy were set to arrive to Dublin, I was wide awake. It was 430 in the morning and I couldn’t sleep out of excitement. It’s not what you are probably thinking. I wasn’t wide awake like a kid who’s too excited about vacation to sleep another wink. It started normally enough. I had to pee. So I got up and decided, “I’m a few days late, probably time to pee on a stick.” Two. Pink. Lines. Holy shit! Ok, stay calm, too early to wake up Rob, just be cool! When Rob’s alarm went off at 6-ish, he asks why I’ve been up since so early. I tell him, I’m bursting with excitement. He initially thinks I’m lying but immediately is just as thrilled as I am.
But we’ve got to keep this secret. It’s way to early to tell anyone. Pick up Matthew and Nancy and try to pretend like my life hasn’t just changed in such an amazing way.
But it doesn’t take Matt long to figure out something is up. He overhears me tell Rob I can’t take a certain medication, the jig is up. But it’s kind of a relief that they know now. I had already started with the nausea (another reason I thought it was time to take a pregnancy test) and Nancy had done this before. I could ask questions; get advice!
Most of you know my husband, for those who don’t, he’s a physician. He went to med school. Apparently obs/gyn was not his forte. The term morning sickness confused him. “Why are you sick all day?” The asshole who named it “morning sickness” was definitely a dude. I woke up sick, lunch was so-so, and then dinner and bedtime, sick again.
Matt was nice enough to clue Rob in, “Nancy was actually sick all day too, it’s pretty common.” Nancy’s advice: Ginger. Ginger drops but you can’t find those in Ireland so I settled on Ginger tea. Matthew’s advice: Stop riding on the top deck of the bus, the motion is worse. Ooooohhhh…I had no idea! Figured that one out when we were going back home after a day in the city centre and had to get off the bus 2 stops early so I didn’t ralph all over.
Really overall, pregnancy wasn’t terrible. Sure I was sick all the time, lost 3 or 4 pounds because I had no appetite, I was tired all the time, and (too much information alert) my boobs killed me!!!
Rob and I had finally planned our honeymoon in Tenerife, Spain. All inclusive, which is cool unless you’re pregnant and the smell of alcohol makes you nauseous (seriously, nausea all the time!). I was nervous about being in a foreign country while pregnant but we decided you can’t put your life on hold.
The weekend before we left for Tenerife was a whirlwind. Rob had been invited to a conference/dinner for the Royal College of Surgeons. So Friday was drinks then dinner with his folks. We obviously had to tell them since they were all drinking and I asked for a ginger ale; they know I love wine too much.
Oh, forgot to mention, Gertrud decided Friday afternoon was the perfect time to eat an entire chicken carcass. It’s cool, it was dramatic and I was positive she was going to die but after a vet bill that was more expensive than I’d like to admit, she just got raging diarrhea.
Back to the festivities. Saturday I had a lunch with Anna; wine at that meal too…it’s not quite as conspicuous when you just opt out of day drinking. Then Saturday was dinner with the other surgeons and their spouses. At risk of sounding like a total alcoholic, socializing with that many strangers is WAY more entertaining with a bit of wine on board.
Unfortunately, Saturday night was also the night when it felt like my life was falling apart.
Disclaimer #2: I’ve decided to be open an honest about what happens next. I’ll be talking about bodily functions because when I got onto google, I couldn’t find anything that suggested anyone else had gone through this. So if you don’t want to know about what happened in detail, I’d stop reading.
I had started having cramps. I wasn’t terribly concerned; cramping at 9 weeks is not uncommon. The uterus is growing very quickly and the stretching can be painful. But then came the spotting. I’m in a women’s bathroom in the middle of a party with people I’ve never met. I’ve already struggled keeping the smile on my face as I can barely stomach dinner. Now I’m bleeding, perfect.
Our flight for Tenerife leaves at 7 in the morning the next day. What do we do? Do we cancel? Do we go and hope for the best? Rapid uterine growth can also cause spotting. The cervix is irritated, it’s not uncommon. And it wasn’t bright red so I decided, let’s just go. We’ve waited a long time for our honeymoon.
Monday was ok, still some spotting but nothing crazy. But the cramping is still there, I was starting to get nervous. We’re having such a good time laying by the pool and reading books. I’m having a virgin mojito, and relaxing so it was easy to push my anxiety aside.
Tuesday. Tuesday sucked. The bleeding got bad enough that I couldn’t lay by the pool so I told Rob we were going to have to go to the hospital. The nearest hospital was private which is a big difference in Europe. In private hospitals, you pay up front or you’re not seen. If you want to be seen without a deposit, you have to go to the public hospital….an hour away.
The triage nurse was a patronizing ass. He spoke English which was very helpful but when I told him I had started spotting on Saturday he condescendingly asked why I was there on vacation while bleeding and pregnant. There were so many things I wanted to say. “I’m a nurse practitioner, I know how my body works. Spotting is not always a bad thing. Lots of women experience it while pregnant.” but all I said was, “I wasn’t concerned at first; now I am.”
The ED doc doesn’t speak any English. She’s nice enough. But I learned a valuable lesson that day. European emergency departments don’t do ultrasounds. So after a speculum exam she states the obvious, “much blood.” No shit, Sherlock. Thanks for that assessment.
She wants me to stay the night. That will be 2000 euro up front, please. I hate it when my patients want to leave against my medical advice. I know what I’m talking about and I’m recommending what I think is in their best interest. So I’m sure this doctor hated Rob and me. Rob’s a doctor, we explain. There’s no clinical indication for hospital admission during miscarriage, we say. I’m not trying to be difficult, I tell her; I’m just scared and in a country where 90 percent of the staff doesn’t speak my language and I just want to be with my husband.
So the interpreter arranges for us to come back the next morning to see an obs/gyn to tell me what I already know. Wednesday morning the ultrasound says what Rob and I already know…The embryo is not viable. It’s supposed to be a fetus at this point but it stopped growing at week 6. Sin actividad (no activity). Follow up with your midwife in 1 week.
I’m devastated. We go back to the resort. I felt guilty at first but I ordered a drink. A mojito with alcohol. We did manage to enjoy ourselves for the rest of the trip. The cramping wasn’t terrible and the bleeding was manageable. Wine helped. We went on walks along the ocean. Ate nice food. I had all the things I wasn’t allowed to have while pregnant: chicken pate, smoked salmon, why not.
The week that followed was shit. The emotional lows were ridiculous. I was grieving the loss of a family member I had never met. We had already started picking out names. I was researching strollers. And physically, woof. I don’t have the pleasure of knowing what labor feels like yet but what I experienced was the worst pain of my life. And I’ve shattered an arm. I thought that was pain.
The cramps on Wednesday and Thursday came every 4 minutes. I timed them. They were so excruciating that I cried and gagged. They came with pressure and a terrible urge to go to the bathroom. This is what I couldn’t find online; had no one else ever experienced this?!? Should I be worried, is this a normal miscarriage or do I need medical attention? I rode it out. Partly because I didn’t want to seem like a hypochondriac and partly because as health care providers, we tend to try to weather the storm alone. We tend to think we’re smarter than we really are.
The midwife was great. She assured me that it wasn’t the alcohol I’d drank before I knew I was pregnant; swore it had nothing to do with going to Tenerife. One in four women have a miscarriage. How did I not know this?
I go back tomorrow for a repeat ultrasound to make sure everything is gone. It sounds so clinical but that’s what it is. Has my body expelled this on it’s own or will I need medical intervention. Rob and I debated whether or not to blog about this. It’s so personal. I’m not someone who ever even changed my relationship status on Facebook. It’s private. The reason we don’t tell people we’re pregnant until the second trimester is so we don’t want to tell them about the miscarriage. But I’ve found that talking about what actually happened has been far more helpful than hiding the pregnancy from people and not talking about how devastated I am afterwards.
I’m glad we went on our honeymoon. I don’t regret a minute of it. If we had cancelled the trip, we would have been miserable in the cold and wet. At least we were somewhere warm.
