Today is pregnancy and infant loss awareness day. To be honest, I'm not too sure how I feel about the day. Perhaps it is in close proximity to when I experienced my first known miscarriage and I have a tendency to feel numb around significant dates, including miscarriage anniversaries and estimated due dates. September was a horrible month for me as it was another reminder that I wouldn't be holding a child. I was so glad when October arrived, but again, October has its own challenges.
Firstly, I'm glad there is an awareness day as awareness around this issue is sorely lacking. It may sound cruel, but I won't be lighting a candle tonight. I'm not ready. But I do remember. I remember every day. Instead of lighting a candle, I ran. I really needed to run today. And it helped.
Last weekend I planted tulips bulbs in my front flower garden in honour of the two babies I've lost. In the spring, it will be nice to see them grow and bloom.
As I write this, there is a wave of light happening in Canada and the U.S. I want to thank everyone who lights candles tonight, remembers and spreads awareness of a subject that shouldn't be so taboo.
Showing posts with label pregnancy loss. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pregnancy loss. Show all posts
Friday, October 15, 2010
Thursday, April 1, 2010
On the road to getting answers and recovery
Today is a good day. I live for good days. And who doesn't? But lately, some of my days haven't been so good.
In October, I blogged about having a miscarriage and how I found the silence to be deafening. Two months ago today, I suffered a second miscarriage. This time I was further along. Sadly, what I experience was a missed miscarriage. I didn't realize I had lost the baby until I went for a dating ultrasound.
Quite simply, the last two months have been horrible. I thought I paid my dues in October when I miscarried the first time. Apparently not.
I'm the type of person who demands answers. For 10 years I was a journalist whose job description was to get answers for my readers on issues that were important to them. And I think I did a damn good job in that regard. Unfortunately, I have gotten no answers as to why I have suffered two early miscarriages. My family doctor says she can give me a list longer than her arm as to why miscarriages happen, but she can't give me a specific reason why this has happened to me.
That isn't good enough. I want to know. I need to know. The responses of "these things happen, it's bad luck, there was something wrong with the baby" simply infuriate me. I don't want to hear that crap or feel the sympathetic but awkward gazes from my doctor who is unable to give a specific reason why I've gone through not only once, but twice. I want answers.
Hopefully I will be getting answers soon. Today I felt a load lifted off my shoulders when I got a letter in the mail confirming my appointment to a fertility clinic. When I was holding that piece of paper in my hands today, I felt like I've turned a corner in my recovery. Although I've been told that 40 per cent of couples who suffer from some sort of infertility won't get answers as to why they are experiencing problems (and I've got a gut feeling I'll be put in that category), 60 per cent do get some sort of answer. And right at this moment, I just want an answer. I just want to know why. Because the not knowing may be one of the worst part of this whole experience. Was it something I ate? Was it something I did? Did I exercise too much? Did I worry to much? Is it low progesterone? Or do I have some undiagnosed condition? And the unanswered questions go on and on.
And getting answers is part of my recovery. Yesterday, a friend of mine told me she was expecting. Although I did experience a twinge of sadness for myself, I did feel true happiness for her. I didn't burst into tears or feel like I've been punched in the gut, which usually happens when I hear pregnancy news. And that made me happy for both me and her. I consider my reaction to her wonderful news as a positive sign that I'm on the road to recovery. And while it is still early days, I realize that I've got a long way to go in coming to terms with my losses.
And if I don't get answers, then I'll have to live with that. And maybe I can take some comfort knowing that I've done everything I possibly can in my pursuit to get answers.
In some respects when it comes to miscarriages and pregnancy loss, especially when it comes to the medical community, I could write a novel. But in some respects, I can't write about his subject. The pain is too much. The National Post published this story describing the lonely pain of pregnancy loss. It is an excellent read and the brave and courageous women who were interviewed for this story sum up my feelings. Pregnancy loss is a subject that is often ignored, which is a tragedy since it happens so often. And by talking about it, hopefully the taboo around this subject can be eliminated.
In October, I blogged about having a miscarriage and how I found the silence to be deafening. Two months ago today, I suffered a second miscarriage. This time I was further along. Sadly, what I experience was a missed miscarriage. I didn't realize I had lost the baby until I went for a dating ultrasound.
Quite simply, the last two months have been horrible. I thought I paid my dues in October when I miscarried the first time. Apparently not.
I'm the type of person who demands answers. For 10 years I was a journalist whose job description was to get answers for my readers on issues that were important to them. And I think I did a damn good job in that regard. Unfortunately, I have gotten no answers as to why I have suffered two early miscarriages. My family doctor says she can give me a list longer than her arm as to why miscarriages happen, but she can't give me a specific reason why this has happened to me.
That isn't good enough. I want to know. I need to know. The responses of "these things happen, it's bad luck, there was something wrong with the baby" simply infuriate me. I don't want to hear that crap or feel the sympathetic but awkward gazes from my doctor who is unable to give a specific reason why I've gone through not only once, but twice. I want answers.
Hopefully I will be getting answers soon. Today I felt a load lifted off my shoulders when I got a letter in the mail confirming my appointment to a fertility clinic. When I was holding that piece of paper in my hands today, I felt like I've turned a corner in my recovery. Although I've been told that 40 per cent of couples who suffer from some sort of infertility won't get answers as to why they are experiencing problems (and I've got a gut feeling I'll be put in that category), 60 per cent do get some sort of answer. And right at this moment, I just want an answer. I just want to know why. Because the not knowing may be one of the worst part of this whole experience. Was it something I ate? Was it something I did? Did I exercise too much? Did I worry to much? Is it low progesterone? Or do I have some undiagnosed condition? And the unanswered questions go on and on.
And getting answers is part of my recovery. Yesterday, a friend of mine told me she was expecting. Although I did experience a twinge of sadness for myself, I did feel true happiness for her. I didn't burst into tears or feel like I've been punched in the gut, which usually happens when I hear pregnancy news. And that made me happy for both me and her. I consider my reaction to her wonderful news as a positive sign that I'm on the road to recovery. And while it is still early days, I realize that I've got a long way to go in coming to terms with my losses.
And if I don't get answers, then I'll have to live with that. And maybe I can take some comfort knowing that I've done everything I possibly can in my pursuit to get answers.
In some respects when it comes to miscarriages and pregnancy loss, especially when it comes to the medical community, I could write a novel. But in some respects, I can't write about his subject. The pain is too much. The National Post published this story describing the lonely pain of pregnancy loss. It is an excellent read and the brave and courageous women who were interviewed for this story sum up my feelings. Pregnancy loss is a subject that is often ignored, which is a tragedy since it happens so often. And by talking about it, hopefully the taboo around this subject can be eliminated.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
The silence can be deafening
For days I’ve been debating with myself if I should even blog about this topic as it is so painful and heartbreaking. But when I do post on my blog, this is the very subject I most want to write about.
But as every day that passes, I am realizing that this is a subject that is rarely talked about, even among women. And when it is talked about, it is sometimes in whispers or hushed voices. And by not writing about it and expressing my own feelings, I am just aiding in the taboo nature surrounding early pregnancy loss.
Last week I suffered a miscarriage. This news is going to be a shocker for my family and friends who follow my blog. Many people don’t know I was even pregnant to begin with. I never had a chance to tell anyone because my pregnancy was over so quickly.
Yesterday, I stumbled over a short magazine article that questioned why the the subject of miscarriage is so taboo. Good question. Until I lost my own pregnancy, I didn’t give it much thought. When I was pregnant with darling daughter the word miscarriage made me physically flinch. I experienced bleeding early in my pregnancy and I was convinced that I was going to miscarry at any moment. I lived my life in weeks. I counted down every day. I only relaxed when I reached the 34th week mark. Those nine months were the most stressful weeks of my entire life.
When I miscarried last week, I told myself it was okay. I had prepared myself. I knew something wasn’t right. In the immediate days, I looked at my loss from a practical point of view in order to cope. It was early on in my pregnancy, I told myself. At least I know I can get pregnant. We will get pregnant again. I’m already blessed to have a child.
But those words no longer give me comfort. And being reasonable is no longer practical as my feelings are so overwhelming and can no longer be contained by practicalities. I’m sad. I’m angry. I’m mourning. I’m mad at my body because I feel like it betrayed me and continues to do so when I exhibit signs that can be mistaken for early pregnancy symptoms. Right now I’m not necessarily mourning the loss of a child, but the loss of an opportunity to have a child. Despite the fact that I lost my pregnancy so early on doesn’t make it any easier to accept what has happened to me.
And I have also found that this is the most lonely and isolating experience I have ever gone through in my life. Most women I know didn’t announce their pregnancy until after they pass the magic 12th week. Heck, when I was pregnant with darling daughter, I didn't officially announce my pregnancy to most of my co-workers until the 20th week. (However, I'm sure they already had an idea I was in the family way because I was getting bigger). Most miscarriages happen in the first trimester. So if a woman hasn’t told her friends and family that she is pregnant before the 12th week and if she happens to lose her pregnancy, she’ll likely be suffering in silence. And let me tell you, the silence surrounding pregnancy loss is deafening.
However, telling people that you are no longer pregnant is horrible and painful, too. My heart broke when I told my mother the bad news.
Although there are conflicting statistics, it is believed one in five pregnancies will end in miscarriage. While the odds are on a woman’s side that she will have a baby at the end of her pregnancy, it doesn’t always end like that. And if you think about the frequency of pregnancy loss, it is quite ironic that in our society we don’t talk more about it.
But at the same time, why would we want to talk about it? It is a depressing and heart wrenching subject. No newly pregnant woman wants to think that she may miscarry. It is a catch 22. By not talking about it, we just feed into the taboo and those who suffer a loss may feel like they have no other choice other to grieve in silence.
This grief thing is weird. Dear husband and my friends have been so supportive through this experience. However, even though I do talk about it, and it is therapeutic to talk about it, I feel very alone. Perhaps this feeling relates to the fact that this happened to me -- my body -- and that I had no control over the outcome.
I am not writing this post to garner sympathy or to add to the pity party that I’ve been hosting for myself in recent days. My intent isn’t to make people feel uncomfortable or awkward. By writing about this, I hope to create awareness surrounding pregnancy loss and to help to break the silence. By talking about it, I hope women who are going through this will take comfort that they aren’t alone.
But as every day that passes, I am realizing that this is a subject that is rarely talked about, even among women. And when it is talked about, it is sometimes in whispers or hushed voices. And by not writing about it and expressing my own feelings, I am just aiding in the taboo nature surrounding early pregnancy loss.
Last week I suffered a miscarriage. This news is going to be a shocker for my family and friends who follow my blog. Many people don’t know I was even pregnant to begin with. I never had a chance to tell anyone because my pregnancy was over so quickly.
Yesterday, I stumbled over a short magazine article that questioned why the the subject of miscarriage is so taboo. Good question. Until I lost my own pregnancy, I didn’t give it much thought. When I was pregnant with darling daughter the word miscarriage made me physically flinch. I experienced bleeding early in my pregnancy and I was convinced that I was going to miscarry at any moment. I lived my life in weeks. I counted down every day. I only relaxed when I reached the 34th week mark. Those nine months were the most stressful weeks of my entire life.
When I miscarried last week, I told myself it was okay. I had prepared myself. I knew something wasn’t right. In the immediate days, I looked at my loss from a practical point of view in order to cope. It was early on in my pregnancy, I told myself. At least I know I can get pregnant. We will get pregnant again. I’m already blessed to have a child.
But those words no longer give me comfort. And being reasonable is no longer practical as my feelings are so overwhelming and can no longer be contained by practicalities. I’m sad. I’m angry. I’m mourning. I’m mad at my body because I feel like it betrayed me and continues to do so when I exhibit signs that can be mistaken for early pregnancy symptoms. Right now I’m not necessarily mourning the loss of a child, but the loss of an opportunity to have a child. Despite the fact that I lost my pregnancy so early on doesn’t make it any easier to accept what has happened to me.
And I have also found that this is the most lonely and isolating experience I have ever gone through in my life. Most women I know didn’t announce their pregnancy until after they pass the magic 12th week. Heck, when I was pregnant with darling daughter, I didn't officially announce my pregnancy to most of my co-workers until the 20th week. (However, I'm sure they already had an idea I was in the family way because I was getting bigger). Most miscarriages happen in the first trimester. So if a woman hasn’t told her friends and family that she is pregnant before the 12th week and if she happens to lose her pregnancy, she’ll likely be suffering in silence. And let me tell you, the silence surrounding pregnancy loss is deafening.
However, telling people that you are no longer pregnant is horrible and painful, too. My heart broke when I told my mother the bad news.
Although there are conflicting statistics, it is believed one in five pregnancies will end in miscarriage. While the odds are on a woman’s side that she will have a baby at the end of her pregnancy, it doesn’t always end like that. And if you think about the frequency of pregnancy loss, it is quite ironic that in our society we don’t talk more about it.
But at the same time, why would we want to talk about it? It is a depressing and heart wrenching subject. No newly pregnant woman wants to think that she may miscarry. It is a catch 22. By not talking about it, we just feed into the taboo and those who suffer a loss may feel like they have no other choice other to grieve in silence.
This grief thing is weird. Dear husband and my friends have been so supportive through this experience. However, even though I do talk about it, and it is therapeutic to talk about it, I feel very alone. Perhaps this feeling relates to the fact that this happened to me -- my body -- and that I had no control over the outcome.
I am not writing this post to garner sympathy or to add to the pity party that I’ve been hosting for myself in recent days. My intent isn’t to make people feel uncomfortable or awkward. By writing about this, I hope to create awareness surrounding pregnancy loss and to help to break the silence. By talking about it, I hope women who are going through this will take comfort that they aren’t alone.
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