Friday, August 9, 2013

Scenes from a miscarriage. Week 3.

Wednesday June 5.  Pregnancy Week 6, Day 4.  Whoa.  I am exhausted. And queasy.  And last night I polished off a jar of pickle juice.  Yes, I said juice.  With a straw.

Thursday June 6, 10am.  Arrive at Maternal Fetal Medicine for ultrasound.

Thursday, 10:30am.  Lying on table squinting at ultrasound monitor.  Tech leaves room to bring in doctor.  The gestational sac is not measuring properly.  A kind doctor comes in.  We talk about my partial molar pregnancy.  I am likely miscarrying again.

Thursday, 11am.  Drive home crying.

Thursday 3pm.  My OB calls, she orders more lab-work.  She repeats what I am still processing, that there is a likely possibility I am miscarrying.  I do not remember the details of this conversation. 

Thursday 4pm.  Arrive at lab for blood-work that will confirm I am once again carrying another dead or dying baby.  Sitting in the chair, choosing which arm to lay forth for more blood, I cry. The phlebotomist asks if I would like to go behind a privacy curtain.

Friday, June 7, 10am.  I emailed Dr. Isaacson the night before asking his advice on miscarriage management.  He advises I either take drugs to induce the miscarriage, or opt for a "gentle suction D&C."  He warns that the drugs don't always work, and in some cases an AS patient ends up in the ER, under the case of a doctor who isn't careful to avoid scarring. He assures me that if my period doesn't return 8 weeks after a D&C, I can revisit him in Boston and he will perform another hysteroscopy.

Friday, 3pm. My doctor calls, she is going on vacation (again).  She suggests that I should see a new Reproductive Endocrinologist to manage my miscarriage because my case history is so complicated.  I am somewhat happy to learn it is a doctor familiar from the Asherman's forum.  She is reportedly competent.  We discuss whether I should take misoprostol (cytotec) to induce miscarriage.  I am given a promise that her office will call new RE, and this RE will fit me in her schedule next week on Monday.

Saturday June 8.  Cancel my zumba class.  Cry.

Sunday June 9, 2pm.  Seven weeks pregnant.  How did I get here?  Accompanied Husband and Niblet to her daycare classmate's birthday party at an enormous bowling alley.  Wonder in a haze, is anyone else here losing a baby, amongst the sound of clanging balls, falling (duck)pins, the sticky floors, the children screaming and skittering around, hopped up on sugar, breathlessly anticipating pizza and fruit punch. 

Sunday, 9pm.  I read every story I can find about cytotec, specifically the intense pain involved.  "I can do this.  I can do this. I can do this," I repeat to myself like a demented little engine that could.  I don't want another D&C.  I don't want my Asherman's to return.  I will gird myself for laboring this tiny sac at home. 


  1. I am inappropriate in life. Like all the time. Amy Schumer had this bit where she took plan b and went to a yoga class. "Can these people tell I'm like mid aborsh right now?" Me. 7 times. Hi this is a normal day for you but I'm pregnant/not pregnant shit's going all wrong but fuck. Dinnner needs to be cooked.

    1. Riiight?!?! I KNOW for a fact people can't imagine living this way ALL THE TIME.