I opened this account on Medium in May of 2014, just after my last miscarriage and before the successful pregnancy and birth of our beloved son who is now a year old. I opened it because I wanted to write about what having a miscarriage felt like as I couldn’t find anything like what I wanted to read. I never did though. It felt too painful, too emotional, too raw, too private, too shameful, too taboo. Then, I read this “Ask Polly” piece on NYMag and I finally decided to add my story to the many already out there.

So here’s my story. It ain’t pretty, but it’s real. Hopefully it will help someone understand what they are going through as miscarriages are a lot more common than we realize. Although every woman is different and every pregnancy is different, maybe someone will find something they can relate to, something to help them feel less alone in their pain and grief.

April 2014, my boyfriend and I found out we were pregnant. This is what we had been hoping and planning for, right? Yet, I wasn’t happy, I was terrified. Thoughts that ran through my head: “What is going to happen? Can my body handle this experience? Am I too old? Will I survive?” There was very little joy. I didn’t express any of this out loud, of course. It was a happy occasion and a blessing. Happy happy joy joy.

Happy happy joy joy (Photos: Beatrice Murch)

I couldn’t connect with the pregnancy. The fear of something going wrong was overwhelming. I don’t know if I somehow “knew” that something was off. Either way, I just couldn’t get excited. Then suddenly and surprisingly, I lost my job and found myself pregnant, living as an expat in a foreign country, and not sure what to do next. Do I tell people that I’m interviewing with that I’m in my first trimester or do I keep my mouth shut? What about the invasive health screen they do here before you start a new job? Luckily, I wasn’t subjected to that when I was hired at another tech start-up. Unluckily, before my first day on the job, I began miscarrying.

There was blood. Lots of it. I cried into my boyfriend’s shoulder and he comforted me. Even though I had never connected with this pregnancy, I cried for the loss of our future child. I cried because my body had failed us. I cried because this wasn’t supposed to happen. I cried because I was sad.

I didn’t call a doctor as I didn’t think there was anything a doctor could do. I was bleeding heavily, but I have suffered from “difficult” periods almost my whole life. I remember passing out from the pain in high school. I can slog through this, I thought to myself, I just have to be to have a good supply of pads. I stubbornly suffered in silence.

Two weeks later (on my 41st birthday), I found myself not-so-silently screaming in pain in the bathtub. I had no idea what was happening, only that being immersed in hot water made me feel somewhat better. The intense pressure and pain knocked me on my ass but I instinctually pushed. This was the miscarriage for real. Luckily (?), I had an appointment with an OB later that afternoon as I had finally thought earlier that week that maybe a doctor could help since this was taking way longer than I had expected. I had thought I could soldier on and get through this privately, but the bleeding just wouldn’t stop and now things were getting very intensely painful.

The doctor’s first question was whether I had a botched abortion. Between my pain and the shock of this curveball question, I was confused and disoriented. Then, I remembered that I’m living in a country where abortion is illegal and so doctors are required to find out. I assured him that this pregnancy was wanted and it was a miscarriage. Without even examining me, he sent me directly to the hospital. But I was alone as I hadn’t wanted to bother my boyfriend who was taking an exam that evening, so I hailed a cab and lay down in the back seat curled up in a ball as we transversed the city to the hospital.

“Belen” was jailed in 2014 because she had a miscarriage and the doctors thought she had an abortion which is illegal in Argentina. She was finally freed in August 2016 by the local Supreme Court in Tucuman but the charges against her are still pending. (Photo: Beatrice Murch)

At the hospital I had a physical examination. Turns out that I had delivered the egg-sac and it was sitting right there waiting to be expelled by my body. They had me cough forcefully a couple of times and it was done. Two weeks of heavy bleeding and an afternoon of overwhelming pain and pressure and I was “done”. I had grieved two weeks earlier because I thought the heavy bleeding was “it”. I was wrong. I grieved all over again.

Happy 41st birthday to me! I joked to my mom that we both spent May 22 in the O/B ward. (Photos: Beatrice Murch)

Had I gone to a doctor beforehand, could I have saved the fetus? I doubt it, but that doubt still nags at me, pulling at my guilt, stinging and bleeding like a picked hangnail. I remember laughing at the ignorance of men who thought that women could have their periods all at once while they sit on the toilet. That’s not how this works. Now it was my ignorance that got the better of me. I really had no idea what a miscarriage was like and for some reason, I thought it would take a day or two — like birth. Wrong wrong wrong.

Female reproduction isn’t well understood either by men or women it seems and I consider myself an educated woman.

September 2016, I’m having another miscarriage. I feel like I should know what to expect this time. But, I find myself once again scouring the internet for women’s personal stories, looking for any hope that everything will be okay and that this isn’t happening again.

The first sign that anything was wrong was at the ultrasound on Friday afternoon when the technician and doctor couldn’t find the implanted egg-sac in my uterus. It was empty. “This doesn’t mean you’re not pregnant. Just means that we haven’t found anything. Go down to the emergency room and have a doctor there do some follow up.”

We went from being excited about having a sibling for our son, from being anxious to see “the little sprout” as I had called it and hearing the heartbeat for the first time to being flustered and scared with our own hearts having fallen into the pit of our stomachs. That was Friday. The lab was closed over the weekend. We had to wait. I took another pregnancy test and the line was much darker. This meant there was more pregnancy hormone present. This was good sign. The scouring of the internet began in earnest once again. Everything was going to be fine. It had to be. I Skyped with my parents and put on a brave face.

The lines on the left windows were stronger on the second test. That gave me hope that everything was going to be okay. (Photos: Beatrice Murch)

Monday morning, we went to the laboratory to have blood drawn to see the level of hCG in my blood. We were hoping that my cycle was off and that I was just not as far along as I had calculated. That’s very good reason not to see anything on the ultrasound. Hope for the best.

On Tuesday, I lightly spotted and called my now husband at work to meet me at the hospital. Luckily, my OB was on call and we went over the next steps. Wednesday, I had my blood drawn again to see how my hCG levels were progressing. In a viable pregnancy, they should double in 48 hours. The email I received that afternoon with my results was disheartening. The numbers had halved. Then I started bleeding more.

I had been realistic about all the signs, however I held onto any sliver of hope to keep going. So, they hadn’t found anything in the scan. That’s okay, I read about “cryptic pregnancies”, maybe it was that? Maybe my uterus was tilted from my last pregnancy. Maybe the c-section scar tissue was blocking the view. Maybe my cycle was off and I was just at five weeks instead of eight. My numbers from the first blood draw were consistent with being five weeks pregnant. They were also consistent with a non-viable pregnancy in the eighth week, but I focused on my timing being off. My pregnancy test results had gotten darker so that meant I had more hCG in my system, that was good. The spotting was light and I had experienced something similar in my successful pregnancy last year. I had read many stories of women bleeding during their pregnancies and still going on to deliver healthy babies. It needn’t be the end. The emotional rollercoaster of facing reality but fiercely hoping for a good outcome was throwing me for a loop. The joy I had felt at finding out I was pregnant and that our son would be an older brother three weeks prior was slipping away to fear and sadness.

The numbers halving, the lack of seeing anything on the scan, and the bleeding are portentous omens and reality hits hard. I’m still bleeding and the doctor said it should last for a total of seven to ten days. I haven’t lost hope of having another child later on and I’m happy to know that at 43, I’m still fertile enough to get pregnant, but damn it hurts. Life is messy, death is messy, and love is messy. But for all the pain and fear and sadness, creating and sustaining a life is worth it and try again we will.