It’s been four weeks since I had my D&C and four weeks, two days since they told me they could no longer find a heartbeat. And, get this: I’m still pregnant. My hCG levels are at 79. They dropped a measly 61 points over the last 7 days. I still have pregnancy symptoms, yet no baby—no growing belly.
For lack of a better phrase? This is bullsh*t.
That means I have at least another two weeks of feeling pregnant. At that point, I can hopefully move on (at least physically).
What you may not realize about “having a miscarriage” is that it’s not just the act of losing a baby. It’s a long, drawn out process where you spend months waiting for your body to get back to normal again; it acts as a constant reminder of what has happened. And that’s just the physical aspect of it. The mental part may linger on forever.
So, for anyone who has ever thought, “Hasn’t she moved on? She can try again!” It’s not nearly as simple as one might assume.
Toby and I have not yet decided if we will ever try again. Neither one of us are strong enough right now to deal with what we just went through. I’m not sure I’ll ever be willing to face the possibility of having it fall apart again. And that’s what it’s all about, facing the possibility. Because the innocence and excitement I had regarding pregnancy is gone.
But say a woman does want to try again after having a miscarriage. Many doctors suggest waiting at least one menstrual cycle to do so, most suggest waiting three months. If a woman is above the age of 35, she is likely feeling pressure to try again right away. For many, that opportunity may not present itself until six months down the road.
So, has she moved on? No. Don’t ever ask a woman that. In fact, don’t even think it.
I’m frustrated. I’m angry. I’m sad. I’m ready to move on from this, put it behind me to some degree and my body won’t let me. This miscarriage is all I have been able to think about specifically because I’m still technically pregnant. I still have the bad taste, the excess saliva, the heartburn. I still have the mood-swings of a pregnant person. (If you need proof of that, see this post.)
I am idling, watching the days pass by like a run-on sentence in search of a period. Literally.
Never have I felt this frustrated, sad, and pissed off. I feel like stomping on every petty complaint I’ve ever had, ridiculing it for its juvenile nature.
I’m not the same person I was a month ago. I’m not sure I’ll ever be that person again. And I’m not sure if I miss her or if this new person is the better protector. Either way, I’m frustrated.
She’s frustrated. Whatever.
I know that tomorrow will be better. And I know that someday I’ll feel lighter. But for now I’m idling and frustrated.
Edited to Add:
Just when I thought the day could not get more emotionally charged, I get a call from my doctor with the genetics report.
Believe it or not, it made me feel better. I now have a little more closure.