Back to Work

Today was my first day back to work and I dreaded it. Honestly, I considered calling out sick again. I didn’t want to get up and get dressed, like I hadn’t been through hell last week. And I really didn’t want to answer questions about how I was feeling or whether I had the flu or hear any of my co-workers well-meaning concerns over my absence. Even though I know their hearts are all in the right place, they have no idea what I’ve been through, and I have no interest in enlightening them. But that makes it hard to go back to work when I don’t want to make small talk or pretend I’m “all better” (as if recovering from a common cold). A couple people asked what was wrong with me and I politely said I didn’t want to get into it, and luckily they left it at that.

I’d forgotten about the girl in HR who I think might be pregnant -- she’s very thin but lately seems to be sporting a mini belly bump and is often sitting on a chair in her cubicle with her feet propped up. I walked past her on the way to a bathroom break and all my emotions came flooding out. Why her? Why not me? Will it always feel like this?

I don’t want to be one of those women who glare at every pregnant woman or mother with hurtful envy, but I can’t help  myself. I don’t understand why they get to have their babies and I can’t have mine.

Tonight I played the blame game, big time. Why did the doctor prescribe me those medications without my permission? Why didn’t I ask more questions before heading down a course of treatment? Were they even 100% sure that there was no heartbeat before I began taking them? I honestly can’t remember the doctor confirming this point blank. Did I kill my own baby?? My husband recalls the doctor confirming there was no embryo when we met in the doctor’s office on Monday afternoon, but I don’t recall much of that meeting except that there was only one guest chair so she had to drag another one in from the waiting room. What if they just didn’t see it in there? Seeing an embryo without a heartbeat seems different than not seeing anything at all. I know it was in there -- we saw it just a couple weeks ago. What if they weren’t looking in the right place, or missed it on the ultrasound? Oh my God, the agony to think I may have taken those drugs prematurely...

Today I came across this article and it scared me to death: http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/01/10/finding-hope-after-miscarriage/. I barely survived this miscarriage, and the only reason I didn’t have a complete breakdown is thanks to my husband. He loved me like I’ve never felt loved before, even when his own heart was breaking. I honestly don’t know how this woman coped. If this were to happen to me again I don’t know what I would do.

The Day After

This was our first pregnancy and I'm absolutely devastated. I feel so confused because we had a healthy heartbeat of 141 at the 8 week ultrasound last month, and although I had brown spotting on and off since the beginning, I'd read online it was not uncommon and my OB didn't seem too concerned. I didn't have any morning sickness (except for a couple days where I felt a little queasy, but nothing too bad at all), though was tired and had other typical symptoms like sore breasts, frequent urination, belly bloating, and light headaches (which I hardly ever get). I just don't understand what went wrong because the first ultrasound seemed great, I was taking all my vitamins, drinking tons of water, and eating better than I think I've eaten in my life. My husband and I were religiously ensuring that I got 75 grams of protein a day and I didn't "cheat" on any dietary no-nos -- in fact I’ve been eating healthier and drinking more water than I ever remember. Although I realized before getting pregnant that miscarriages were always a possibility, I stupidly tricked myself into believing we were almost in the clear after the 8 week ultrasound detected a healthy heartbeat.

Today I am no longer in physical pain, but feel like an emotional basket case and really just want to stay in bed crying. My husband went back to work today and I feel so alone, partly because hardly anybody knew about the pregnancy and so we don't want to tell a lot of people about the miscarriage either. Our moms know, but don't live nearby, and I called my bff to break the news on Tuesday. She has been very supportive by checking in on me, and it helps to know she went through this 8 years ago before having her beautiful girls, but she also lives several hours away from me.

I was supposed to work from home today and tomorrow, but when I opened my laptop and saw all the work that had piled up, I couldn’t take it.... I broke down crying from a combination of frustration/anger/sadness/exhaustion/stress, and ended up emailing my director letting her know that I had an urgent medical situation and couldn’t work the rest of the week, despite the huge backlog of work I had and how strapped our team was for resources. To my surprise (I’m still not sure why I expected any less -- I think I was just so overwhelmed), she was incredibly supportive and knowing I didn’t have to deal with work for the next couple days provided some much-needed relief.

I spent the rest of the day in my pajamas, crying and watching soap operas.

In my brain, I understand that miscarriages are more common than they are discussed, and that chances are likely that the pregnancy wasn’t viable due to chromosomal abnormalities versus something I did or didn’t do. But I can’t help but wondering. What if we didn’t go to DR? What if I ate or drank something there that poisoned my baby? What if I can’t get pregnant again, or can’t carry a pregnancy to term? Just because many women go on to have healthy babies after a miscarriage doesn’t guarantee that I will.