8 December 2020

It took me a lot of time to decide trying to have a baby with my husband. After finally getting there, 11 months passed when I conceived. It was probably the worst month of the year at work, when stress was at its highest levels. I am a nurse.

At first I couldn’t believe I was pregnant and then I was thinking that it was like something I couldn’t realise, but in a good way. My husband was so happy and so was I. But I had that bad feeling that I might have a miscarriage. Maybe I was worried because my best friend had a miscarriage a few months ago. Maybe I was just pessimistic about it or just scared of the unknown.

I was thinking about what will happen after birth, me and my husband were talking and dreaming about our future and the baby’s future… how nice and in the same time scary that would be as we were going to become parents.

Until one morning during my 9th week of pregnancy, I saw blood and that was when I started crying because my feeling was probably getting true and never stopped ever since. When we went to the hospital and the doctor checked me I saw the baby in the sac. At first I was relieved but then the doctor said that there was no heartbeat. I couldn’t believe it.

I thought I was having a nightmare, but it was reality. I couldn’t talk to anyone and utter the words of having lost my baby. My husband did. From the time I was admitted to the hospital until I left, I never stopped crying. From my doctor to nurses, midwifes, or the insurance lady, most people tried to comfort me. In the OR it was a female nurse or midwife that asked my doctor the most horrible question a woman could hear at this point, “What week-old fetus are we getting out?”.

This question still rings in my ears. And it came from a woman. I’ll never forget it, just like I’ll never forget the non-moving fetus image at the ultrasound scan. My dead baby. The dead baby I was carrying inside of me for days and didn’t notice.

My nursing side came though sometime in the last week of the absence of the abdomen pain I had in the beginning. I wasn’t feeling the pain which was indicating that my body was changing and my uterus growing. But I thought it was OK as I struggled with palpitations at the time.

My nursing side understands the nurse’s/midwife’s cold confrontation of her work. How many times has she dealt with miscarriages? Was it routine of work? Was it burn out? Was it that she though I didn’t listen? Whatever it was it added to my bad experience. The “stop crying and shaking I need to insert the venous catheter” from the anaesthesiologist didn’t help either but for some reason I didn’t quite care for him. It was all in all an awful procedure.

What went wrong? Was it something I should have told my doctor and didn’t? Was it a chromosome anomaly? It happened and I can’t change it. Now I cannot see how I will get over my grief. I can’t believe what has just happened. Will this feeling leave me when I get pregnant again? Will I be so worried about losing my baby again?

People don’t know what to say and just give me space and say nothing. I don’t know if that helps. Quarantine doesn’t help either. I thank my husband for being so loving, understanding and caring to me. I hope I will get better with time. I hope I won’t be jealous of pregnant women. I hope I will get pregnant again and everything will be alright.

Life goes on. I guess I’ll find the strength to go on as well.

 

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