The days following my MMC diagnosis were just awful. Knowing that I had been carrying my angel for a month after it's precious heart had stopped beating, and that I still WAS carrying it, was nearly unbearable. Why did this happen? I felt betrayed by my own body. However, Alisha was right in having me wait to make my decision on how to handle the MMC.
I read stories online from other women that had gone through similar situations, and that gave me strength to search in my heart for how I wanted to proceed. I decided I truly did NOT want to have a D&C. The thought of going to a hospital and having some doctor I'd never met sedate me and then rip my baby from my body seemed barbaric and terrifying. As hard as it may be, what I really wanted was to give "birth" to my baby and have sacred time with it in private. I wanted to have all my faculties so I could be truly present for the entire experience. I don't think there is a "wrong" way to handle this situation, I'm just glad I didn't make a rash decision that I couldn't undo. Waiting for the miscarriage to happen was the most difficult thing I've had to do, but it allowed me to go through most of the stages of grief before I got to meet my baby for the first and last time, and I'm glad for that.
And I DID wait for my body to recognize the nonviable pregnancy. I waited for a week. By the eighth day of waiting I was just too much of an emotional wreck. I had gotten acupuncture that's design was to help induce miscarriage. While the treatment was very therapeutic for me psychologically, my body did not respond. I then tried taking a tincture of blue and black cohosh to help induce miscarriage. That only made my bowels feel weird and had no effect on my pregnancy. I was torn between wanting to trust that my body would do what was best and just wanting this experience to be over. I had to think about my mind's well being while also considering what my body was going through. I finally decided that I was ready to try the medical approach. I called Alisha and asked her to write me a prescription for misoprostol.
The rest of this post will contain the full story of my miscarriage with as many details as I can remember and feel the need to share. If you don't want to read graphic descriptions of a late term miscarriage, PLEASE DO NOT READ ON.
On May 13, 2015 at around 7:30 PM I inserted 4 misoprostol tablets inter-vaginally. Alisha had warned me that doing the miscarriage this way was essentially labor as my baby was around 16 weeks old. I would have contractions, and have to push my baby out just as with full term labor, but unlike full term labor I wouldn't have the supreme joy of hearing my baby take it's first breath and cry it's first cry. My angel wouldn't be placed on my chest, nor would I experience it's first latch. All of this I knew in my heart, but that doesn't make it easier. Never having had given birth to any baby, full term or not, I didn't really know what the labor experience would be. I just knew that women had been doing this for thousands of years, and now so too was I.
My contractions began at about 9:30 PM. I just laid in bed with a heating pad on my abdomen and went through the contractions as they built in intensity. I wasn't really looking at the time much, but I believe at around 11:30 PM my contractions built to a level that was nauseating. The medication causes nausea and loose stools, so I knew I needed to get to the bathroom. I vomited a couple of times and had some loose stools (luckily not right at the same time). I wanted to do a water birth, so I got the bath going. As I sat in the bath waiting for it to fill, I felt much better. My cramping and contractions had seemed to cease. This was both a sense of physical relief and emotional distress. I didn't want to have gone this far just to have it fail. The success rate of misoprostol for miscarriage is 90 to 95 percent. With the luck I'd been having with this pregnancy, it wouldn't have surprised me if I fell into that 5 percent failure rate. However, after a little while the contractions began again.
I just laid in the tub and rode out the contractions. I realized how very unprepared I was for labor and birth. I didn't get far enough along in my pregnancy to ever go to a birthing class. The most I'd done was take one night of prenatal yoga. I wasn't sure how close the contractions were supposed to get before I should start pushing. I hadn't brought my phone into the bathroom, so I couldn't text or call my midwife. Whoops. That's when I took my mind back to the fact that this was a natural experience that millions of women had over thousands of years. I could do this. I was tough and strong. The contractions built to such an intensity I found myself rising up, clutching the sides of the tub and moaning and grunting in such a way that is unique to childbirth. I felt now was the time to push, so I did. That first push brought nothing, but I could actually feel what it was like to push with my uterus. It's something that you read about, but to actually FEEL it is something you can only know when you're doing it for real. The pain from the contractions was now pretty steady, and I knew that I just needed to get this baby OUT. I waited until the contractions were almost unbearable and I gave the biggest push I could muster. That's when I felt an object push out of my vagina. I reached down and pulled my baby all the way out. The relief and release was almost immediate. There was a tiny, ashen colored baby. It was a perfect little boy the size of my hand. His lifeless little hands and feet had five digits a piece. His mouth was open as if he was trying to cry his first cry. This was both utterly heartbreaking and precious at the same time. I don't know if I had spent all my emotions in the week leading up to this moment, but I didn't cry a single tear. I suppose now that I had had the time to envision this moment for a week, and I was just glad to meet my little boy. I think if the miscarriage had happened without me knowing it was coming, this experience would have been far more traumatizing for me.
Now I'm looking in the bath water to see what all came out. I'm holding my baby, which is still attached to the umbilical cord, which is still attached to the placenta, which is still inside of me. I see the amniotic sac on the other side of the tub. What I don't see is any blood. Not a single drop. In most situations you would be disturbed and sickened to see blood, but in this one I'm very confused and concerned at it's absence. I feel fine though, considering the situation. The relief from the contractions ceasing put me a very calm and relaxed state. I cut the umbilical cord with a pair of scissors and got out of the tub. I cleaned myself and everything up. My little angel I wrapped up in the tiny receiving blanket I had knit for him. The time was about 2:00 AM, so I figured I gave birth at around 1:45 AM. I got into bed and just spent time with my little one. I knew I wouldn't have even close to the amount of time with my baby that I wanted, so I just wanted to be with him. I also knew that having the placenta still inside of me was really bad, however I still felt mostly fine. Exhaustion got the best of me and I managed to fall asleep for a bit. I awoke at around 3:30 AM with severe pain in my abdomen. At that point I really knew I was going to have to go to the hospital to get the placenta out. Being a total female, I wanted to wait until it was a more acceptable hour of the day to call Alisha for advice. I managed to wait until 4:30 AM, when the pain was becoming nearly unbearable, to call her. She answered the phone right away and said that yes, I would need to get to the hospital as the situation was probably beyond what she could help with. I then called my sister to have her take me to the hospital. Erika said of course she'd be there in 30 minutes. By this time my pain was excruciating. I knew I wasn't in life threatening danger, but fuck I was in pain.
Upon getting to the emergency room I was in so much pain at this point I could barely move or speak. The nurse got some morphine in me as quick as she could and after a little while I felt pretty damn great. Apparently the placenta had lodged at the opening of the cervix and was acting as a stopper for all the blood. The doctor was able to manually pull the placenta out in one piece so nothing was left in my uterus to later cause infection. As he was removing the placenta I could feel this huge, warm gush of blood leave my body. Fortunately, that's all I felt. My pain had completely abated with the help of the morphine and the removing of the placenta. I asked to see the placenta so I could really have the full picture of this experience. Dr. Smood asked if I was sure. I was totally sure. I mean, I just had a late term miscarriage in my bath tub, I'm pretty sure I can handle seeing a placenta. It amazed me that the placenta was as big or bigger than the baby. That would help explain why I couldn't get it out myself. If my baby was full term, then the placenta would have been a cinch to get out following the baby.
It was around 7:45 AM, twelve hours after taking the misoprosol, that I was released from the hospital and the physical part of my missed miscarriage was finally over. Erika picked up bagels and cream cheese for me and dropped me off at home, where I was finally able to go to sleep.
Here is my little angel. I named him and buried him in a park close to my house that I spent some lovely, pregnant nights at with him.
I read stories online from other women that had gone through similar situations, and that gave me strength to search in my heart for how I wanted to proceed. I decided I truly did NOT want to have a D&C. The thought of going to a hospital and having some doctor I'd never met sedate me and then rip my baby from my body seemed barbaric and terrifying. As hard as it may be, what I really wanted was to give "birth" to my baby and have sacred time with it in private. I wanted to have all my faculties so I could be truly present for the entire experience. I don't think there is a "wrong" way to handle this situation, I'm just glad I didn't make a rash decision that I couldn't undo. Waiting for the miscarriage to happen was the most difficult thing I've had to do, but it allowed me to go through most of the stages of grief before I got to meet my baby for the first and last time, and I'm glad for that.
And I DID wait for my body to recognize the nonviable pregnancy. I waited for a week. By the eighth day of waiting I was just too much of an emotional wreck. I had gotten acupuncture that's design was to help induce miscarriage. While the treatment was very therapeutic for me psychologically, my body did not respond. I then tried taking a tincture of blue and black cohosh to help induce miscarriage. That only made my bowels feel weird and had no effect on my pregnancy. I was torn between wanting to trust that my body would do what was best and just wanting this experience to be over. I had to think about my mind's well being while also considering what my body was going through. I finally decided that I was ready to try the medical approach. I called Alisha and asked her to write me a prescription for misoprostol.
The rest of this post will contain the full story of my miscarriage with as many details as I can remember and feel the need to share. If you don't want to read graphic descriptions of a late term miscarriage, PLEASE DO NOT READ ON.
On May 13, 2015 at around 7:30 PM I inserted 4 misoprostol tablets inter-vaginally. Alisha had warned me that doing the miscarriage this way was essentially labor as my baby was around 16 weeks old. I would have contractions, and have to push my baby out just as with full term labor, but unlike full term labor I wouldn't have the supreme joy of hearing my baby take it's first breath and cry it's first cry. My angel wouldn't be placed on my chest, nor would I experience it's first latch. All of this I knew in my heart, but that doesn't make it easier. Never having had given birth to any baby, full term or not, I didn't really know what the labor experience would be. I just knew that women had been doing this for thousands of years, and now so too was I.
My contractions began at about 9:30 PM. I just laid in bed with a heating pad on my abdomen and went through the contractions as they built in intensity. I wasn't really looking at the time much, but I believe at around 11:30 PM my contractions built to a level that was nauseating. The medication causes nausea and loose stools, so I knew I needed to get to the bathroom. I vomited a couple of times and had some loose stools (luckily not right at the same time). I wanted to do a water birth, so I got the bath going. As I sat in the bath waiting for it to fill, I felt much better. My cramping and contractions had seemed to cease. This was both a sense of physical relief and emotional distress. I didn't want to have gone this far just to have it fail. The success rate of misoprostol for miscarriage is 90 to 95 percent. With the luck I'd been having with this pregnancy, it wouldn't have surprised me if I fell into that 5 percent failure rate. However, after a little while the contractions began again.
I just laid in the tub and rode out the contractions. I realized how very unprepared I was for labor and birth. I didn't get far enough along in my pregnancy to ever go to a birthing class. The most I'd done was take one night of prenatal yoga. I wasn't sure how close the contractions were supposed to get before I should start pushing. I hadn't brought my phone into the bathroom, so I couldn't text or call my midwife. Whoops. That's when I took my mind back to the fact that this was a natural experience that millions of women had over thousands of years. I could do this. I was tough and strong. The contractions built to such an intensity I found myself rising up, clutching the sides of the tub and moaning and grunting in such a way that is unique to childbirth. I felt now was the time to push, so I did. That first push brought nothing, but I could actually feel what it was like to push with my uterus. It's something that you read about, but to actually FEEL it is something you can only know when you're doing it for real. The pain from the contractions was now pretty steady, and I knew that I just needed to get this baby OUT. I waited until the contractions were almost unbearable and I gave the biggest push I could muster. That's when I felt an object push out of my vagina. I reached down and pulled my baby all the way out. The relief and release was almost immediate. There was a tiny, ashen colored baby. It was a perfect little boy the size of my hand. His lifeless little hands and feet had five digits a piece. His mouth was open as if he was trying to cry his first cry. This was both utterly heartbreaking and precious at the same time. I don't know if I had spent all my emotions in the week leading up to this moment, but I didn't cry a single tear. I suppose now that I had had the time to envision this moment for a week, and I was just glad to meet my little boy. I think if the miscarriage had happened without me knowing it was coming, this experience would have been far more traumatizing for me.
Now I'm looking in the bath water to see what all came out. I'm holding my baby, which is still attached to the umbilical cord, which is still attached to the placenta, which is still inside of me. I see the amniotic sac on the other side of the tub. What I don't see is any blood. Not a single drop. In most situations you would be disturbed and sickened to see blood, but in this one I'm very confused and concerned at it's absence. I feel fine though, considering the situation. The relief from the contractions ceasing put me a very calm and relaxed state. I cut the umbilical cord with a pair of scissors and got out of the tub. I cleaned myself and everything up. My little angel I wrapped up in the tiny receiving blanket I had knit for him. The time was about 2:00 AM, so I figured I gave birth at around 1:45 AM. I got into bed and just spent time with my little one. I knew I wouldn't have even close to the amount of time with my baby that I wanted, so I just wanted to be with him. I also knew that having the placenta still inside of me was really bad, however I still felt mostly fine. Exhaustion got the best of me and I managed to fall asleep for a bit. I awoke at around 3:30 AM with severe pain in my abdomen. At that point I really knew I was going to have to go to the hospital to get the placenta out. Being a total female, I wanted to wait until it was a more acceptable hour of the day to call Alisha for advice. I managed to wait until 4:30 AM, when the pain was becoming nearly unbearable, to call her. She answered the phone right away and said that yes, I would need to get to the hospital as the situation was probably beyond what she could help with. I then called my sister to have her take me to the hospital. Erika said of course she'd be there in 30 minutes. By this time my pain was excruciating. I knew I wasn't in life threatening danger, but fuck I was in pain.
Upon getting to the emergency room I was in so much pain at this point I could barely move or speak. The nurse got some morphine in me as quick as she could and after a little while I felt pretty damn great. Apparently the placenta had lodged at the opening of the cervix and was acting as a stopper for all the blood. The doctor was able to manually pull the placenta out in one piece so nothing was left in my uterus to later cause infection. As he was removing the placenta I could feel this huge, warm gush of blood leave my body. Fortunately, that's all I felt. My pain had completely abated with the help of the morphine and the removing of the placenta. I asked to see the placenta so I could really have the full picture of this experience. Dr. Smood asked if I was sure. I was totally sure. I mean, I just had a late term miscarriage in my bath tub, I'm pretty sure I can handle seeing a placenta. It amazed me that the placenta was as big or bigger than the baby. That would help explain why I couldn't get it out myself. If my baby was full term, then the placenta would have been a cinch to get out following the baby.
It was around 7:45 AM, twelve hours after taking the misoprosol, that I was released from the hospital and the physical part of my missed miscarriage was finally over. Erika picked up bagels and cream cheese for me and dropped me off at home, where I was finally able to go to sleep.
Here is my little angel. I named him and buried him in a park close to my house that I spent some lovely, pregnant nights at with him.
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