Hope and Fear

Posted by Anonymous.

If you'd like to use this space to tell stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal mind, anonymously or otherwise, send me an e-mail (see sidebar) and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement.

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I found out I was pregnant on December 17th, 2005. The next day, my best friend gave birth to her son, my god son. I didn’t tell her I was pregnant when we visited her in the hospital. I wanted that day to be about her and her new son.

Two weeks later, I had a miscarriage.

I went home – to my parents’ house - for Christmas with my husband. On Christmas Eve, I told my parents, brother and sister I was six weeks pregnant. They cried - they were so happy. It would have been my parent’s’ first grandchild. They talked about names for the baby. I tried not to get too involved in those conversations. I thought it was too early. They thought I was being superstitious.

We came back to Toronto on Boxing Day. I went to the bathroom and saw blood in my underwear. We went to a clinic. The doctor said sometimes that happened, but if I had cramping and continued to bleed, I should go to a hospital.

I continued to bleed. We went to the hospital the next day. My husband came in the room with me. We were in there for three hours. They took blood tests. The doctor said I might be having a miscarriage. He told my husband to keep an eye on me overnight because I might hemorrhage. My husband didn’t sleep that night. He woke up every two hours, feeling my temperature.

The entire process lasted about four days. We were both off work. We distracted ourselves by running errands. One night I had really bad cramps, like having a period but worse. My husband asked me if we should go to the hospital, but I just wanted to be at home. I didn’t want to be in a waiting room, or lay on one of those tables, wearing an awful hospital nightgown, waiting for the doctor to come. There was nothing they could do anyway.

I wanted to be at home, in my own bed, with my husband’s arms wrapped around me. Letting my body go through what it was going to go through.

The next morning, I went to the bathroom and it came out of me. It plopped in the toilet. I’ll never forget that sound, that feeling.

I left the bathroom, stood in the hallway and cried out. It was over.

My husband came out of the bedroom and put his arms around me and we both cried.

We weren’t trying to get pregnant. The doctors all asked us if we had been trying. The answer was no, but in those short weeks, we had gotten used to the idea. And besides, what difference would it make if we were trying or not?

I had an ultrasound shortly after the miscarriage, to see if there was anything left and if I’d need a D and C. There was nothing there. But they found something on my ovary.

At first, they thought it was a cyst. And they told me to wait three months, have an ultrasound and see if it went away. I had three ultrasounds before the doctor referred me to a specialist. The specialist said it might be a tumor.

I had a cancer test. I had to pee in a jug for 24 hours. The test was negative.

They referred me to a surgeon. He’s going to remove the tumor in December. He asked if I had any concerns. I said my only concern was being able to get pregnant. He said the tumor was small enough that he’d be able to preserve the ovary.

If not, the other one is working fine.

I can’t help but think I should have had the surgery sooner. We played the wait-and-see game for too long.

I’m 32 years old.

And I can’t help but think the miscarriage was my fault.

Maybe it was the coffee, or the wine. Maybe I should have gone to the doctor more often. Maybe I should have taken better care of myself.

My friends are starting to have kids. Some are pregnant and have morning sickness.

What I’d give to have morning sickness.

I wonder what my life will be like if I can’t have kids. I wonder how I’ll cope if I have another miscarriage. I wonder why no one talks about miscarriages.

I wonder if this is it for me.

I wonder if that was my one chance.

I wonder if there is hope for me.