11w6d – No heartbeat. Miscarriage beginning.

She’s gone. Just like that.

I’ve spent countless weeks worried I’d lose her. Convincing myself with each week that went by we were getting safer. Begging my paranoia to let me enjoy my pregnancy and my sweet girl.

I was so excited to hit 12 weeks Wednesday. To accomplish that milestone. To know we were closer to safe

That isn’t going to happen tho. My baby is gone. Her perfect little heart stopped. She will never make it earthside. I will never hold her alive. I will never breathe in her sweet baby smell. Never dress her on the adorable outfits I’ve found. Never see her first smile, first day of school, first dance, first kiss, high school, college. Nothing. There will be no firsts.

Instead, I’m laying on the shower floor sobbing and in more pain than imaginable. I took the “abortion pill” as my body isn’t willing to acknowledge she’s gone and miscarry on its own. I didn’t know it would hurt this bad. Physically. Emotionally. None of it. Now I lay here waiting to pass the lifeless, small piece of my baby. To keep her for a lab to decide what was “wrong”’with someone that was so perfect to me.
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I arrived to my ultrasound on time. I already had my normal sinking feeling something was wrong. I hadn’t been as sick for a couple days. I started having some uncomfortable cramping last night. I wasn’t as bloated. I was praying I was wrong. All this was normal as I’m turning 12 weeks and symptoms should subside and change.

Same tech as normal. She excitedly told me I’m almost 12 weeks and we can do an abdominal ultrasound this time. She begins that and I glance. I see nothing. I ask if there’s a heartbeat. She says she hasn’t checked yet. We’ve done this a million times. She shows me the heartbeat first to make me feel better. I knew. Right then.

She then tells me she actually needs to do the transvaginal as maybe the baby is tucked away. I know. My heart knows. My baby is gone. I change and grab a Xanax to hold onto. She returns to resume and a second tech comes in with the story of she’s bringing her more gel. No, she’s not. I’m not stupid. She’s the tech that specializes in loss. She’s the tech that holds the loss support groups. She’s there to verify my baby is dead. By this point I’m silently crying. I finally ask again – Does she have a heart beat? We’re just checking. I swallow the Xanax quietly. Why be sober. I know my baby is dead. They continue doing them. The loss tech asks if I see my doctor today. I shake my head no. She leaves the room and returns. She asks if she has all the measurements. Yes. Okay, we’re done.

Max finally utters the words I quit asking. Did she have a heartbeat? We can’t tell you that legally. But you know when something is wrong. I’m so sorry. I finally go from silent tears to sobbing. Hearing something about how my doctor has me scheduled to come in at 2. She’s sorry. Some Kleenex’s. And a comforting rub of my arm while she tells me I can stay in that room as long as I want and she’ll give us privacy.

I sob. I can’t tell you how long. Minutes. Hours. Finally I quietly get dressed and ask Max if he’s got his staff badge. Yeah, why? We’re going out the side door. I’m not walking past the health fair. Okay.

I hyperventilate the whole to the car on the long walk to the car around the building. I cry hysterically in the car. I somehow text my boss to cancel my day as I won’t be back. I go home. Lay in bed and sob until my 2 pm appointment.

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I make it to the doctor. The nurse quietly takes me to a room without any words. There’s no words you can say. Nothing makes this hurt less. The doctor comes in and tells me he’s sorry. This isn’t easy but a loss before 12 weeks is generally genetic issues and a blessing if the baby wouldn’t have a good quality of life. I agree while sobbing.

He lays out my options. D & C – surgery. He can do it Friday. There’s risks of course. If I end up with scar tissue I could get Asherman’s Syndrome and this could be bad if I do end up pregnant again. Medical Management – Taking the abortion pill and letting the baby and tissue pass this way. It’ll be painful he says, bad bleeding but should only last a day. Risk is I could not pass it all and need a D & C anyway. Expectant Management – Just wait until my body decides it’s ready. This can take a long time. Risk of infection if my body is never ready. Etc.

I had no idea. I don’t know if I can do this again. I don’t know if I can afford more IVF. Yet, I don’t want to cause issues if I can. I ask what he thinks is best. He simply advised if it was his wife or daughter he’d recommend the pill just incase they did want another child. I agreed. The pill it is.

However, I want to have my baby tested. Did she have trisomy 9? Was there more? Was she healthy and it was me? He advised it would be traumatic saving the baby. That I will see her if I try and it’ll be hard. I told him I know myself well enough I’ll be looking for her anyways. So, he sent me home with the stuff. Now, I’m watching for my dead baby to put her in a cup and send her to a lab go be poked, prodded, tested.

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I started the pills at 4 pm. 4 abortion pills every 3 hours. Twice. Then 2 every three hours. Twice. Ideally by then the tissue will be out.

I didn’t know it would hurt so bad. I’m miserable. It hurts. The cramps are like nonstop contractions. Yet, as of the second round of pills I wasn’t even bleeding tho it hurt. I finally took the Oxy’s he gave me. No help. Took the phenegran. At least I feel like puking less.

Sobbed. Screamed. Cried. Hit the wall. Tossed. Turned. Cussed out God. Begged God to give me something different. To fix this. Paced. Cried.

I finally got in the shower while I was shivering to death and sobbing. It helped. Then I felt a sudden “pop” or gush and saw fluid. I’d read if I was this far along there could be amniotic fluid first. I’m assuming that was that. Then finally some blood and clots began. I’m still dying. But some is passing.

Now I’m just left watching for my sweet girl. Dealing the the horrid physical pain I hope will end soon. Dealing with the mental anguish that will never end. It’s awful. I wish this on nobody.

Max keeps asking what he can do. There’s nothing. Nothing at all. The only thing that would help is for my baby to be alive. For this to be a bad dream. That’s it.

Will we do another round of IVF? I have no idea. I want a baby so badly. But I don’t want this feeling ever again.