I survived the D & C, 2006

Thank you and God bless each of you who responded to my last post, and to those of you who wrote a post on your own blogs to direct people my way. When I emerged from my D & C fog and checked by blog and my e-mail, I was humbled and overwhelmed by your kindness, as was my husband. It is a great comfort to know that others care about what we are going through, had been hoping along with us, are sad along with us, and are thinking of us and praying for us right now. I was touched by your kind words. They made me cry, but in a good way.

The D & C came and went yesterday. I was sleepless for much of the preceding night, alternating between sobbing and staring numbly at the ceiling. The only prayer I could muster was "God, help us. Please help us, God." I cupped my abdomen in my hands, thinking that this will be the closest that I will ever get to holding this lost, desperately wanted baby, knowing that in a few hours all remnants of it will be unceremoniously removed from my womb.

I arose at dawn to take a bath and to dress in the outfit that I had chosen to wear to the procedure: stretchy black pants with an elastic waistband, an old chambray button-up shirt, and slip-on shoes. I was instructed to wear clothing that is loose and easy to put back on, something I have learned from experience is important; I wore a somewhat tight-fitting, fashionable outfit to my first D & C, and afterward my husband had a heck of a time picking me up and trying to jostle my limp, rag-doll, vomiting body into my clothes and high-heeled boots prior to the drive home. After my bath and before dressing, I surveyed my body in the mirror with its bloated belly and noticeably enlarged, sore bosom with the protruding nipples that were already growing in preparation to nurse my baby. I wept.

My husband walked in, took one look at my naked pregnant body, and burst into tears. The poor, dear man. My heart is breaking for him. He wants to be a father so badly and had invested so much emotionally into this pregnancy. He is an optimist and had felt that things probably would work out this time. Since we discovered that the heartbeat was gone, there have been times when he has been inconsolable. I have never, ever seen him like this. I don't know what to do for him. I just hug him and we cling together and cry.

My D & C was performed by my RE at a surgery center. When we arrived, I had to provide my insurance card, answer questions, and sign forms through my blubbering tears. I think I made the receptionist uncomfortable, and I garnered some curious stares.

My mother-in-law, who lives in our city, was there to meet us in the waiting room, crying along with me. I was glad she was there, not only so that she could be with my husband during my procedure, but for me, too. She is kind and comforting and feels just about as badly about this loss as we do. She had brought us a take-out dinner plus homemade chicken soup the day before.

My parents had offered to come be with us, but they are almost 80 years old. I didn't want them to make the long, tiring trip when they were upset, and frankly, I felt like my husband and I would need to come home after the D & C and have some time to ourselves rather than having someone there staying with us. When other people are around, even family, I usually find myself feeling that I need to put on a bit of a good face rather than keening and wailing like I might need to.

I had a sympathetic nurse who helped prepare me for the procedure. She offered tissues, patted me, and murmured words of condolence as I wept. The ridiculous-looking paper-ish surgical cap that I had to wear over my hair with patriotic, cheery American flags printed on it in honor of the upcoming July 4th holiday was in stark contrast to my mood.

A radio station was playing music interspersed with a DJ morning show, the annoying kind of show where they giggle inanely over things that don't really even teeter on being funny and chat with callers about the topic of the day. The topic of this day was Britney Spears' decision to pose for nude pregnancy photos, and the callers were women talking about their pregnant bellies and whether they like to have nude pregnancy pics and belly photos. What are the odds that I would have to listen to that while on a guerney, dressed in a hospital gown, and awaiting my D & C? I should have asked them to change the station.

The anesthesiologist came in and assured me that they could help to prevent me from getting nauseated from the anesthesia. I was thankful to hear that.

My RE came in, held my hand, and told me he was sorry I was going through another loss and wished that things could have turned out differently. I confirmed again that the "products of conception" would be sent for karyotyping so that we could find out whether this loss was caused by a chromosomal defect in the embryo.

My RE had told us the day before, after the ultrasound of doom, that maybe we should consider letting go of continuing to try for another pregnancy unless we change tactics and pursue donor eggs or surrogacy or something different because he could see the emotional toll that these losses are taking on us. He had asked us if we had considered adoption. Some might think that was a bit of an insensitive thing to say at that point, right after discovering that the heartbeat was gone, but it wasn't. He is a warm, kind man who was visibly upset when he couldn't find the heartbeat, and I think it pains him to see us keep suffering. I know that he wishes the he could DO something for us to fix things.

Eventually I was wheeled into the bright, cold operating room. I wasn't cold because they had covered me with warm blankets. Before I realized what was happening, they had put something in my IV and I was out like a light.

When I awoke in the recovery room, there was a nurse about my age in scrubs with long, dark hair sitting by my bed and watching me. I realized, with much relief and a sense of gratitude, that I didn't feel nauseated at all, and we talked as I became more coherent. She expressed how sorry she was that I lost my baby and had experienced six miscarriages. She told me that her sister had five miscarriages, so the nurse had seen up close the emotional devastation that recurrent losses wreak. Finally, her sister adopted three children domestically, all newborns, and is happy now. As it turns out, the nurse is a Christian and we talked a little about faith. As she wheeled me to the car and said good-bye, she cried, stroked my hair, told me I was special, and said that she would pray for us. I felt like it was a blessing that I had ended up with her taking care of me.

My husband drove me home while my mother-in-law went to pick up my prescriptions: one for antibiotics that I have to take for a week and one for Percocet. Luckily, I haven't had much cramping or pain--nothing that two Advil couldn't vanquish--so I haven't had to dip into the Percocet yet. It's good to know it's there, though, just in case.

In addition to not experiencing much pain or cramping, my bleeding has been fairly light, and since I not only did not throw up from the anesthesia but didn't even feel a twinge of queasiness, I have to say that physically the D & C was quite easy. Much easier, I suspect, than the miscarriage would have been if it had been allowed to proceed naturally. I am grateful for that bright spot.

I even had an appetite yesterday for the first time in weeks, although I took it easy and just ate my mother-in-law's delicious chicken noodle soup, made from scratch. I love to cook, and eating good food is one of my greatest pleasures in life; although I was very thankful to have had fairly strong pregnancy symptoms, I must admit that the nausea really bummed me out and made me feel deprived of any culinary enjoyment. I am looking forward to being able to eat normally again...although I wish with all my heart that the nausea had abated because I made it safely to the second trimester and not because of a miscarriage.

I got in bed and tried to sleep when I got home from the D & C, but I couldn't, despite feeling exhausted. My husband got me settled on the couch with pillows and a fluffy blanket, and we sat there all day together. We alternately experienced crying jags, watched hours of videos that we had rented from the library (all the episodes of "Freaks and Geeks," a sometimes funny, sometimes sad TV show we used to like to watch that was on several years ago and is about two groups of high school kids), fielded phone calls from family and some friends about how the procedure went, hugged some, and talked some. The doorbell rang twice due to flower deliveries from my sister and from my boss. It's nice to have the brigtness of fresh flowers and the kindness they convey in our sad house.

Finally, night came, which I had been dreading. Despite feeling exhausted, I had trouble falling asleep, and then woke at 4 a.m., unable to get back to sleep. It's hard to awake to the realization that I'm not pregnant anymore, that it's all over. The sleeplessness is cold and lonely. I got up out of bed and went to the family room so as not to awake my husband with my crying. All I could think was, "I wish this was all a bad dream that I could wake from to go back to my little routine of taking my progesterone supplement at 8 a.m. and thinking that there was a chance for a baby." But there's no chance now, no rewinding time, no fast forwarding past the mire of grief.

I try to pray, but all I can choke out is "God, help us," and "Jesus, please take care of my poor baby." I am sad down to the core of my bones. I'm not angry, I'm not wondering "why, why, why," I'm not in total despair, and I don't wish I was dead and in heaven with my babies like I did after my third miscarriage.

I'm just very, very sad.

This loss is hard not only because it's the sixth miscarriage, not only because we wanted this particular baby so badly, but also because it's the end of the road for us. We are done. Enough. There will be no more pregnancies for us unless God somehow overrides our attempts at birth control. I cannot do this anymore.

I have seen OB/GYNs, REs, and traveled multiple times out of state to see a recurrent pregnancy loss specialist. I have had every possible test, I have tried fertility drugs, and I have been treated with the only possible current treatments that might help me. My body has been invaded over and over again, with ultrasound wands, hysteroscopies, needles, endometrial biopsies, and D & Cs. Our sex life has been damaged by the oppression of the fertility monitor and the association with death. I have gotten pregnant and miscarried not only once but again and again and again and again and again despite the fact that I have changed what I eat, what I drink, changed from hot baths to showers, popped prenatal vitamins, taken hormones, and even have taken time off work to nurture my pregnancies. I have gotten prayer, even with the laying on of hands and the annointing of oil, I have had many people praying for us, I have prayed and prayed and prayed myself--but God never promised me a successful pregnancy and for some reason it may not be his will for me. I have pursued all avenues and done everything I could possibly do to try to sustain a pregnancy, all to no avail. I need to accept that it's not going to happen for me.

Yes, I am stronger, my faith and my marriage are stronger, I am more compassionate to the suffering of others in general, and I have met many lovely women through the Internet and in real life that I wouldn't have known but for my losses; I can't underestimate the value of these blessings.

Nevertheless, I simply cannot do this any more. I am ready to close this chapter of my life, this trying to conceive and pregnancy and miscarriage chapter.

I am not giving up my dream of becoming a mother, but I am letting go of my dream of a successful pregnancy.

We are going to move on and try to adopt.

It's time.

Comments

[pixi]

Oh, honey, I'm in tears reading this. Not because of your new direction, but because of all that you've had to endure to get to this point. I'm sorry it's been so terribly hard.

[Donielle]

Oh Jill, my heart is absolutely breaking for you and your husband. Having only experienced one m/c, I know there is no way I can truely comprehend the pain that you are experiencing. My prayers are with you and please do your best to take care of yourselves and eachother while you grieve not only the loss of your baby, but so much more...

[Kath]

I'm in tears too, sweetie. I don't know what else to say.

[Karen]

I am just devastated for you and your husband. I remember the feeling of reaching your limit very well. I wish I could fast forward you through all the sadness and into the next phase.

[theoneliner]

My husband and I are praying for you and your husband.

There is no better witness for faith than yours during a very long, painful journey.

I am saddened by your loss, but glad that the d&c went about as well as it could.

I wish you well as you recover and heal.

[2jaysgirl]

I think you are remarkable. I really admire your strength and faith. I am so glad that everything went as well as it could. I'll be checking in.

[stephanie]

Jill-I am in tears, for what you have gone through, and the decision that has forced you to make, I admire your strength and your fortitude. I wish you nothing but good things as you walk down a different path.

[Ky]

First let me say I am sorry for your loss. Words don't cut it - I know. I myself have survived two and not a day goes by that I don't think of them. I have followed your blog for a few months now and am constantly moved to tears. Please know you are loved and there are countless others who grieve for you everyday.

Your decision to go down another path to motherhood is definitely not without significant pain. Even so, I wish you nothing but happiness and positive throughts and wishes in your new journey. You are an amazing woman and will be an amazing mother.

Blessings be!
ky

[Sami]

I too am in tears... I support your decision to move to adoption 100%. I know you will be a mom someday... how you get there doesn't matter, just that you do. I am praying for a quick physical healing, that emotionally you continue to let us all in... and know that both my husband and I are praying for you and your husband... I know that these words are just so inadequate... but right now all I can say is I'm thinking of you a lot... and praying for you guys a lot.

[Anon]

I wish you the best with your decision to adopt- if that is what the two of you decide. You will be amazed at what a relief it is to adopt. It's not without its worries, but it is without all the physical strain you have experienced. There are many incredible Christian based adoption organizations. You will hear time and time again that God is going to lead you to the child that is meant to be yours. And God is going to lead that child who desperately need parents to the two of you. Just doing the paperwork alone is going to help your heart heal. I can say that as someone who has been there. My little girl awaits me through adoption. I cannot wait to see her little face. I hope you keep blogging about your experience. You will find a tremendous support system out there for adoptive parents. But this is all thoughts for after you have mourned. Take all the time you need. Making this transition is difficult, but will be a huge relief to you. I wish you the best.

[Em]

Thank you for writing this Jill. I am awestruck by your faith and seeming acceptance of your miscarriages. I really admire you. Love to you both.

[sube]

I don't know how you can be so strong, but you are. Although I doubt it does anything to ease your pain, know that you are an inspiration. I'm so sorry for all you're going through. You are in my thoughts and heart.

[lindy]

Your post has moved me to tears. I'm so, so sorry and yet hopeful and excited about the next chapter for you.

[Jen]

Oh, Jill, I'm weeping for you. I just want to stomp and scream "it's not fair!!!", but I know that won't do you any good.

So instead, I send you love and prayers for healing, and strength in the journey to come. You will be such incredible parents--I am so glad to hear that you're moving on to adoption.

[fisher queen]

Oh sweets there just aren't any words I can come up with. I hope you and your husband find a lot of joy in the new path you have chosen.

[millie]

My heart is just breaking for all that you've been through. I'm so sorry for your loss and wish you much success on your new path.

[Jennifer]

I'm so so sorry. I've been reading your blog for a while now. I have only had 1 m/c, and 6 I cannot imagine. It's almost as if NOT getting pregnant is (for lack of a better word) 'easier' than m/c. Because with m/c it is given, then ripped out from underneath you. My husband and I have been trying for 3 years now and I often watch 'Adoption Stories' on Discovery Health. The last one was a couple in Texas, who adopted from India. They had tried to conceive for so many years. And after they adopted, the woman said, "I was actually GLAD I problems getting pregnant, because we wouldn't have gotten her." So at the end of this journey, when you are united with your child, maybe, just maybe, it will have been worth the wait. God bless.

[4tops]

All I can say is prayers continue to be with you. You are still loved, by God, even in your deep pain. And that, even though again, it comes from a stranger, I am so so very sorry.

[Milenka]

*hugs* I can only tell you how much I've been thinking of you and wishing I could ease your pain.

[Kath]

Sending you all my love, Jill. I can't get your post and your situation out of my head, and keep wishing I could lift some of that heavy burden from you. You are so graceful and strong and I so wish you didn't have to be. More than anything I hope your new path leads to great joys.

[Womb in waiting]

Oh Jill, my thoughts are with you & your husband. I have lost 4 pregnancies & i know that pain is unbearable & I know that with each loss the pain & trauma magnifies so i believe to make the decision you have made you are brave & strong - may you both be supported thru this process & on this next part of the journey. You have a team of supporters around the globe who are sending you loving energy. Take care of you x

[thalia]

Jill I'm glad that you had a sensitive thoughtful anaesthetist who managed to not make you nauseated on top of all the pain you are struggling through. I'm glad you have your husband there by your side. I continue to feel desparately sorry for what you've had to go through. I'll be hoping to continue to share in your story as you mourn the path you weren't allowed to take for some reason that none of us can understand, and start on a different one.

[kellie]

Jill,
I am so sorry you had to go through this again. I certainly understand not wanting to go through it a 7th time.

Good luck in your adoption. Keep us posted the details.

[Mia]

Your post moved me to tears, no blog or post ever has before.

You and your husband's path is touching and I wish you a peaceful journey towards parenthood.

God bless.

[Mary Scarlet]

I'm just catching up on the terrible news. I am so sorry, and shedding tears for you all. Wishing you peace as well.