The Miracle of My Miscarriage

They say a picture says a thousand words, but I think this photo says just one- tired. This word characterises the last few months of our lives together. I’ve been hesitant to share this story with you. After all, miscarriage is not something people are used to talking about, even though about one in every four pregnancies end that way.

Why is there so much silence, I find myself wondering, as I blurt out to the sales assistant in Lorna Jane that I’m a little bigger because I’ve been pregnant?  “I’m not any more though”, I reassure her. She heads out to grab a larger size of the stylish fleece-lined leggings we’re hoping I buy, with a slightly confused look on her face. 

“I’m sorry, did I hear you right in there?”, she asks, as I bring the leggings to the counter. Her sleek brown ponytail shimmers in the overhead fluorescent light. “I’m not sure my reaction was appropriate”, she says, “but I think you meant you just lost a pregnancy?” Her voice is authentic and I notice that her face is soft. 

“Yes”, I say, “but it’s okay. It was our first try and we’ll do it again”. It’s easy to be positive with a face so kind. 

We chat openly for a while and I feel it soothe me. Before I leave she locks her deep brown eyes on mine and says, “I see your soul, its beautiful”. It shocks me into full presence and I remember to give her my all. We stand there silently connecting, rejoicing in one of those rare but deep connections shared by strangers. 

My miscarriage had just ended the day before, and that morning the doctor had confirmed my uterus was empty. I felt temporarily euphoric in the absence of the little being- Lil Nugget we affectingly referred to him as- that had so boldly colonised my body. 

Glen and I did our absolute best not to get too attached to Lil Nugget, although as anyone who has ever been pregnant knows, this is near impossible. Being pregnant is both exciting and exhausting. I was elated at the brilliance of my body’s changes while simultaneously doubling over with bloating, gas and heartburn. (Why does no one ever talk about the gas?)  I marvelled at the miracle of a human being formed inside as I could barely make it up a flight of stairs.

There wasn’t a moment of the pregnancy where I wasn’t aware that I was pregnant. The physical sensations were so intense that I could not forget or ignore what was happening inside of me. So while I warned myself to keep it cool, not get attached, and wait out those first 12 weeks before getting too excited (as is customary and recommended in our society), I simply could not. 

Instead, Glen and I talked excitedly about all the possibilities. How would we go surfing once we had a little one to contend with? Would we take turns, me breastfeeding, then paddling out, while he took Lil Nugget for a walk? At what age could we get one of those kids seats to take Lil Nugget mountain biking? Would we move to a bigger house? 

We watched those little videos, and found out that Lil Nugget was the size of a poppy seed, then an orange seed, and then a blueberry. We had our first scan. My palms were sweaty as she told us Lil Nugget was only 2mm in size and was dated at 5 weeks. I knew immediately that this was not right. Glen and I were absolutely certain of our conception date. By now, Lil Nugget was supposed to be the size of a blueberry. 

As a paramedic I knew the statistics. I’d taken many bleeding and distraught women to the ED. I was certain that Lil Nigget was no longer a viable pregnancy but Glen chose to focus on the positive- that there was a heartbeat. Two days later, my doctor told me that Lil Nugget’s heart rate was recorded as only 60 on the scan. We discussed a probable miscarriage. 

I had a trip to Sydney planned to co-teach at a silent retreat and to run a day retreat with Tanya. Despite possible miscarriage I decided to go. It was a bizarre time, each day waiting for signs of bleeding, wondering if it would be painful, and also knowing that there was a small chance that everything would actually be okay. 

My teaching role on the retreat was small, so I was able to drop into silence and deep practice. There, in the refuge of awareness and the ancient wisdom of the Buddha’s teachings, I found steadiness and equanimity. What would be would be and I accepted the loss of expectations. I felt that it was all a miracle, both the pregnancy and the loss too. I thanked Lil Nugget for coming to offer me lessons, I said I love you, and I said goodbye. Two weeks later, I returned home for the next scan. No heartbeat, no Lil Nugget. 

This scan was more difficult for Glen, having not had the time to digest, process and let go like I had. We cried a little together, held each other close, and felt our bond strengthen. Eventually, one week later, when my body still hadn’t let go on its own, we opted for the medical option to induce the miscarriage. At this point I was ten weeks. 

We arrived at the women’s clinic at Flinders Hospital on a Thursday morning. We were briefed on the possibilities of how it would go. There were a number of side effects listed, some rare, and we would soon discover that I would get all of them. The doctor administered the first dose of medication and sent us home with painkillers and anti-nausea meds. 

Three hours later, while we were cozied up on the couch waiting, the pain began to hit. It came on slowly at first, and I had yet to take pain meds, thinking I could just wait and see. Then, it hit like a freight train. I suddenly could barely hear or see anything. I got up, raced to the bathroom and sat down. My vision caved in. I said something about passing out, about getting on the floor, and then, nothing. 

I woke up to Glen gently saying “honey”. The word pulled me out of blackness and into the smell of my own vomit. I proceeded to enter into 1-2 hours of vomiting-and other things we won’t mention here- all while being too light headed to get up, meaning it all went on the floor. It was atrocious. I was horrified that my new-ish lover was bearing witness to this mess, all while he calmly cleaned up and helped where he could. The pain was so intense I couldn’t think of anything else, but each time I took a painkiller, I would simply vomit it up. 

Eventually, the vomiting (and other things) subsided and I was able to hold down two doses of pain meds. Glen hosed me down while I lay in the hot shower, tenderly dried me, and put me to bed. I lay there in sheer wonder of how two little pills could so effectively take the pain away. The miracle of modern medicine! Wrapped in blankets, with Glen by my side, I felt my love and trust for him magnifying to unrivalled heights. 

The next day I had to take double the miscarriage medication, divided over four doses. This time, humbled and no longer delusional about my own tough-ness, we had a plan. We took the pain and anti nausea meds first, then the miscarriage med second.  It worked. It was a long day of feeling weak, drugged up, and sick, but there was no repeat on the gastro-like symptoms and I only felt light pain. Eventually, I began to bleed. 

Nothing can really prepare you for the physical-ness of this experience. Although I had emotionally come to terms with letting go, there was an element of raw physicality that could not be ignored. It was, without a doubt, a kind of death. Through an entire week of pain and bleeding, I held tight to the wonder of the body. I kept looking through the lens that this body- my body- was a miracle. I congratulated my body, let it know it was doing a great job, and gave care and compassion where it was needed. 

This lens allowed me to feel empowered, courageous and alive. When the physical pain would ramp up, I played with consciously sitting with it, and then offering it small doses of pain meds to offer relaxation and relief. Through this experience I learned a lot more about my anatomy- I watched videos of cervix’s so I could understand what was happening and why it was so painful. I learned that a cervix is anywhere from two and a half to four centimetres long while only 2-ish centimetres in diameter. When large (and I mean LARGE) pieces of conception have to find their way down that narrow passage it HURTS! 

I was filled with respect for all women everywhere and felt that I had somehow been initiated into a special club. I had shared a deeply human experience. I made a list of all that was good about this pregnancy and miscarriage, which allowed me to contrast and reframe the parts that were upsetting or gross. That list was beautiful, the most prized among it was the deepened connection and closeness with Glen. 

Just as I had know the moment of our conception (a story for another time) I knew also the moment the miscarriage came to an end. After a long and excruciating day I passed the last and biggest piece of conception. Following this moment I felt a divine emptiness within. I felt the energy of Lil Nugget leave this physical earth. I can’t explain how I knew it, I just did. It was euphoric, a divine lightness. And sure enough, the next morning the doctor reported my uterus empty. 

The fleece-lined legging euphoria lasted no more than a day before emotion set in. With the challenge itself over, I was now free to grieve. It wasn’t so much emotions of thought as it was emotions of the body, like my body itself needed to cry and shake off the trauma and shock of the pain and loss. Supported by my own kindness and love, the process held its own kind of beauty. 

So, here we are now, a little tired and battered and bruised. I’m napping as much as I’d like while also trying to get back into the swing and flow of life. My body is slowly deflating (you can gain a lot of weight in ten short weeks!) and feeling more and more ready for bike ride’s and surf’s. We are looking forward to our wedding, a long and adventurous honeymoon, and to eventually, when the time feels right, trying again. 

We don’t really know where life begins and ends but we are grateful that this being came to bless us with love. To teach us to let go, to be open and to be flexible with life’s flow. And if the Divine is willing, perhaps we will soon get another chance to love again. 

I share this story to open out the silence around miscarriage, and to remind us all that it is a common and natural experience shared my women and men everywhere. In silence we can feel alone with the natural process of grieving and loss, yet together we feel heard, seen and held.

Thank you, 

I love you. 

RIP Lil Nugget Round One