From Miscarriage to Motherhood
By Kim Dearth
Photographed by Erin Weberpal at Henry Vilas Zoo
Hair and makeup by Jalissa Hansen of Julie Grace Salon
I never was much of a baby person.
I know that sounds horrible, but it’s true. If I was walking down the street and encountered someone with a baby and a puppy, I would, of course, admire the baby (briefly), then proceed to the dog, over whom I would ooooh and ahhh and make other strange noises usually emitted by otherwise sane adults in the presence of infants.
But after several years of marriage, my husband and I decided it was time to try for a child of our own. Although by this time I was warming up to the idea of being a mom, I still worried that I didn’t really have that innate “motherhood gene.” After all, as a child I always chose Barbies over baby dolls. Fashionable clothes, endless career possibilities and glamorous dates with Ken versus dirty diapers, burp clothes and inconsolable wails—was there really a choice?
Having heard numerous statistics and anecdotes about the potential difficulties of getting pregnant, I was pretty practical in my expectations. Then, after two months of trying, my closely monitored period was a day late. Then two. Then three. Trying not to get my hopes up, I sat in the bathroom and dutifully ignored the plastic stick lying on the counter. Finally, when the three minutes were up, I carefully peered at the results. Which were…inconclusive. I definitely saw one line, but it looked like there was a second pale line crossing it to form a plus. Still, it was so light I doubted my own eyesight. I quickly made an appointment with my doctor.
When she came in the room, a congratulatory smile on her face, my life changed. In that instant, four-and-a-half weeks into my pregnancy, I was a mother. This wasn’t just a group of cells growing inside me, it was a person—my future son or daughter. From that moment, I saw babies everywhere. In the grocery line, at the bank, on walks around the neighborhood. Adorable dogs were relegated to secondary status as every baby received the cooing and coddling he or she deserved. Unlike many mothers-to-be, I didn’t feel sick at all—I felt more healthy and alive than ever before. I wondered how I could have ever doubted my ambitions to be a mom.
About a week later I began to experience slight bleeding. I immediately called the doctor, who didn’t seem overly concerned.
“A little staining can be perfectly normal,” she reassured me. “But let’s run some tests anyway.”
Having never had an ultrasound before, I wasn’t sure what to expect. But as the technician ran the scanner around and around on my abdomen, I choked back the lump in my throat. Finally, with an impenetrable mask of professionalism concealing her concern, she wiped my belly and stood up.
“Sometimes it’s hard to locate a fetus this early,” she said. “We’ll do a vaginal ultrasound to double check.”
After the second test I was sent home and told my doctor would call. I waited by the phone, my knees quivering. When the call came, my sense of motherhood, peace, wholeness, was shattered. There was evidence of a pregnancy, but no fetus could be found. I needed laproscopic surgery right away. I called my husband, tearfully relaying the diagnosis, all the while feeling as if my baby—my sweet, sweet child—had suddenly mutated into a ticking time bomb inside me. How could this happen?
When I awoke from surgery, the doctor confirmed her diagnosis. I had had an ectopic pregnancy in my fallopian tube, and she had to remove the tube as well as the fetus. One more week and the tube would have burst, putting my life in jeopardy.
The devastation was all consuming. I was living far from family and my husband was working long hours. I never felt so alone. When we came home for Christmas, what should have been a joyful holiday season
of showing off ultrasound pictures and opening presents for the baby-to-be was overshadowed by my loss.
When a close friend announced her
unplanned pregnancy, I experienced a side of myself I am ashamed, even now, to admit. While I was happy for her—how could anyone begrudge a baby?—I couldn’t get over why was it so easy for her and so painfully difficult for me. She freely admitted she wasn’t even ready for a child while I—despite my earlier doubts—was, with all my soul.
The most painful moment came that May when I was back home again and went to church with family and friends, including my pregnant friend. It was Mother’s Day, and the pastor directed the Sunday School children to give each mother, and mother-to-be, a flower. I smiled through it all, then after the service found a quiet spot to break down. A friend found me. With
disdain in her eyes, she hissed,”Just get over it.” To this day the pain slices. Would anyone dream of telling someone who just lost a mother, brother, grandfather to “just get over it”? Although I never met my son or daughter, the devastation of losing him or her was just as real.
After about a year, the pain of not having a child finally trumped the pain of trying again. I knew the odds were not good—women with prior ectopic pregnancies are much more likely to experience them a second time, plus I was operating with only one fallopian tube. Still, after only two months, I found myself pregnant
again. The first few doctor visits were nerve-wracking, despite my doctor’s optimism. Then, I went in for an ultrasound and there was my child. Later ultrasounds confirmed a healthy baby boy. I finally
allowed myself to relax and enjoy this amazing time in my life.
And enjoy it I did. Once again, I had no morning sickness and the feeling of connection with the child growing inside me was unlike anything I imagined. Every kick of a leg, every push of an arm, added to my ache to finally hold my child.
After a near-perfect pregnancy and an amazingly pain-free labor (achieved through hypnobirthing), I finally held the little boy, who had been two years—and two pregnancies—in the making. While I still grieved for my first unborn child, I now had a son to shower with all the love I had been storing up inside me.
When my son was 1, my husband and I began to talk about plans for adding a brother or sister to our family. I got pregnant within months. I was confident now that my first pregnancy had been an aberration, and that this pregnancy and labor would go as smoothly as the last.
At my 10-week appointment, my doctor confirmed the size of my uterus was
appropriate for a 10-week pregnancy. As she listened for the baby’s heartbeat, however, I saw doubt flash across her face.
“It can be hard to get a heartbeat this early, but because of your history, let’s do an ultrasound,” she said reassuringly.
My heart thudded in my chest, even as I rationalized with myself that everything would be fine.
As the technician circled my stomach with the scanner, however, déjà vu brought a sting to my eyes. Afterwards, she directed me to a chair outside the doctor’s office and went inside. Through the open door I heard the doctor exclaim, “Oh no!” The grief was overwhelming.
Although not an ectopic pregnancy, I had experienced another type of miscarriage called a blighted ovum. My body had fooled itself into thinking it was pregnant, and had formed a yolk sack although there was no fetus. My doctor told me that some women’s bodies will continue to grow and “act” pregnant for several months before they actually miscarry. I couldn’t wait it out—I asked the doctor to schedule a D & C
(dilation and curettage).
I felt cursed. I also felt selfish. I already had one amazing little boy—maybe I was tempting fate to want another. But eventually, the desire for a sibling for my son once again overruled my fears. This time, the pregnancy and labor proceeded without a hitch and I was blessed with another wonderful little boy.
Today, as I look at my sons, I feel complet-ely fulfilled. When asked if I would want more children I answer truthfully, no. Sometimes I’m struck by the thought that my family could actually consist of four, not two, children. But having experienced the grief of loss, I’m content to marvel at the miracles I have and to be grateful.
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The Madison chapter of Share Pregnancy and Infant Loss Support, Inc., a national support group for those touched by pregnancy loss, stillbirth or loss of a child early in life, meets monthly in Madison. Join the group Wednesday, August 25, at the Madison Public Library—Alicia Ashman Branch at 6:30 p.m.; nationalshare.org.