Because really, I don’t know how else to title this post.
I’ve been putting off writing this post. But as hard as it is to write about it, it’s something I need to do.
Writing is therapeutic for me. I suppose it always has been.
But before I completely change the subject, let’s get back to my most recent miscarriage. That’s right, this was not my first. If you’ve been following me way back to when I first started this blog, that’s pretty much where it all began. A miscarriage. Something I hoped to never endure again.
My first miscarriage happened very early. It was technically considered a “chemical pregnancy,” and happened at just 4 weeks 5 days. Honestly, if I didn’t test so early, I probably would have never known I was pregnant. But, I was.
Although that miscarriage was hard, three months later I was blessed with another positive pregnancy test, and nine months later, my sweet Lincoln was born.
This miscarriage was much different. It was a rollercoaster ride, and one I would not wish upon my worst enemy.
This pregnancy resulted in a blighted ovum. Basically that means that a gestational sac develops, but a baby never develops inside. When I should have been 9 weeks pregnant, I was only measuring 6 weeks. With that information, along with my HCG levels, it was evident I was going to miscarry.
My doctor presented me with three options. The first one being to wait one more week, and see if my body would miscarry on its own. I knew there was no way I was going to wait one more week. I was already in limbo for three weeks. I just couldn’t do it anymore. Having pregnancy symptoms, and knowing your pregnancy is ultimately going to be lost, is a horrible, horrible thing.
The second option was to schedule a D&C. I’m sure you all have heard of that surgical procedure.
My third option was to take pills, called Cytotec, which would bring the miscarriage on.
I sat in my doctors office with my doctor and husband, and literally didn’t know what to do. I wanted someone to just make up my mind for me and say, “this is the best way to do it.” But, it wasn’t that simple. It was my body. My choice.
I hate surgery. I am not sure if it’s because I had a few major surgeries when I was younger due to the Osteogenesis Imperfecta, or if it’s just an ordinary fear, but I hate being put under anesthesia. I’ve never had a bad reaction or anything, and I’ve always bounced back rather quickly, yet it still terrifies me.
Because of that, I chose to take the Cytotec. My doctor told me to take four pills that evening, and then another four 12 hours later. He told me it would be painful, and my uterus would contract to “get everything out.” In other words, I’d basically be in labor. He scheduled me an appointment for the following evening to make sure the pills did what they were supposed to do, because this method is around 90% effective. If it didn’t work, I would need a D&C.
I left the doctors office and went to the pharmacy to have my prescription filled.
You know what’s awful about taking Cytotec? It’s the exact same drug they give to you if you wish to abort your baby. Why can’t they just make two different drugs with different names, or even yet, just the same drug, but call them two different things. One for miscarriage, and one for abortion. I actually didn’t go to my regular pharmacy, because I go there all the time and didn’t want them to wonder which one. Crazy, right?
Taking those four pills was a lot harder than I thought it would be. It was like I was choosing to end my pregnancy. I guess in all actuality I was, yet I really didn’t have any other option. There was no baby. I had to do this.
So. At 4:30pm, I swallowed four pills.
And I waited.
Literally 20 minutes later I started to have some cramping. I wondered if it was all in my head, because surely this couldn’t be happening so quickly. But, I was indeed having cramps. I took the prescription Motrin my doctor prescribed to ease the pain.
I kept going to the bathroom, expecting to see blood. Afraid to see it, and afraid to not see it. I knew if I wanted these pills to work, there would obviously be blood involved.
As the clock ticked, I was getting more and more nervous. I knew the bleeding might not even start until I took the second set of pills 12 hours later, but I just wanted it to work.
At 7:30pm, almost exactly 3 hours after I took the pills, I started to bleed. As weird as this might sound, I was relieved. My body was responding to the pills the way it was supposed to.
The next few hours were painful. I relaxed with a heating pad, and eventually took the Percocet prescribed so I could get some sleep.
At 6:30am the following morning, I took the remaining four pills.
Throughout the rest of the day I passed several large clots. It seemed that the bleeding mostly happened when I went to the bathroom. My pad rarely ever had anything on it, which was a good thing. I was told if I soaked through two pads in an hour to head to the ER immediately.
That evening I had my follow-up appointment with my doctor. He did another ultrasound, and the sac was gone. The medication worked. The pregnancy was gone.
I bled for two weeks. The first week was very heavy. Again, I never soaked any pads, but when I used the bathroom, it was seriously disgusting. I was also so tired. Physically exhausted. Having a miscarriage drains you. Literally.
I wanted to write about my experience taking Cytotec, because I know there are a lot of women who have questions. It’s scary. You’re putting this extremely powerful drug into your body, to literally destroy something, and you’re not sure how your body is going to react.
You experience pain. Contractions. You are basically in labor. It’s scary. It’s horrible, and I’m not going to sugar coat anything for you.
But it was something I had to do.
Do I regret taking the Cytotec rather than opting for the D&C? No. It worked. It did its job. I just pray I never have to make that decision again.
My husband was amazing throughout this whole nightmare. He took 3 nights off from work to help me go through this. He got up with me to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. He cuddled with me on the couch during the day. Although I was the one physically going through the miscarriage, emotionally, we went through it together.
Lincoln. My sweet, sweet boy. He helped me in so many ways. More ways than I ever would have thought a 3 year old boy could. He’s always sweet with me, but it seemed like he was extra sweet. Those random hugs and kisses, and those snuggles. He helped to heal my heart. It amazes me how much my son helped me get through this awful time.
Jared and I were given the okay to try again for baby #2 pretty much immediately. We are now 3 1/2 weeks past the miscarriage. I think it’s pretty safe to say we’ll be trying again soon. We know we want another baby. We want Lincoln to have a sibling. It’s pretty much now or never. So as scary as it is to try again, we will.
We have each other, and we have Lincoln. We can do this.