Today is January 7th – three years since my first, and only, D & C. It’s not a procedure I’d wish on anyone.
You see, it was my first known pregnancy, though I suspect I’d been pregnant before then but just not known it at the time. The baby stopped growing at about 6 weeks, and I was diagnosed with a blighted ovum with the complication of a subchorionic hemorrhage that had sent me to the hospital at 4am a day or so after Christmas. I ended up switching OBGyns for a second opinion as I didn’t feel the first OB’s office handled my situation appropriately.
Xannatos was out of town at CES, where I was to meet him, when I went in for my final ultrasound to verify that the pregnancy was ending. You see, because of the blighted ovum, my body just wasn’t catching on that there was a problem and kept producing all of the necessary pregnancy hormones, and I felt very pregnant; my Morning Sickness was horrible. Due to this, the doctor wanted to perform another ultrasound to verify my diagnosis.
I remember laying back on the table, and just knowing this was the end… after all of this, the news wasn’t going to be good. You know what? It wasn’t. The ovum was incredibly distorted and just looked unhealthy compared to the previous ultrasound images I’d seen. After seeing that image, I knew it was over, so I took a deep breath and asked what the next step was. I didn’t, and wouldn’t, allow myself to break down. That would be for later. Unfortunately, that would have to be alone. I was offered three options: The first was to have the D & C performed, the next was to wait it out naturally, and the final was a shot of something along with some pills that would trigger the miscarriage. In the end, I opted for the D & C. There would be no waiting, and no poisons put into my body.
I was terrified… I’d even say petrified. It’s one thing to know, logically, what happens during a natural miscarriage, but I can tell you from experience that it’s completely different to actually go through one. I don’t find them quite as traumatizing now, as I know what to expect, and I’ve been through so many that I know how my body responds and because of this experience, I will never have another D & C. I would have to say that the surgical procedure was more traumatizing than the natural miscarriages.
I remember going in still feeling the ‘glow’ of pregnancy, and then coming out feeling completely… empty. I felt hollow inside.
The nurse in the recovery room was a very sweet old lady who held my hand. I remember coming to, and crying quietly and uncontrollably. It was a while before I was composed enough to be moved to the next room where I would meet up with Xannatos. I don’t remember the exact change of events as the anesthesia had put me in quite a groggy state, but I remember, very distinctly, telling my husband that this wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen. I also, very clearly, remember a lot more crying.
To this day, I don’t think I’ve ever really gotten over it, and I really, honestly, think that I suffered from a mild case PTSD. Most people might say that I’m crazy for that, but that’s really how I feel. Now a days, it still bothers me, but I’ve had so many miscarriages that it has just become part of the process of becoming a mother.
The fact of the matter, though, is that here I am three years out, and I can still feel the emptiness I felt on that day… the hopelessness… and the darkness. I don’t wish these feelings on anyone. No one, not even the idiot crack whore, or teenager who manages to get knocked up deserves to feel what I’ve felt.