By the end of this year the world would have been trying to live with Covid-19 for 2 or close to 2 years now (depending on your location). I think we have lots of good reasons not to turn up, whether it’s to meet up with friends, be there for family or even just to turn up on social media. And these are reasons, people may not necessarily talk about or tell you. Not because they don’t think your are important and are just ghosting on you but that sometimes it’s just too painful to think or talk about them. Things like, depression, anxiety or in my case miscarriage.
This was an eventful year and not in a good way.
A lot of things were happening for us from the start of the year and Donna’s surgery was only one of them. At that time we were also going through the IVF process in hopes of a second child. I remember telling the nurse taking my blood to check if I was pregnant that I think this round will end up in failure because I was so stressed over getting a blood donor for Donna and also over Donna’s condition in general.
So you can imagine our joy when we found out that we got pregnant after all. I had still kept all of baby P’s toys and clothes, etc so I didn’t think I had that much work to prepare for Baby 2 this time round. I did order some books to prepare Baby P for the arrival of the new sibling.
And then one day in the middle of the year, I started bleeding.
I had never experienced any spotting or bleeding with Baby P. This just did not feel right. I was and am still very lucky to have a very supportive friend that I go to for advice. She always had the best advice whether it was breast feeding, baby illnesses, etc.
So after much discussion, we decided we needed to get help. My gynae is actually from SGH. But I had ended up in SGH A&E the month before for “food-posioning” and suffice to say, I was in the A&E for hours in pain while waiting to get some help. In the end, I was discharged after one night’s stay and apparently it was not f00d poisoning but pregnancy-related gastritis.
So that night, we opted to go to KKH’s Urgent Obstetrics and Gynaecology Centre instead. And that was the right choice. The long painful wait that I endured in SGH didn’t occur here. We got to see a doctor very fast.
We did a scan. The doctor grew quiet. The atmosphere didn’t feel right. Shouldn’t the doctor be turning the screen to me and telling me, “Look the baby is doing fine!” about now?
The doctor got a more senior doctor to come take a look. They could access the Harmony test results. The results were good.
They tried to break the news with empathy but that did not making it any less overwhelming.
The baby who was supposed to be 16-weeks-old, appeared to have stopped growing after the 12 week. Perhaps just a day or two after I saw my gynae for a checkup at the 12th week and the gynae exclaimed how the baby’s heartbeat was nice and strong, the baby’s heart stopped beating. How ironic.
It was a missed miscarriage.
A missed (or silent) miscarriage is one where the baby has died or not developed, but has not been physically miscarried. In many cases, there has been no sign that anything was wrong, so the news can come as a complete shock.
The Miscarriage Association. (2020, April 22). Missed miscarriage. Retrieved October 11, 2021.
The doctor suggested if we wanted to, I can be admitted and get a second scan in the morning. But cold logic says, if the baby has no heartbeat now, why would it suddenly have a heartbeat tomorrow morning?
We decided to return home and go to SGH A&E in the morning. It was a difficult night. They tell you it was nothing you did wrong, but that doesn’t stop you from thinking.
It was lucky I got off the car at the SGH A&E when I did.
Because right at that moment, it felt like the floodgates had opened and I started bleeding heavily.
I didn’t even have the leisure or the capability to go to the toilet to change to a new pad after I registered. There’s was no long wait at SGH A&E this time round. You do not leave a woman bleeding like her life depended on it on the bed for too long without any attention.
They parked me somewhere where the doctors could get to work. It was pretty open. There were doctors walking in and out into the adjourning room(s) talking normally. So this is the A&E, doctors walk in and out like a woman bleeding to death on the bed was a common everyday occurrence.
Whatever. I was feeling too numb. Did I feel great pain? Perhaps I did, perhaps I didn’t. I was just this helpless, broken person. The doctors can do whatever they want. The baby is in the process of being expelled. There was nothing I could do.
The doctors were concerned. My head was still in the clouds. More people came. They could not stop the bleeding. They think I might be in shock. I was not really responding to them?
They decided they needed to send me into the operating theatre to clean me out. Sometimes the bleeding doesn’t stop because there are still stuff stuck inside.
Meanwhile, a staff asked me if I still wanted to keep my underwear. It was drenched in blood. She suggested I let her throw it away. I think maybe I agreed verbally, maybe I just nodded. I certainly did not want to bring a fully bloody underwear home. I don’t think I will be physically and mentally capable of washing it.
During that time, I think my tiny dead baby was still lying somewhere around the foot of my bed maybe? I dunno. It’s kind of horrific to be discussing something as trivial as underwear.
I was always anxious at the part right after they wheeled me in and start sticking stuff on me and poking needles in me but right before they wheel me into the operating theatre proper. You know that part?
This time round, I felt nothing. The operating theatre was a blessing. I fell asleep. I felt nothing. I remember nothing.
We decided I should be warded in a shared ward.
Mr P was worried I would feel worse if I was alone. It was indeed comforting to hear signs of life around me, even if I kept the curtains drawn around my bed the whole time I was there.
Did you know? Crying is uncontrollable after a miscarriage. I needed my privacy.
But at the same time, I could also hear the other women in the room talking. One of them was on the phone very often. She sounded so cheerful, you wouldn’t think she had late stage cancer. Even when she was very vexed with the other person on the phone, she still sounded very gentle. I felt a lot of respect for her, even if I was cocooned in my own little cubicle.
Physically, I bounced back the next day after the procedure. I could visit the loo independently without help. Then I could walk normally and not bent and shuffling in pain. I looked so normal that an older woman looking for conversation asked me why I was admitted.
“Miscarriage,” I said.
Instant conversation killer.
I thought it was hilarious. Forgive me.
I was soon discharged. The hospital helped to dispose of Baby 2.
I had a baby. And then I didn’t.
The process of my grief
I cried every day. I didn’t want to lose myself in these uncontrollable emotions. I didn’t want to waste any more time with Little P during his precious first 3 years when his brain is still developing. I journaled every day so I could focus on the good things that were happening every day. That helped a lot.
Yet at the same time, I couldn’t let go of Baby 2. I didn’t want to forget her. Every journal entry ended with me counting the number of days after I was discharged.
I didn’t think I was in the mood to go for a staycation. But the change of scene helped.
In my idle moments, I found myself googling on various topics. Reasons, what could have caused the miscarriage. How other people cope with their loss. This video helped. Also how other people try to remember the baby they lost. The one that appealed to me the most was the Forget-Me-Not necklace.
Gradually the uncontrollable tears lessened, until one day I didn’t cry even once in a single day. The tears came more sporadically.
Not everyday.
Then not every week.
They do return now and then, uncontrollable as ever. And I am glad. For I don’t want to forget her.
Note: I am not in any way trying to diminish the hard work of medical staff in the A&E. I am grateful for the care I am given. I am just recounting what happened and what I felt in this post.
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