TRIGGER WARNING: Please don’t read this post if the subject of incomplete miscarriage will upset you or cause emotional distress. This post is quite detailed.
I started 2019, feeling tired and unwell. I was 9 weeks pregnant and had both a cyst on my ovary and a bleed in my womb. It’s taken a while to talk about it, as it’s been pretty raw. My husband and I had confided in a family member about our pregnancy, and that family member went and told all the family, even though we’d asked her to keep it a secret. It made it so much harder when we then had to tell everyone that we had lost that baby. Not only that, but I haemorrhaged, was taken to hospital by ambulance and spent a day and night in hospital. Alone. Nobody would watch the children, so Mike couldn’t come to hospital with me. I’d lost an estimated litre of blood and my blood sugars dropped right down. It was only a night and day but with hormones and emotions all over the place, we missed each other terribly and all we wanted, in that time, was to be by each other’s side.
I sat in the ambulance bay of A&E with people who were drunk, people who had overdosed, people who had headaches, elderly people who had taken a fall, and a fair few people who seemed to be there against their will. I knew ambulance services were overstretched, so I hadn’t actually called 999 myself. I called 111 for advice and a ambulance had arrived within 8 minutes. I was weak, tired, dizzy, desperately thirsty, and missing my husband. A&E was short staffed and overcrowded. Half of those people had self inflicted illnesses or injuries. Another quarter should have gone to a minor injury unit or gone to out of hours. The hospital ward I was sent to was short staffed, dirty, in dire need of renovation and it hit me how badly the NHS has suffered due to funding cuts.
The staff on duty hurt me. The doctor ignored my pleads for her to be gentle when she examined me. She hurt me to the point I was screaming out loud and squeezing the nurses hand. The doctor showed me what she’d pulled from the neck of my womb and then left the room for me to get dressed. There was blood all down my legs and I sat there sobbing loudly, feeling violated and full of grief. I had to ask for something to clean myself with and the doctor was of no help. Thankfully a nurse came to my rescue, with everything I needed to get cleaned up. Nobody could cannulate me. I had puncture wounds and bruises all over both arms, where they couldn’t get drip in or blood out. I was a crying wreck. The doctor eventually apologised, but it was too late. The damage was done.
It’s taken me three weeks to be able to write about this and I am sat here sobbing as I write it. I feel traumatised by the memory. But I find writing cathartic. My blog is my therapy and this is my way of getting through it.
I eventually got given a bed at 4:30am and then an anaesthetist came in to finally cannulate me successfully. They woke me at 6am to take my obs. I heard the breakfast cart come around at 8am and it missed me. They stood outside my door and a nurse told them I was nil-by-mouth and couldn’t have anything. They hadn’t even told me. At this point, even not being allowed a cup of tea made me cry some more. I was so hungry, that I cried again about that. And through it all, all I really wanted was my husband.
When a doctor eventually surfaced, I asked about why I was nil-by-mouth. He said I couldn’t get a scan until Monday and that I’d possibly need surgery after the scan. I was then allowed to eat and drink again and just had to wait for bloods and someone to remove my canula. My mum and stepdad drove up from Dorset to comfort me and I was discharged early in the evening. They drove me home and Mike was left to pick up the pieces of his broken wife.
I have been diagnosed with an “incomplete miscarriage”. Part of our “pregnancy” (as the professionals tactfully call it), is stuck inside my womb, not wanting to leave. I can’t tell you what feelings and images that conjures for me. I’ve been offered 3 options.
- Wait and see if my body completes the process itself.
- Take medication which will cause painful contractions and further blood loss (and might not work).
- Surgery. Either awake or anaesthetised.
We’ve opted for option 1, to give me time to heal emotionally.
So here we are four weeks in, with an incomplete miscarriage. I’ve kept myself busy with work and the children. I’m starting to think about it less. My emotions are settling. My hormones are settling. But I am worried. I know nothing has happened yet and I don’t really want to suffer options 2 or 3. I’ve also just found out I have to have dental surgery to extract 2 of my wisdom teeth. If you have read my post about the tooth extraction from hell, you’ll know I am extremely phobic of any dental work. So 25 days into January and I’ve been to hospital on seven of those days. I have more appointments lined up and I’m facing one or two surgeries in the next month or two.
So I’m sorry to those of my friends who have been asking why I’ve not felt up to discussing why I’ve been back and forth to hospital. It’s nothing personal. I just don’t want to chat about it. Suffering an incomplete miscarriage Writing it here, means I can get it off my chest and update everyone, without having to repeat my story so much that it hurts. I don’t need sympathy or well wishes. Mike and I are happy to deal with this quietly together, without any well-meaning messages. Just know that I will be okay. I AM okay. WE are okay.
Running two businesses, having four gorgeous children and one incredibly supportive husband, is keeping me busy, positive and strong. And for that I am immensely thankful.