Harsh Realities

The Mayhem of Miscarriage

So last year, hubby and I decided it was time for a new addition to our family. We had been married for five years at that stage and had known each other for eleven. Work seemed to be going well and we felt ready as a couple. Much to our surprise, within a month of this decision we conceived. Nervous tension set in together with excitement at the prospect of little hands and feet. But alas, a boating accident in Mauritius saw us lose the baby at nine weeks.

I was further traumatised by the dialation and cutterage procedure that followed. It was my first visit to the operating theatre. I was devastated to say the least.

I spent the better part of 2009 coming to terms with that loss and questioning the purpose of my life. I suppose that is the one positive that comes out of a miscarriage. It forces one to re-evaluate life in its entirety. I questioned my work situation and my relationships and made the necessary changes so that there was less stress in my daily life.

By the end of the year, the thought of trying for a baby again seemed plausible. It took a few months before my body obliged and in March of this year the pee stick revealed two blue lines. I was over the moon as I approached my 30th birthday with a baby growing inside of me.

But alas, I miscarried for the second time a few weeks later. This time there was no apparent reason for the miscarriage. My doctor took blood samples from the foetus and from my body to determine if there was something wrong genetically. She found no evidence of genetic abnormalities.

Instead of bursting out like an emotional, helpless woman, I became cold and angry. I spent the first few weeks after this miscarriage hating God. I called him the puppet-master pulling strings on us humans and having a good laugh when he gave us hope and then took it away. Those were dark times for me.

The anger eventually subsided and I cried a few days. I had tried not to get my hopes up with this pregnancy because I was afraid of a second loss. Unfortunately my fears came true.

Then one day, about two months later, I had two consecutive dreams that made me believe that this had happened to me in past lives. Both dreams revealed that I was searching for my baby and through difficulties, those children eventually found their way back to me. It all sounds so wishy-washy as I write it now, but these two dreams helped me move on.

In April, I wondered how any sane woman would even consider trying to conceive after a miscarriage. I told myself that it was over for me. I would not try again. Yet here I am contemplating what I would do if I found myself with two blue lines on another pregnancy test. Its certainly true that time heals all wounds. I knew a lady once who miscarried seven times before she finally gave birth to a son. I pray that I don't have to try seven times before I can bear a healthy child. I definitely can't handle seven visits to the hospital for a D&C.

Perhaps I have learnt some lessons from my past experiences. Maybe it is just my biological clock wanting a baby in my arms. Only time will tell how this situation that is truly out of my control, will play out. Wish me luck!