By: Lisa Hartman
Updated: Aug. 3, 2016
Originally Published: Sep. 18, 2013
As I made my way to the doctor’s office, my anxiety levels were through the roof. I couldn’t quite put my finger on why I felt so uneasy about this visit with Dr. Simmons, my ob/gyn. This was my fourth appointment in five years, a follow-up after my recent miscarriage, and the second time I had seen her since my D&C. I hoped that once I arrived, my nerves would ease, but despite my efforts to breathe deeply and think positively, the fear and worry only intensified. What if I discovered the cause of this latest loss?
The root of my fear was simple: I blamed myself. The impending appointment felt like a confirmation of my worst nightmare— that I was somehow responsible for the loss of our baby.
Just six weeks prior, my husband and I had excitedly gone in for our 12-week ultrasound. Four weeks earlier, we had seen our little one, heart beating strong. Today was supposed to be another joyful moment, where we could gaze upon our baby’s face. Instead, we learned that our baby had stopped growing at 10 weeks. We had lost our fourth angel.
As I grappled with the shock, I began to calculate when our baby had died. Had I inadvertently caused this? At 10 weeks into my pregnancy, I had taken a weekend trip with my sister and mother to New York City. Could something I did there have led to this heartbreak?
Was it the soft mozzarella I enjoyed at that Italian restaurant? It was delicious, but perhaps it wasn’t pasteurized.
Was my daily routine of walking six miles too much for my body?
What about that sip of wine my sister encouraged me to try? I should have known better than to touch alcohol.
Had flying been a mistake? My circulation issues required me to take baby aspirin during pregnancy. Did the flight cut off oxygen that my baby needed to grow?
And then there was my caffeine intake. I tried to stick to 200 mg, but maybe I miscalculated.
Deep down, I felt certain that my actions had led to this loss. It had to be my fault.
Experiencing a fourth loss was utterly devastating. After welcoming my two daughters, Emma and Lily, following my initial three losses, I had convinced myself that I would not endure this kind of pain again. But here I was, feeling like I was playing a dangerous game with my baby’s life.
After a short wait in the reception area, I was called back by my doctor’s nurse, Sarah. She expressed her condolences for my loss before checking my blood pressure. The reading was concerning—148/98, a stark contrast to my usual 110/70. I needed to find a way to calm myself.
While waiting for Dr. Simmons, I attempted to breathe deeply and tell myself that I wasn’t to blame for my baby’s death. I reminded myself that miscarriages are common, especially in the first trimester. It’s a miracle when a baby makes it to term.
Ultimately, I realized that no matter the cause, I couldn’t change the outcome. All I could do was wait for my doctor to share her insights.
When Dr. Simmons finally entered the room, she greeted me with a warm hug. She had been there through every loss and had always maintained an optimistic outlook. She then sat down and shared the results of the genetic testing on the fetus.
“Your baby was a girl,” she said.
I was taken aback, realizing my intuition had been spot on; I had felt she was a girl since five weeks into my pregnancy.
The doctor continued, “It appears there were extra chromosomes present. It’s hard to determine if these were part of the baby or the placenta, but certain markers suggest it was likely the baby. Specifically, she had an extra chromosome 21, which is an indicator of Down’s Syndrome.”
A wave of relief washed over me. I could finally let go of the guilt; there was something wrong from the start.
The doctor reassured me that the chances of this happening again were low, despite my age. I shared that my husband and I were looking to try for another baby. She smiled and encouraged me to call her as soon as I received a positive pregnancy test.
Even though a part of me still worries about another loss in the future, especially at 42, I can only hope that I won’t have to face such heartbreak again. Until then, I will cherish my husband and my beautiful daughters.
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Summary:
This reflection captures the emotional journey of a woman grappling with self-blame after experiencing a miscarriage. She navigates her anxieties leading up to a follow-up appointment with her doctor, ultimately discovering that genetic factors played a role in her loss. The experience is a poignant reminder that many women face similar feelings of guilt and uncertainty, and it emphasizes the importance of seeking support and understanding.