It is such a long story I don’t even know where to begin.
But basically. I ended up having three miscarriages last year. Two of them were so early that there was no medical intervention needed nor help available – they just happened. The third one happened after week 12 and then – after three doctors had confirmed there was no heartbeat – they made me go to a hospital since they wanted to be sure I had all the help I needed.
It is not a pleasant experience in any way. I do not recommend.
And it is a very strange kind of grief you go through afterwards – you grieve for something that could have happened but never did, you grieve for a person who could have been but never was. How do you even properly grieve for something that just isn’t there? How do you get over a non-existent future?
In the end of the last year, after it had happened for three times, I finally qualified for medical help. I gave a total of 10 blood tests as everything needed to be checked – my blood, hormones, immune system, genetics, etc. And I remember clearly the day when I was at my doctor’s office in Stockholm, he gave me a pile of papers with the test results (which I didn’t know how to read) and told me that there was absolutely nothing wrong with me. They didn’t find a single thing that could have caused all these miscarriages. There has hardly been a more disappointed person than me, leaving a doctor’s office with a message “You are a completely healthy person”. But he said that since we cannot find anything to fix, we can at least shoot from the hip and see if we hit some mark or another. Take these two medicines, he said, sometimes they help.
As it turns out, they did help.
After week 12 of the fourth pregnancy, I came off all the medicines and my doctor said he didn’t want to see me anymore. Bye!
The rest has gone very well so far, I do not have any complications or red flags that should make me more nervous than usual. And now, thank God, we have crossed the magical line of week 24 after which – should anything bad happen – the medical knowledge should be able to keep the baby alive. At least theoretically.
There are only a couple of signs of last year’s trauma left. First, I didn’t want people to know anything, I didn’t want to tell anyone because I didn’t really know if we had good news or not. Every time I told someone I felt guilty. Imagine messaging them later and saying that nah, never mind, forget what I told you. Things didn’t turn out well after all. And secondly, there is a sort of an emotional buffer I need between myself and the baby. So, when the opportunity came at the 20-week ultrasound appointment, I decided not to know the baby’s gender. It’s somehow easier not to know, although if the strength of the kicks and punches are anything to go by, it is one strong dude in there.
Now we just wait and count the weeks. A couple of more months to go. I feel utterly ready – I have studied and worked so much in my life, I would love to take some years off (grateful for the generosity of the Scandinavian maternity leave system) and be home. I have nothing to prove, no hurry to get back to work, no things left undone. I’m ready for the new chapter.
