by Tricia-Lyn Morrison
Do the words “Blighted Ovum” (BO) mean nothing to you?
That was me, ten days ago – eight weeks pregnant and nervously waiting to see my new baby’s heartbeat on the ultrasound.
But it wasn’t there. And I’m no radiographer, but even I could see that the gestational sack which should’ve held my little yolk of a baby-to-be had nothing in it. Just empty space. My husband would (much) later joke “So, when did you have an affair with the invisible man?”. I laughed and cried and peed in his shampoo bottle #confessiontime
So, anyway, they gave us the very shitty news, in the kindest possible way, but the tears still came.
To be honest, I can barely remember what happened next, in those first few minutes/hours. But the last 10 days have been brutal. I’ve continued to be a bloated, peeing, sore-boobed pregnant person, all the while knowing my gestational sack is empty.
Can you imagine how strange it is to walk around semi-pregnant? Just waiting for your body to miscarry? Not knowing when or if that will happen, or if you’ll have to have a medical procedure to get it all out? And to add to this waiting game, my wonderful pregnancy hormones are still increasing just enough for me to need further tests, but not enough for it to be good news (like they’d made a mistake).
So, we just…keep…waiting for either a clear blighted-ovum diagnosis and a D&C, or for my body to naturally Elsa the pregnancy and “let it go”. But it seems my uterus is as stubborn as it’s owner – it’s holding on, against all odds. I can’t blame it. My heart is holding on too – until I get that 100 per cent answer.
Maybe this is a lesson in patience, because I have none. I know I shouldn’t think like that. As my doctor said, “this is just statistics, one in five pregnancies will end this way”. But the over-achiever / karma-believer in me wonders if I brought this on myself? If I failed something. And I hear this is a common thing too, for us ovens to blame ourselves. It’s so very hard not to.
Here are some other things that are hard. Being told…
– “At least you know you can fall pregnant”
You did hear the bit about it failing, yeah?
– “It’s finished now, you just need to move on”
Actually, it’s still inside me, so no, it’s not finished and I think I’ll decide when I move on.
– “At least you already have a child”
Yes, I am so grateful for my son, but does that mean I can’t grieve for this loss? Do I not get that right?
– “I’ve heard you’re more fertile right after a miscarriage! You’ll have a baby in no time”
You don’t know that. No one does.
I know it’s hard when someone’s going through a miscarriage and you’re lost for words. I don’t know what should be said either but, to be safe, maybe go with “that sucks major, hairy balls”? Or, even better, don’t say much and just deliver some Messina gelato goodness instead (thank you, you know who you are ?).
I guess I wanted to share this, selfishly, because writing makes me feel better, but also because I don’t think enough people talk about miscarriage, particularly of this nature. Let’s start the conversation, so no one feels alone ??
Tricia-Lyn Morosin is a hardworking mummy and freelance writer, occasional voiceover artist and full-time pain in the arse to her husband. Most recently, she’s working on her new web series THIRTY.