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We live in a world where having a miscarriage is a stigma. A painful experience that holds the power to tear a woman apart is a hush-hush matter of shame. A black blotch that points to your inability to carry a child.
When I miscarried after my first pregnancy, I just wanted to be invisible. I wanted to disappear into the walls I had created around me and run away from the unsolicited advice, the looks of pity, and the whispers behind my back that talked of my “failure”.
My Pregnancy Journey Post Miscarriage
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It happened 7 years ago, in the autumn of 2014. My doctor told me the recovery period would be identical to that of giving birth. She even referred to it as a “spontaneous abortion”. Like what I was going through wasn’t crazy enough.
From bleeding to cramps along with pain and soreness — I experienced it all. It took me roughly 3 to 4 weeks to feel better. And as soon as my body felt “normal”, my husband and I tried to get pregnant again. They asked us to wait 6 weeks, but we went ahead anyway, and luckily, I got pregnant.
I was thrilled to know that I could have a baby despite what had happened! But a part of me kept nagging in the background, wondering, “How long will this last? Will it be successful? Will my baby and I be okay?”
I was so afraid that this time, I chose not to reveal that I’m expecting. I was super cautious all the time. And consciously wore loose clothes to hide the bump. I didn’t want to explain myself to anybody — to have that conversation all over again. It’s too much.
To keep my anxiety in check, I’d just get myself busy to the point that I wouldn’t have any spare time to think before going for my regular appointments. But I still couldn’t prevent the mini panic attack I’d get every time I’d walk into the doctor’s chamber. Am I going to lose this one too?
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I was living in a state of constant fear. Once you get pregnant after you’ve miscarried, you tend to question everything you do — be it what you eat or what you wear. Even how you live your life, for that matter. You keep trying to find the reason why you miscarried in the first place, so you don’t repeat it.
Anyway, my fear somewhat ebbed once I crossed the first 15-week milestone. I was like, okay, I made it through that. What now?
The Penultimate Month
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For me, it wasn’t that cute, fancy first pregnancy like in TV shows or social media posts. I wasn’t flaunting my cute maternity fashion. No. I was doing the exact opposite; keeping a low profile so that nobody would know.
But when the 8th month hit, I decided to let it out in the open! The weather was pleasant, and there was really no way left to hide it anymore. So I just went ahead.
When my friends finally knew, they insisted I have a baby shower, and I caved. I really enjoyed the last few weeks of my pregnancy. Everything felt perfect. Like nothing could ever go wrong now.
The consequence of that was I didn’t think of a birth plan or what would happen after the baby comes. I honestly didn’t think about anything because I didn’t want to plan and then wait for the worst to happen.
The Final Moment
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When it was finally time to go into labor, things spiraled around me. As soon as I reached the hospital, the staff insisted I should be given an IV, which I didn’t want. Then they told me I needed Pitocin since my contractions were inconsistent (1).
I was admitted late at night when my OB-GYN wasn’t there. The nursing staff decided that instead of letting me go into proper labor, it would be best to give me an epidural so I’d sleep through the night and start with the birthing process when the doctor arrived. That way, they wouldn’t have to take care of me all night.
I said, “No. There’s no way I’m taking an epidural. Let me be in labor.”
But after an hour or so, they were back again with the same suggestion. I firmly refused them again.
Fighting For My Baby Girl
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Unfortunately for me, the hospital where I was treated me like I was an inconvenience! And I had actually paid to be there!
My husband wasn’t happy with their reckless attitude, and he wasn’t having it. I was happy. He’d protect me.
But somewhere in the middle of all the chaos, I was given Pitocin, giving rise to contractions that made me want to howl in pain!
My mother was by my side, telling me to take the epidural. She couldn’t bear to see me in pain.
I refused, telling her I’ll power through.
But a point came when I couldn’t take it anymore, and that’s when the staff took the opportunity to give me an epidural.
When I woke up in the morning, I was ready to go into labor. But the staff told me to hold off. They informed me that they might need to perform a C-section because a lot of time had passed by with no progress, when in reality, it had been barely 12 hours.
Luckily I found a nurse who was on my side. She helped me go into labor. And the moment she found out my baby was ready for arrival, the show began. The whole crew ran in to take their roles and help my baby come out.
Amidst all the calls to push and my body exerting itself beyond its capability, my girl saw the light of day.
When she was finally given to me, all swaddled, that moment made every single pain, discomfort, and trouble worth it. I’m at a loss of words to describe the overwhelming sense of joy, relief, and immeasurable love I felt altogether at once. She might’ve taken the long, harsh road to come to me, but she made the journey worth it!
