It was Wednesday, March 17, 2021. The first time I ever took a pregnancy test. I knew before I waited for the result that I was pregnant.
Leading up to that day, I had become weirdly thirsty and tired. I was so tired that I felt like I physically couldn't go on anymore. I absolutely had to take a quick nap in the middle of the afternoon, which is very unusual for me. It was a fatigue unlike anything I had ever experienced. I told Joe that I would be surprised if I wasn't pregnant.
So, that morning when I saw two pink lines, I wasn't shocked. I left the test on the counter for my husband to find. His reaction I could hear from downstairs. It was this slow giggle that turned into joyful belly laughs.
We were about to be on a wild ride. We had just bought our first home, a bit of a fixer upper, that we didn't even have the keys for yet. It appeared that our first renovation would be a nursery.
But a few days later, our ideas for a nursery would soon be put on hold.
Saturday morning I woke up and headed to the bathroom like I do every morning. To my horror, there was a clot. I panicked, but also tried to remain calm. Spotting was normal during the beginning of pregnancy, right? Though I knew this was more than spotting, I texted my mom to ask if this was normal.
She did what any mother would do. She reassured me that everything would be OK. But shortly after her text, I was crippled on the couch with the worst cramps I had ever experienced.
I called my doctor to let them know, and to help me understand what was happening or receive some guidance on what I should be doing. But it was Saturday morning and I had to wait for the on-call doctor to return my call.
All morning and afternoon I laid on the couch Googling miscarriages, something I don't recommend, waiting for my doctor to return my call. Around 5pm I still hadn't heard from my doctor. (Mind you, I dialed the extension "if you think you're in labor.") At this point, however, I no longer had cramps and I was lightly bleeding. I still had hope.
You're probably wondering why I waited so long to call my doctor again. The answer is that I never had to call a doctor before. I didn't know how long it should take for the on-call doctor to call me back and I didn't want to seem like I was being a pest. But since it had been about 8 hours, I decided that maybe I should call again.
The woman who answered the phone was appalled that nobody had called me back. She told me that she put in another request and that if I didn't hear from the doctor within 30 minutes to call back. Five minutes later I had finally received my return phone call.
The doctor on the line was very nice and comforted me, even though there was nothing that she could do. I mean, I knew when I initially called that there was nothing they could do. I just needed to know what to do. I needed to know that I wasn't alone; that I was cared for. She instructed that I call my doctor first thing on Monday morning to schedule bloodwork.
But before I could get to Monday, I had to go through Sunday. That Sunday we were throwing a surprise birthday party for my sister-in-law, and I was in charge of helping my mother-in-law with the setup.
It was one of the longest days of my life. I was still bleeding, yet still clinging on to hope. I was so sad and scared. All I wanted was to be at home and process what was happening, but I had to pretend that nothing was out of the ordinary. I had to force myself to find some joy and push through. I was emotionally exhausted by the end of the day.
Monday finally came. I called my doctor as soon as I got to work, around 8am. The office wasn't open yet, so I left a message.
By Tuesday late morning or early afternoon, I received a return phone call. Yes, you read that correctly. Tuesday.
The woman on the phone said with a bubbly voice, "Hi, we have here that you left us a message?" I said, "Yes, I did. Yesterday morning! I was supposed to have bloodwork done yesterday." I got no apology. Only an excuse that whoever took the message didn't give it to them until that day.
She wanted me to go for bloodwork that day. I couldn't. I wasn't working downtown that day and I didn't have a car. The bloodwork would have to wait another day.
By Wednesday I was finally able to get my bloodwork done. Wednesday's bloodwork indicated that I was still pregnant, but the numbers weren't where they wanted them to be. I had to go back on Friday for additional bloodwork to test my levels again.
Friday also happened to be our band's first live performance since the whole world had shut down. Everything was happening at once and yet I had no idea what was actually happening.
Once again, I pushed through like nothing was out of the ordinary. I found some joy while I suppressed my pain.
Monday rolled around. They had results from my final bloodwork. The numbers were still high and the woman on the phone, whose bedside manner was less than ideal, informed me that this meant that I could have an ectopic pregnancy. I'd need to go for more bloodwork, but if I felt any pain or discomfort, I should go to the ER right away.
At the time, I had no idea what an ectopic pregnancy was, so naturally, I looked it up. That was when I had my first panic attack.
I remember lying down in the middle of my office floor (in the heat of tax season, nonetheless) trying to catch my breath. All I wanted was a baby, and now I could possibly be in danger? It didn't make any sense to me.
I calmed myself down enough to let Joe know the news. He was convinced that we should just go to the ER to get some answers. I hadn't heard from my actual doctor throughout the entire process. All we wanted was answers and to know that I would be safe. So, the next day we went to the ER.
The first thing they had me do was take a pregnancy test. Then they drew more blood. I was then waiting to have an ultrasound done to rule out the ectopic pregnancy. While I was waiting, the nurse informed me that my pregnancy test came back negative.
It was a weird mix of emotions. I had anticipated, at this point, that the test would be negative. I obviously didn't want to hear that result, but at the same time, I at least knew now what I had suspected. I had an answer. Oddly, there was some relief.
The ultrasound didn't reveal anything abnormal, thankfully.
Over $1K later, we had an answer. I never did hear from my doctor. I never even saw a doctor that day in the ER. Isn't our healthcare great? I decided to do my follow up appointment with my PCP because I refused to deal with that ob/gyn practice ever again.
If I learned anything during that loss, it was that I knew what I want and didn't want in a healthcare provider.
Nobody wants to have a miscarriage. They're all painful and devastating, no matter the story. But for me, having to go through the experiences I did with my healthcare providers, was almost worse than the miscarriage itself.
I was so angry, scared, and quite frankly, clueless over my care, that I never gave myself proper time to heal from the actual miscarriage. I just wanted to be done with that practice. I wanted to move on and start anew, try again. And I'm just now realizing, almost two years to the day, that I never fully grieved the loss of my first child. I always had to be something else during that time. I didn't allow myself to feel the loss of that baby.
Writing this post has been truly therapeutic. I appreciate you stopping by to read part of my story. My hope is that you can find some comfort in whatever storm you might be going through. And if you haven't, may I suggest you face your trauma head on. (And please seek professional help if needed!) Feel the emotions. Allow them to overcome you. Acknowledge them. Move through them. Grow. Choose joy and it will choose you.
This is only part of my fertility story. To hear more, please follow me on social media (IG: @ama_raquel) or sign up for my biweekly newsletter for more blog updates. You can also hear more about my story and other incredible women's journey by signing up for the free online event, The Joy of Sunflowers: Sisterhood Through Infertility and Pregnancy Loss. This event will be held May 6-8, 2023.