Life,  Parenthood

My Blighted Ovum Miscarriage Part 2

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As it turns out, writing the second half of our journey through miscarriage, did not come as easily as the first. I’ve started and restarted this post more than a handful of times, and it just never felt right. It’s hard to figure out which direction to go in, and even harder to draw the line between too much information and not enough.

But here we are, and I think I’m finally at peace with how it turned out.

If you haven’t read My Blighted Ovum Miscarriage Part 1, feel free to take a look into the beginning of our story.

If you have stumbled across this post while frantically googling your sweet little heart out, I am truly sorry. I am sorry that what drove you here is beyond your control. And I am sorry that hoping and wanting, sometimes just aren’t enough.

I am so sorry you had no choice but to join this club.

Now, I have to say before I dive in, that I decided it’s not a story worth telling, unless I tell the whole story. The reason I decided to write about any of this in the first place, was to possibly give others some solace. To give them some small piece of mind knowing they aren’t alone. When I was doing my searching, I wanted real, and detailed, and raw. So, here is your warning, it may get a little graphic and it might be crossing over into “too much information”.

But… it was pretty graphic and it was definitely too much… of everything.

12 weeks.

12 weeks my body believed it was pregnant.

Talk about a slap in the face from my reproductive system. It really dropped the ball on this one.

Now, since I posted Part 1, I’ve had a lot of questions asking why my doctor didn’t just send me to have a D & C, which stands for some much longer and more technical words, but essentially means, the cleaning out of the uterus and all of its contents… It would have saved me weeks of waiting. I could have been in and out, and moving forward, just days after that second ultrasound. And not that I feel I need to justify my decision, but there were a few reasons my doctor and I decided against it…

The first reason being, my shear bad luck with things like this. My past OB appointments haven’t always gone according to plan and I’ve already got scarring around my cervix. That scarring, coupled with the complications a D & C can sometimes bring to the table, just weren’t worth the risk.

The second reason was much more simple and much less scientific… I simply couldn’t do it.

I couldn’t wrap my hopeful mama bear heart around the idea of purposely cleaning out my uterus. My own fault for spending too much time reading forums about blighted ovums… Too much time spent reading the one in a million stories about a baby popping up on that ultrasound screen perfectly healthy, weeks after being told it didn’t exist at all.

I yearned for that to be my story.

And, even though I knew it wasn’t, I simply couldn’t do it. Since I was young and otherwise healthy, my doctor advised me that miscarrying at home, on my bodies own schedule, was best. Something he later apologized for time and time again, even though it wasn’t his fault.

He couldn’t have known that I would be one of the women responsible for the “very rarely” part of the, what to expect when miscarrying talk. After all, there isn’t actually fetal tissue with a blighted ovum, it should have been nothing more than a very heavy period.

So, he sent us on our way after our second ultrasound. Which showed that perfectly formed, and still perfectly empty, little sac.

I continued doing weekly blood draws, and we waited.

On a Friday, roughly a month after our first ultrasound, shit got real.

That was the day I knew, there was no more room for hypothetical what ifs. No more time for my story to change. It was undeniable, I was miscarrying a pregnancy I had so desperately wanted.

I felt relieved that at least I had several weeks to prepare myself. I had talked to doctors and done hours of research, I knew exactly what to expect.

But I definitely didn’t expect what I ended up getting.

The weekend was filled with company Christmas parties and Sunday family dinner at moms, a tradition I highly recommend, by the way. It’s something I truly cherish.

We welcomed the distractions from reality.

Because remember, we hadn’t told our families yet, nor most of our friends. Not that we weren’t going to, it’s just not the conversation you want to have over Thanksgiving dinner. Especially when your original plan for the day was to announce your pregnancy with an adorable little shirt you ordered for your toddler off Etsy… A shirt that, until this day, 5 months later, sits unopened in the envelope it was shipped in. Seemed a little too morbid for the holidays. We were going to tell them, it just hadn’t been the right time.

How cute right?

Monday morning, Nick left for work, I made breakfast, Everest and I played and snuggled all morning. I was content to sit at home with my perfect little toddler, and let nature take its course.

But by lunchtime, nature had me wondering if it knew what in the hell it was doing.

Remember, I warned you…

Every trip to the bathroom brought me further away from a heavy period and closer to a full on crime scene cleanup. By the time Nick got home around 4pm it felt and sounded like I was losing gallons of blood and tissue each time I sat on the toilet. Literally… gallons.

Just to ease our minds, I called and spoke to the on call doctor. She told me, “if you are soaking through a pad in less than an hour, come in, just to be safe”… And all I could think was, what the hell does that even mean?! I’m supposed to sit in a diaper filled with my own blood until it’s completely soaked, so I can judge how long it took?! Nope. I was changing them left and right. Because let me tell you, nothing makes you feel more sorry for yourself than sitting in your own blood as a constant reminder of what’s happening.

She also asked me if my heart was racing or if I felt faint… to both of which, I easily answered no. I felt completely fine. So I convinced myself, against Nick’s better judgement, that everything was perfectly normal. It couldn’t last forever at this rate and I was sure it would have to slow down soon.

I could not have been more wrong.

Less than an hour later, as I stood at the stove stirring my homemade chicken noodle soup, I found out exactly what that doctor had meant.

In the fifteen steps from my stove to my toilet, I had done it. I had not only soaked a pad, but my underwear, my leggings, and my carpeted bathroom floor.

Nick walked in on a straight up massacre.

Think, The Shining

There wasn’t much convincing needed after that, we had to go in, just to be safe.

Back track for a second to when I said it hadn’t felt like the “ideal time” to tell our families…

Well, I can tell you with complete certainty what the least ideal time is… When you’re sitting on the toilet and it sounds like someone is dumping a five gallon bucket out underneath you. And you have to call your mom and tell her, not only were you pregnant, but then you weren’t actually pregnant, and now you’re pretty sure you might be losing too much blood as you miscarry that kind of pregnancy. So can she maybe possibly watch your two year old while you head to the emergency room?

Thank goodness for moms hey?

The hospital, and my mom, were about 45 minutes away. No biggy, I still felt totally fine. She would simply meet us at the hospital and take Everest home with her for a few hours. I didn’t think it would take much longer than that for them to tell me this was normal and send me on my way. So we very calmly, packed up a bag for Everest, fed the animals, got the house in order, and hopped in the car.

I still felt fine…

Right up until I didn’t.

Halfway into our drive I felt the switch flip. Racing heart? Fast pulse? Feeling faint? Check, check, and check. I could feel panic set in as I tiptoed the line between fine and not.

You always hear about tunnel vision before you faint… but they don’t tell you everything else tunnels as well, and its freakin terrifying. I felt my vision, my hearing, my speech, even my ability to hold my head up, all start to slip away… I vaguely remember telling Nick I was about to pass out… and then out I went.

I had no concept of time, but Nick tells me I was unconscious about 5 minutes. It felt like 20 seconds and an hour at the same time.

When I started to come to, I could hear Nick talking to what I could only assume was a 911 dispatcher. He sounded miles away, like I was hearing him through a super long tunnel. The only thing my eyes could make out were the very blurry headlights of oncoming traffic.

And the only words I could muster up were, and I quote, “this is bad, I feel like I’m dieing”.

Which in hindsight, probably shook Nick to his core.

It felt like I was watching myself from outside of my body. The most surreal experience I hope I ever have.

All I could think was, we waited too long.

I waited too long.

What if I die trying to have another baby, while my already incredible child is in the back seat? What if trying to give him a sibling, leaves him motherless?

Nick told me he had an ambulance meeting us at the Holiday Gas Station and that they would start taking care of me… and terrifyingly enough, I had no clue what that meant. I had done this exact drive THOUSANDS of times in my life. I had stopped at that exact gas station more times than I could ever begin to count… but, for the life of me, I could not grasp it. I couldn’t remember even vaguely how long it took to get there or how far that was from the hospital. Nothing.

All I could spit out was a fragmented sentence resembling something like “how long?”

And I very clearly remember Nick telling me, 5 minutes. I remember it because it was like a weight lifted off of my heart at that point.

5 minutes. I could totally do 5 more minutes. I started focusing solely on breathing. I told myself, I can’t die if I’m still breathing. Seriously, that was my mantra.

Super morbid right?

I should say quick, that I wasn’t ever actually dying at this point. But I didn’t know that.

I got my first ever ambulance ride on a cold December night at 29 years old. I don’t recommend it, but I’ve never been more grateful for a group of strangers in my life.

And I’ve never been more thankful for a single human being, than I am for Nick.

Can we just pause for a minute to talk about my husband? If anyone deserves a shining medal of honor in this story, it’s him. Dad’s often get overlooked in miscarriage stories, but their hearts break too.

Imagine standing in the bathroom door as the woman you love sits scared shitless on the toilet, and knowing that this isn’t right, that it’s too much blood. Imagine being such a thoughtful man, that without mentioning it or asking about it, you fold up a towel and lay it on the front seat as you load up the car, because you know she’ll be worried about ruining the fabric.

Try to imagine for a second, having to call 911 while the person you love sits slouched over, unconcious next to you, bleeding profusely. Having to drive your other half to meet an ambulance with your young child strapped in to their carseat.

Having to then make the hard phone calls to family and bosses and friends, saying you just put your wife in an ambulance.

Now imagine remaining calm, and steady, and levelheaded through all of it.

I’ve told him many times, he’s lucky the tables weren’t turned. I honestly don’t know if I would have handled it nearly as well as he did. His voice never quivered, his words were so sure and unwavering. He has assured me, that inside, he was terrified, and shaking, and completely unsure.

But my goodness, was he a rockstar on the surface.

Anyways, I’ll get back to the sappy stuff later.

Up until this point I would call the pain I had experienced through all of this, manageable, uncomfortable and inconvenient at best. By the time I saw the ER doctor, that had done a complete 180. It felt like full on labor. Only this time, I knew I wouldn’t be getting an adorable screaming little prize at the end.

It took the doctor a 45 minute pelvic exam, and every one of those blue absorbent pads in the ER, to realize this was more than just your average miscarriage. I was hemorrhaging. Like not even kidding, after the nurse stole all of the pads from the surrounding rooms, she had to leave the ER to get more. I was filling trashcans.

It was a scene straight out of Carrie.

Another lengthy pelvic exam and several ultrasounds later, the tissue that was trapped and trying to make its way out, was finally removed. And the relief was almost instant.

I had been dilated to 3cm… Literally trying to birth my miscarriage.

I’ve never seen anyone deserve sleep more than this man.

We went home the next afternoon, with a whole goody bag of medications and a stack of orders for more lab work. My doctor estimated a 30% blood loss. My blood pressure was sitting at 90/50 and my hemoglobin had dropped from 11 to 7 in the time I was there.

3 weeks, more lab visits than I can count, 3 follow up appointments, and 1 ultrasound later, the ordeal was finally over.

I snapped this picture because I looked in the mirror the day after I got home, and I was shocked at the woman looking back at me. This is what 30% blood loss looks like. Where are my lips? I had never seen myself so void of color. I remember feeling sorry for myself…

Don’t mind me… just Casper, your friendly neighborhood ghost.

Then I heard “mom wipey my butt”, and I immediately snapped this one. Because no matter how void of life I looked or how completely and utterly drained I felt, I was here to wipe that little butt. And I’ve never felt more thankful for anything in my entire life.

I am so blessed to have this little butt to wipe.

The basis of my story is not unique, not uncommon. But it can be isolating, because no one talks about it loud enough.

So be kind to one another.

And you mama, I see you. I see you sitting there in that diaper filled with your own blood. I see the fear and anger and overwhelming pity you have for yourself. And I get it. None of this is fair.

It’s a club, and you can’t be in it, until you’re in it… and no one wants to be there.

But once you get here, you realize how many other women are in it with you. As soon as I started talking about my miscarriage publicly, people came out of the woodwork. Everyone knows someone.

All I can hope for you is that you can see past this. That you don’t let it define you or deter you from trying.

That you have a wonderful support system. I pray you’ve got yourself someone as calm, and steady, and unwavering as I do.

And that you eventually get all the happy healthy babies you can handle, if that’s what you want.

But, even if you don’t, you’re still a badass. You are so much more than your miscarriage or your ability to carry babies.


The Beautifully Mediocre Mama

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  • Chris

    For all the horrible things going on with this, I love the second pic you snapped right away with that precious boy putting that smile in your eyes. And huge kudos to Nick…..he truly is a great man and husband!

  • Elisa

    Thank you for sharing. I’m going through this now. Just had my first ultrasound which for me is a blighted ovum. My ob wasn’t willing to call it though and is making me do the blood work thing. My numbers were lower than what I believe they should be, but if they double he wants another ultrasound next week. I know it’s not going to develop. I don’t want to hold out on false hope. The hurry and wait game is awful. It’s so mind teasing and intense. Im exhausted and in pain, but nothing crazy. Just more tired and emotional. It feels ridiculous to grieve something that was never there. Im just ready to move forward. Thank you for sharing your experience and letting me know how it went for you. I’m sorry for your loss and everything you went through.

    • MaloreyMB

      I’m so sorry this is your story mama<3 Just take it one day at a time and grieve however you need to grieve. I completely understand what you mean though, it feels so strange to mourn for an empty gestational sac. I'll be thinking of you and I'm so glad my writing could help you in some way.

    • Allie G

      Thanks for this, and thanks to all the women commenting.

      I had an ultrasound today after IUI last month. The (rude) doctor couldn’t see anything, and said it’s probably just too early. It’s my first pregnancy so I don’t have a base to compare to. I hope he’s right. But also, since the beginning, I’ve thought that it wasn’t real… and just before the echo I texted my husband “I have this fear that they’re going to say I was never pregnant in the first place”

      My husband wants us to be positive and hope for the best, which means I can’t quite voice all of my feelings to him. Thanks for this blog 💜

      • MaloreyMB

        Thank you for sharing your story <3 I hope that next ultrasound shows a sweet sweet little baby growing safe and sound 🙂 But, if it doesn't, you are not alone.

  • Tara

    I am so sorry to hear how awful your miscarriage was but thank you for sharing! I have been searching and reading the internet for a raw and real story like this. I just found out today at 6 weeks/2 days that my perfect gestational sac is empty. I had a strong feeling early on, as I have a 2 year old as well, and this pregnancy just didn’t feel right. My symptoms were strong and then they weren’t. I still had symptoms, but they weren’t nearly as strong as I remember with my son and they seemed to have lesson tremendously. I actually had to beg my OB to give me the ultrasound today because I wasn’t scheduled for my first one for another 3 weeks. I am currently struggling with mourning the loss of something that never was and it’s very strange. So for now, we are now in the waiting game and I am not looking forward to the next couple of weeks. I can only hope that it happens quickly. I am so sorry yours took until 12 weeks! Thank you again for sharing your experience.

  • Michelle

    It was my first pregnancy. Just hit the 11th week mark this past Thursday. Friday I noticed a swipe of blood after going to the bathroom. I went to the er thinking they would tell me I was overreacting. But after I saw the ultrasound I knew. The tech said she couldn’t say anything but I knew. I’m miscarrying right now. Thank you for sharing, it helps a lot. I day dreamed about a baby that never existed for the past 2 months and now I’m afraid to ever try again. But I know I’m not alone now.

  • Kelsey

    Thank you for sharing this. I miscarried my 2nd pregnancy and 11 years later miscarrying my 4th. I have a beautiful 13 year old and a handsome 10 year old. I was exctied about this one though and the loss is hard. I really appreciate you sharing the details. The first miscarriage was different than this one and I’m pretty sure it’s a blighted ovum. I should be 10 weeks and like you I know when I conceived. The sac was measured last week at 6 weeks and I’ve been spotting for a week now. Anyway I’m rambling I appreciate you sharing your story and also what to expect in worse case scenarios. You are beautiful even as Casper. I’m glad that that precious toddler still has his mama. Blessings to you all.

  • Kirsten

    It’s nice to know I am not the only one who is going through all of these emotions. I have felt everything from relief “This baby would not have been healthy and this is a blessing” to anger about how awful my first “pregnancy” has been. I had been spotting some and went for an ultrasound to “ease my worries” only to find a blighted ovum. It’s been the longest week ever. My doctor wants to do more blood work and ultrasounds to be sure I’m not just early. I know this is not possible because I have been watching my cycles like a hawk and I am really wanting to say “no more ultrasounds.” I am hoping that nature will do it’s job ASAP! Lots of hugs to everyone dealing with this. Wishing everyone a better outcome next time!

  • Sophie

    Hi Malorey,

    I just wanted to say thank you for such an honest post. Your words in part 1 and part 2 almost perfectly tell the journey I have been on for the past 3 weeks, so I want to thank you for being brave enough to tell your story in its rawest form and allow me to realise that I am
    not alone on this journey.
    Your comments about your husband brought a tear to my eye, it must have been so scary for them yet they remained a true rock.

  • Emily

    Thank you for sharing this story. At the beginning of this crazy pandemic my husband and I found out we were pregnant with baby #2 after 7 months of trying. I was over the moon excited. Our first doctors appointment and ultrasound was scheduled for late May. Then on Friday 5/8 I started spotting with small little clots (it was dark red/brown color). My local OB thought it was old blood just trying to work its way out. As the weekend continued I woke up Mother’s Day full on bleeding with large clots. All last week was a whirlwind which involved going to the ER. ER confirmed my pregnancy. They saw the gestational sac in my uterus and said I could be miscarrying but is more likely I ovulated later than I thought ( so just very early). My OB didn’t get that on their full report so they were freaking out I was having a tubal (ectopic) pregnancy. Then many blood draws and begging for an in office ultrasound I was finally told my pregnancy wasn’t viable and it most likely was a blighted ovum. She said since my body has started to bleed already it obviously recognizes that there is an issue. She was giving me one more week to see if I pass the sac on my own. Tomorrow I’ll have one last ultrasound to see if I’ve passed everything and if not we will be discussing a D&C. I’m currently on day 13 of heavy bleeding and passing clots. Your story made me feel like I’m not alone. Thank you <3

  • Mamas

    I’m reading this 2 hours before my 8 week ultrasound because I fear this is what I’m going to discover today, a blighted ovum. Which will be my 6th miscarriage in a row. My 4th miscarriage was almost identical except I had 3 kids at home and no husband and my daughter walked into what she still calls a blood bath. I didn’t know what to do because it kept pouring out so I got in the shower which clogged up and it was a bright red bath up to my calves. I passed out in my bathroom, crawled to my bedroom when I came too, my husband came hom at that point and went out to mow! Of course he didn’t answer his phone, no one else close by answered so I typed in 911 and passed out before I could push send. Then when I came to my husband was there thinking I was just asleep. I told him we had to get to the hospital ASAP. My recovery was terrible too because I had lost so much blood and was trying to work a week later and was miserable. My heart rate was in the 200’s going from point a to b. Finally my doctor did my lab work and saw that I was at a 3.5 and I had to go in and get emergency transfusions. All for people to say “at least it wasn’t an actual baby”.

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