We wanted a baby and were given an angel.

**Warning: below I have described in graphic detail my experience of miscarrying at home. It may be disturbing to some people.**

I'm going to write about my miscarriage, so that I can remember, and so that I can more easily have a way to explain to people who ask questions so I don't have to relive it every time. I need to let go and have closure, and writing has always been the easiest way for me.

Saturday December 8th was one month and one day since we had found out we were pregnant. Passing that one month mark felt like a great feat to me. Dave and I had a great afternoon, we went out to lunch, went to the mall and attempted to go Christmas shopping and clothes shopping, but both of us were exhausted and just wanted to go home to nap, so we decided we'd come back the next day. We went home and laid down to have a nap. Dave set his alarm to wake up in just enough time so he could go to the gym and fit in a workout before it closed. It was only minutes after he left that I noticed I was spotting bright pink.

My stomach dropped and swore aloud. I text Dave, "I am spotting". He called me right away and I told him I'm pretty sure it's normal and we won't worry about it as long as it stops soon. It might just be a one-time thing.

When he came home from the gym we decided we were going to get ready and go spend the evening at his parent's house and watch a movie. Just before we left, I used the washroom and found bright red blood on the tissue when I wiped. I screamed for Dave. I knew it was a bad sign.

We tried to keep it together as we decided what to do. We could wait it out or we could go to the ER. After all, it was Saturday night. We knew the chances of anywhere being able to give us an ultrasound were slim...but I needed to know what was happening with my baby.

I was supposed to be 8 weeks pregnant the next day.

We decided to try to find a place that would do ultrasounds during an emergency. We looked online and found an urgent care center affliated with a large hospital nearby. We went there. They took my vitals and told me they didn't do ultrasounds on the weekends, but the larger hospital did. So, I told them I didn't want to proceed further and waste their time...I wanted an ultrasound. So, we left there.

We went to the other hospital and waited in the ER. When we saw the nurse she told us they don't do ultrasounds past 8 pm. It was almost 10pm. But they wanted to do bloodwork and wanted me to talk to the doctor since our biggest worry, ectopic pregnancy, needed to be ruled out. (An ectopic pregnancy is a pregnancy that grows outside of the uterus, usually in the fallopian  tubes. The pregnancy cannot survive, and needs to be removed before it grows too large and ruptures which will cause internal bleeding and can kill the mother.)

We waited and I eventually saw a doctor around 10:30. He asked a lot of questions and told me based on my answers and my symptoms he is not concerned about an ectopic. They took my blood to test for pregnancy hormones and told us it'd be a one and a half hour wait.

I cried in waiting room while we waited for the results. After all, I had the instinct the entire pregnancy that something was "off". I had no symptoms. None...well, except for that horrid hive rash which had disappeared about 5-6 days earlier.

We googled "hcg levels at 8 weeks" and learned that normal hcg (pregnancy) hormone levels should be between 7,650-229,000 at 7-8 weeks of pregnancy. So, sure, the range is huge but being that I would've been 8 weeks the next day we were going to be satisfied if my levels were about 9,000 or higher.

The doctor came back and sat with us in the waiting room and told us the results. I am O+ blood type and my hcg levels are 4400. He explained, "which are on the low side, but need to be confirmed with an ultrasound".

He got up to get the requisition for the ultrasound I'd be able to get the next morning and the news of the low hcg levels registered in my head. I started bawling. I knew this was it. Our baby was gone.

That night I didn't sleep. My mind raced through everything. All of the people we've told about this pregnancy, all of the changes we've made, all of the excitement we've had, all of the hopes...

You know, I used to wonder how people got so upset after a miscarriage. Especially an early one. I mean, you only have known about that baby for such a short amount of time...and is it even a baby? Well I've learned now why. Because the second you see that positive pregnancy test, you are a mother. You are responsible for a new life that is YOURS and your husbands. It's the only thing that you've ever made together and ever CAN make together and you guard it with your life. It's instant love. You are it's only protector and chance of survival. And then when you find out it's gone...well, it's just pure devastation. Your job as a mom is done. Over. It's hard not to feel like you've failed that little life.

So, the next morning I drank four bottles of water on the way down to the hospital again to get the ultrasound. It was a sobering experience when you don't expect good news and typically going to your first ultrasound, to see your first baby should be one of the most exciting experiences of your life.

We waited in the waiting room, and I held back the tears. The ultrasound technician called my name and told Dave to stay behind. They wouldn't let him come with me. I followed her in and she asked my birthday. I didn't respond. I wasn't even there. She asked again, this time frustrated with me and that's when I realized she had asked me a question and I blurted it out. She told me to lay on the table and I did. The monitor was faced away from me so I couldn't see it.

She moved the wand around on my lower abdomen. And then she said that she would've been able to see more, but I didn't have a full bladder. She'd have to do the internal ultrasound. She told me to empty my bladder and come back. So, I did and came back and took off my clothes from the waist down. She put the internal wand in me and started taking pictures. I was doing alright for the first minute or two, but then as I lay there in the dark room, staring at the ceiling I realized that this lady is looking at our baby.

This ultrasound technician is the ONLY ONE who will ever see what Speck looks like! I just started crying right there as she kept snapping pictures at every angle. She asked me if my dates were right, am I sure that I'm really supposed to be 8 weeks today? I told her yes. After all, I charted my ovulation, used OPK's and got a positive pregnancy test on November 7th. There's no way that I could be any less than 8 weeks.

That confirmed it for me. Speck was measuring under 8 weeks. I continued to cry.

When she was finished, she told me that I was to go back to the ER and tell them I just had an ultrasound and they'd give us the results. I got dressed and went back to the waiting room where Dave was sitting. He looked up at me so sadly and I just ran to his arms and cried. I tried to tell him how it's so unfair that she got to see our baby and I never will and that it doesn't sound like there is going to be a good outcome.

We just sat there until I stopped crying and then headed back to the ER where we had spent so many hours the night before.

We waited another couple of hours. I spent them crying in the waiting room full of people. Finally they put us in a room where we waited for the news from a doctor. I cried more.

The doctor came in and explained that there was no heartbeat detected on the ultrasound. The diagnosis was "embryonic fetal demise". I asked him how far the baby grew, and he said the ultrasound measured 7 weeks. Speck had only died the WEEK BEFORE. All of this time I worried something was wrong, and here, everything was okay up until last week. I regretted not enjoying the earlier weeks being pregnant instead of worrying. Everything was okay then. The baby's heart would've started beating at the end of week 5. It would've had a week of heartbeats. If I only knew.

The doctor told me that this type of miscarriage is extremely common. It is usually caused by a chromosomal abnormality that prevents a baby from living. This chromosomal abnormalty is usually a one-time thing, and nothing that I could've caused or prevented. He went on to say that it was nothing I ate, nothing I drank, nothing I didn't do. He said it is not caused by stress. He said it wouldn't even happen if I was "intravenously injecting myself with cocaine... It's just a fluke". Our baby "wasn't right from the start and when you're that little you don't have a deformity or disability you just die". As hard as it is to hear, it's good to know that it isn't likely to repeat and that it was nothing that I would've been able to protect my baby from this.

Now, I'd have options about what to do next. The doctor told us that I'd need to be examined by a gynecologist and talked to about my options.

So, we waited more and I cried some more in the waiting room. Then we met with the gynecologist that was AWESOME. Her and her medical student (who was also very nice and helpful) explained my three options.

1) Wait it out and let the miscarriage happen naturally. This option they don't like to do because if you leave the tissues inside for too long they can become infected.
2) Induce contractions and cervix dilation medically to start the miscarriage.
3) Perform a D&C surgery to remove the baby and the tissues and be done with it. The doctor explained they don't like to jump to this option because the surgery comes with risk of scarring and chance of uterine perforation.

I chose the medicated option. The doctor performed a pelvic exam and inserted the medication. She explained to me to expect a great deal of pain and bleeding. She also said that the medication works for 85% of women to expel the pregnancy and it's contents, but if for some reason it doesn't work I may need to have the surgery because we can't leave tissue.

She sent me home with another dose of the medication I was to use in 24 hours to ensure I "get rid of everything".

We left the hospital at about 2:00pm and stopped at Shoppers Drug Mart to get my prescription of Tylenol 3's so I'd make sure to have them on board when the pain started. The doctor warned me MANY times to expect great pain...so I knew it'd be no joke. The mild period-like cramps started while we were in Shoppers Drug Mart waiting for the prescriptions. 

We went home and ate lunch. Just as I was finishing, the cramping started to get more intense, but still pretty bearable. Dave asked if I wanted to take the T3's and I said no, not yet. What a mistake. Within about 10 minutes, the pain was excruitiating. I took the T3's. This was about 4:30pm.

I went to the bathroom since it felt like I was going to be sick from either one end or the other. Sitting on the toilet was like torture. I was shaking uncontrollably, I could barely sit still. But I was sweating. A cold sweat. I asked Dave to get me a bucket incase I threw up. I wanted to throw up so badly.

I fell to the floor on the bathroom, and thankfully the door was closed so Dave didn't have to see me like that...I didn't even have the strength to pull my pants up. The pain was a 10. I had never felt pain so bad. My uterus felt like a rock. Like it was exploding inside, and the pain from my cervix felt like a knife the size of a baseball bat was inside of me. I was curled up in a ball on the bathroom floor and I couldn't move. Every inch of movement felt like so much extra pain. Dave was sitting on the other side of the door trying to talk to me, but I couldn't even answer. Talking made everything hurt, too. I just hyperventilated and tried to focus on the pain and kept thinking how every second is one more second closer to being done with it.

Obviously the Tylenol 3's had not kicked in. The few times I managed to speak I said to Dave, "please get me relief" and "google this...tell me how long it lasts". He read to me off google that the pain lasts a few hours and he told me the tylenol kicks in within the hour. He told me it had been about 45 minutes since I had taken it. (I had NO sense of time whatsoever.) He kept telling me to come out of the bathroom. All I remember was he kept telling me to go to the couch, over and over and over...and I couldn't even answer him. Eventually I managed to get out, "I will go to the couch when I can".

Some time after laying here for what seemed like hours, I managed to pull my pants up and told him to open the door. He did and I spilled out of the bathroom onto the floor in the front foyer. I remember I liked the feeling of the cold floor on my body. I was sweating, and felt sick, so it felt nice. Dave kept begging me to go to the couch, but I kept ignoring him. The thought of walking was too much to bear.

He laid beside me by the front door for some time. I remember him laughing about what the neighbours would think if they saw us laying there...but at the time, I didn't think twice. I didn't care. The pain.

After some time, and some more begging from Dave, I somehow moved to the couch. While I laid there and he sat on the ground infront of me, I remember the pain starting to go in waves. The most intense waves of pain I've ever felt. The wave of pain was my ENTIRE lower abdomen...excrutiating....and then it would only slightly fade for about 10 seconds, and then come back full force again for about 20 seconds and then only slightly fade for 10 seconds...in and out. As bad as it still was, those slight breaks inbetween were moments to gather myself. Dave was giving me water by holding the water bottle to my mouth and that felt like a breath of fresh air as I dripped sweat.

Eventually the contractions were done in my uterus and I could only feel them in my cervix which was MUCH easier to bear. I could finally stand to move my legs and turn over and close my eyes. I'm not sure if the Tylenol 3's were kicking in or the contractions were coming to an end, but it was heaven to have relief.

And eventually, the pain was over. I was myself again. I sat up on the couch and just could NOT believe what I had just felt. I joked about how our neighbours probably think we're whackjobs who lay on the front ceramic floor for kicks, and about how I have NO idea how people don't get epidurals. I would've done absolutely anything, ANYTHING for relief.

I still was not bleeding at that point. The bleeding started only about an hour after...and it wasn't really "bleeding", it was more like clotting when I'd go to the bathroom and pushed.

At about 9:30pm I believe, I went to the bathroom to push out more clots, and along with the clots was my baby. It was skin-coloured, C shaped small bulgy ball of tissue, about a centimeter in length. I left it there, and asked Dave if he wanted to see it. He said no and told me that I shouldn't do this to myself either. I agreed. We cannot sit there and stare at something that just was not meant to be. Nothing will ever bring Specker back. I said goodbye in my mind, realized how lucky I was to even see my baby, and flushed as Dave watched from the hallway. As emotionally traumatizing as it sounds, I am glad I had control over the end. I would've wondered what it looked like if I had gotten the surgery and had doctors dispose of it. I'll never forget how tragic it is to first lay eyes on your baby as it is in the toilet...and I just hope to have a different outcome one day. It will all make that moment that much more special someday, I'm sure. But for now, this is all the closure I can possibly get.

So, now, I'm still trying to pass all of the  tissue. There's still a chance I'll need the surgery if all of the tissue doesn't pass. I took the second dose of misoprostol on Monday and it didn't cause anything but normal period-like cramps and some clots. I'm not bleeding, so I am definitely scared that I will have gone through all of this for nothing and still need the surgery. I have an ultrasound tomorrow to check if everything's gone and then I meet with the doctor on Friday to talk about our next steps one way or the other.

There have been a few things I've learned from this whole experience:

• if you're pregnant or a mom, trust your instincts. I knew something was off, I had a feeling from the beginning. Everyone thought I was over-worried.
• as nice and well-meaning as you're trying to be there are some things you should never say to someone having a miscarriage. They are: "it's meant to be", "it's just natural", "at least you were only pregnant for ____ length of time", "you can just try again", "it's God's way", "it's so common", "the baby wouldn't have lived", "something was wrong with the baby from the start"... None of these things will make someone who just miscarried feel better. She doesn't want another baby. She wants HER baby. She knows it's common, she knows it's natural, she knows she can get pregnant again...but it doesn't make THIS pregnancy and THIS miscarriage any easier. Just tell her that you're sorry, and if  there is any sincere thing you can do for her, offer it. But if she's anything like me, she'll just want to be left alone to grieve. The last thing I want is for anyone but my husband to see me right now. I feel I'd have to put on a show, and I have no energy for that.
• a baby is a mother's baby whether it lived 1 day or 80 years
• my husband and I are so ready to be parents
• life is not fair
• If you know of someone who just had a miscarriage, and they know that you know, you should really say that you are sorry for her loss (if you are). Otherwise, it seems awefully like you don't give a shit. Times like this you really learn who your real friends are.
• No one should ever have to go through that physical pain without a healthy baby as a reward in the end.
• after researching misoprostol I've learned that medically induced labour is usually even more painful than natural labour because you're forcing your body to do something it wasn't ready to...and T3's are not strong enough. Apparently using misoprostol to induce contractions in a miscarriage 50+ days gestation are on a whole different level of pain. The placenta has formed by this point and needed to detach from the uterine wall, and that is what causes the intense pain.
• I'm getting an epidural next time.

RIP Speck. I hope your 7 weeks were comfortable.
We love you.