My Story

The pregnancy was a surprise. A missed period after going off birth control. I took a pregnancy test before some out-of-towners came to stay with us, knowing it would be a weekend of heavy drinking. The tiny window declared I was pregnant.
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I had friends who’d had miscarriages, trouble conceiving. I tried to stay realistic. Studied the statistics. I was so relieved at my 8 week ultrasound. A heartbeat! It seemed real. My due date was the day before my dad’s birthday. What a celebration it would be.
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We changed our plans. Flew out west for Christmas instead of driving. I sat quietly through our ski trip, thinking how missing a season would be worth it for the baby to come. I stayed outside, did my best to avoid seeing people, lest I succumb to Omicron.
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Boxing Day sales roll around and I start to feel excited. I’m nearly done the first trimester. I know the stats. I should be in the clear. I start to look at pregnancy clothes.
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We fly back to Toronto for my 12 week appointments. I mention some spotting I’d noticed at Christmas, so minor I’d written it down, lest I forget to follow up. My doctor is calm, unconcerned. She brings in her portable Doppler, but my abdomen is “the noisiest she’s ever heard”. We laugh and even though she doesn’t find a heartbeat, we leave, thinking things might be ok.
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I find an ultrasound appointment later that afternoon. The tech is ready to do my NIPT, but things take a turn. “It’s not good” she says. She promises my doctor will have results soon. We leave. There is nothing to do but wait.
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My doctor calls, unusually prompt. Grave. The fetus stopped developing at 8 weeks, 1 day. It feels like we’ve entered an alternate universe. We had an ultrasound at 8 weeks. The bundle of cells that felt like a new beginning now feel like a noose. We discuss options.
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The hospital early pregnancy clinics are all closed, either because of COVID, or because we’re in the holiday season between Christmas and New Years. I’m surprised to learn other hospitals don’t even perform D&C’s. A friend recommends an abortion clinic. I make an appointment the next day.
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We get the call as we’re leaving the house for the procedure. The clinic is closed today. The nurses aren’t feeling well and everyone is on edge from Omicron’s swift rise. The next appointment date is 5 days away. I panic.
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We call any clinic we can find and I find one who will take me the next day. I read Google reviews, fall into a deeper panic. Who knows what this procedure will do to me? Will I have irreparable damage? For someone who believes in a women’s right to choose, I know very little about what it means to make that choice. We cancel and wait.
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Five days later, I make it to the original clinic. The women are kind, the D&C is quick and I remember little. Afterward, I’m preoccupied, monitoring my bleeding for any sign of hemorrhaging or infection. It feels like I’ll never stop bleeding.
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I get my period back and it makes me feel like I’m miscarrying all over again. We talk ourselves in circles whether we should try again right away. I feel simultaneously crushed by the experience and liberated. I feel happy many days but fragile. An unexpected plumbing issue sends me into a tailspin.
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There’s no obvious ending to this story. But it’s strange navigating the other side, feeling at once like my life is the same, but irrevocably changed.