I went for my 12 week 4 day ultrasound and found my baby had no heartbeat. I went for a second ultrasound to confirm, before taking any more measures.
I took the misoprospol (that was prescribed to start the m/c process) last night and started bleeding profusely. I went to the hospital in an ambulance. I was wheeled into the OR just an hour and a half after arriving. The surgeons were looking up at me one minute, and the next I could hear myself saying "I can hear you." I didn't like what they were saying, but I don't know what it was. Then I imagined these surgeons in yellow coats (they weren't wearing yellow coats in real life) wheeling me down a hall. I thought I was dead or dying. "Am I alive?" "Yes" "Am I going to live?" "Yes."
I half way woke up in the recovery room, where I felt like I was suffocating. I kept coughing and trying to shout out "I can't breathe," but I could hardly get anything out. My voice was weak. I learned they had intubated me down the throat. "You'll be fine. Just take deep breaths." I wasn't entirely convinced that I wasn't going to suffocate. I felt slightly relieved when someone checked my levels and I overheard them say "Looks good."
I was seeing double.
"If her hemoglobin is under 90 we may need to do a transfusion." Pause.
"It's 93. She's young. She'll be ok."
Hubby came to give me a kiss goodbye, since he was going home to sleep.
I was wheeled into my own room (well, a semi-private but there was nobody else in there).
The night nurses didn't seem as nice or competent as the ER nurse, who had suffered two miscarriages and DCs.
They asked me if I wanted to eat. "I ate dinner at 7" I said, not thinking maybe I NEEDED something to eat because of all the blood loss.
A few hours later, I woke up and paged the nurses.
"I need to pee." They helped me out of bed and wheeled my IV into the bathroom.
"I feel faint."
"Keep breathing, you'll be fine."
Then everything went black, and I thought I was going to die again.
"Am I dying?"
"But I can't see you."
"Keep your EYES OPEN!"
"I can't tell if they're open because I can't see."
"Drink, drink, drink lots of juice."
I wondered how I was swallowing as one of the nurses held the juice cup to my mouth in my half-dead state.
They made me get off the toilet and onto a chair, of which I could only see the black outline.
I got into the bed. Then my vision came back.
"I don't want to ever experience that again."
"Me neither," replied one of the nurses. "You're heavy. I threw my back out catching you because you were going to hit your head." Nice (I'm 5'10 and only 130 pounds, so I didn't take it personally).
I went to sleep.
I was crying when the morning nurse came. It's hard enough losing a baby, but even harder going through that amount of physical pain. It was worse than labour. I told them that and they said, "A lot of women make that comment." She was very empathetic, since she had 3 children and 10 pregnancies (yep, 7 miscarriages).
I think this is going to make me ultra paranoid about the first trimester the next time around. They did tell me to wait about 6 months though, since I experienced so much blood loss.
I called my midwife and she was extremely supportive. She said I can call her anytime (even at home) if I need emotional support. She also said that I may be able to try sooner than 6 months from now if my bloodwork comes back ok sooner (though ideally I don't want to deliver between May-August, because I photograph weddings for a living). I can't believe I'm even thinking about getting pregnant again, since when I was going through that experience all I could think was "I'm adopting the next one," or getting a surrogate.