WonderWriter
Confident
Up until I suffered a second miscarriage, I was able to continue working at the job I loved and still had a good relationship with my husband; however, the circumstances after that event really messed me up.
When I found out I was pregnant a second time, I was elated hoping things would be okay this time around. Yet, knowing I had trouble with the first pregnancy, I contacted my doctor. I was told they didn’t need to see me, and there was nothing they could do. My gut told me otherwise, so I went to see my PCP. He referred me to a highly respected OB/GYN, and she immediately sent me for an ultrasound.
About a week later, I noticed some spotting. Mom said that was normal, so I tried not to worry. I didn’t notice any more spots before I went to work and felt a little better but something kept nagging me there was a problem. I took a bathroom break, and sure enough something was very wrong. This time I was bleeding.
One of my office co-workers was kind enough to take me to a nearby hospital and stayed with me until my mom got there. The doctor sent me for an ultrasound which confirmed what I already knew. The part I didn’t know was the tissue remained - meaning I had to wait for the process to “complete.”
Another week passed, and while I was making coffee, it happened. I called my doctor and she said to get to her office ASAP. I took her literally and left my back door open and my dogs outside. I called my mom and she met me there.
My doctor saw a pattern in both pregnancies lasting less than six weeks, so she removed the tissue to send it out to a lab. The only way I can describe it is feeling like someone was ripping out my insides. I laid on the exam table, Mom held my hand and placed her other hand on my forehead as tears streamed down my cheeks.
In the days that followed, I felt grief and an overwhelming sadness I’d never experienced before. I stayed in bed. I hated people, I hated myself, I hated life and everything in it. I thought I was having a nervous breakdown, and I was extremely suicidal.
I don’t remember any loving caresses or caring hugs from my husband. He withdrew. Yet, because I refused to get out of bed, he decided I needed “tough love,” and yelled at me to get my “lazy ass out of bed and do something.” My fight defense kicked into overdrive and told him, “leave me the f*** alone unless you can treat me like a civilized human being.” After that, I wanted to die. Mom forced me to see my doctor, and he prescribed Prozac which helped for awhile
When I went back to work, I felt numb. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, and it became increasingly difficult for me to perform my duties. I decided maybe I needed a change of scenery, and got a new job working with the Dean of Students at a liberal arts college. I loved it, and I felt more like myself again.
When the Dean retired, the replacement the school hired made me feel uneasy. He was never mean or yelled at me, but I always felt uncomfortable around him. One of my closest allies there, the student affairs director quit because of him. The man the Dean hired was hostile and verbally abusive toward me. I got HR involved, but things only escalated.
I got another job working for an attorney, and he was an alcoholic. He and his partner constantly argued, and I began having panic attacks whenever I pulled into the parking lot. I decided I couldn’t take it anymore and I quit.
For days after, my husband constantly complained and reminded me that he was taking care of everything. I felt guilty and I hated myself. The fact that he was also rejecting me physically, I was back to feeling suicidal again.
After several jobs and a failed business, I felt like I was the one sabotaging everything but didn’t know why. I’m still trying to figure out if it stems from childhood, or if my damaged relationships contributed to it.
When I found out I was pregnant a second time, I was elated hoping things would be okay this time around. Yet, knowing I had trouble with the first pregnancy, I contacted my doctor. I was told they didn’t need to see me, and there was nothing they could do. My gut told me otherwise, so I went to see my PCP. He referred me to a highly respected OB/GYN, and she immediately sent me for an ultrasound.
About a week later, I noticed some spotting. Mom said that was normal, so I tried not to worry. I didn’t notice any more spots before I went to work and felt a little better but something kept nagging me there was a problem. I took a bathroom break, and sure enough something was very wrong. This time I was bleeding.
One of my office co-workers was kind enough to take me to a nearby hospital and stayed with me until my mom got there. The doctor sent me for an ultrasound which confirmed what I already knew. The part I didn’t know was the tissue remained - meaning I had to wait for the process to “complete.”
Another week passed, and while I was making coffee, it happened. I called my doctor and she said to get to her office ASAP. I took her literally and left my back door open and my dogs outside. I called my mom and she met me there.
My doctor saw a pattern in both pregnancies lasting less than six weeks, so she removed the tissue to send it out to a lab. The only way I can describe it is feeling like someone was ripping out my insides. I laid on the exam table, Mom held my hand and placed her other hand on my forehead as tears streamed down my cheeks.
In the days that followed, I felt grief and an overwhelming sadness I’d never experienced before. I stayed in bed. I hated people, I hated myself, I hated life and everything in it. I thought I was having a nervous breakdown, and I was extremely suicidal.
I don’t remember any loving caresses or caring hugs from my husband. He withdrew. Yet, because I refused to get out of bed, he decided I needed “tough love,” and yelled at me to get my “lazy ass out of bed and do something.” My fight defense kicked into overdrive and told him, “leave me the f*** alone unless you can treat me like a civilized human being.” After that, I wanted to die. Mom forced me to see my doctor, and he prescribed Prozac which helped for awhile
When I went back to work, I felt numb. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, and it became increasingly difficult for me to perform my duties. I decided maybe I needed a change of scenery, and got a new job working with the Dean of Students at a liberal arts college. I loved it, and I felt more like myself again.
When the Dean retired, the replacement the school hired made me feel uneasy. He was never mean or yelled at me, but I always felt uncomfortable around him. One of my closest allies there, the student affairs director quit because of him. The man the Dean hired was hostile and verbally abusive toward me. I got HR involved, but things only escalated.
I got another job working for an attorney, and he was an alcoholic. He and his partner constantly argued, and I began having panic attacks whenever I pulled into the parking lot. I decided I couldn’t take it anymore and I quit.
For days after, my husband constantly complained and reminded me that he was taking care of everything. I felt guilty and I hated myself. The fact that he was also rejecting me physically, I was back to feeling suicidal again.
After several jobs and a failed business, I felt like I was the one sabotaging everything but didn’t know why. I’m still trying to figure out if it stems from childhood, or if my damaged relationships contributed to it.