It’s just one miscarriage. We don’t worry until you’ve had three in a row.
Obviously, you’ll know when you’re miscarrying.
It’s nature’s way.
Are you sure you don’t want to try again? You’re just going to give up?
During my last pregnancy, I had a hematoma. A hematoma is a pool of clotted blood that forms, and when it bursts, you start to bleed. It created an immense amount of blood. And, naturally, I panicked.
I called the doctor crying, certain I was having another miscarriage. And she responded, “if you are miscarrying, there’s nothing we can do, and it’s just nature’s way of getting rid of something that won’t survive.”
There’s nothing you can do? It’s nature’s way? Getting rid of something? This wasn’t something, this was my future baby!
But, because I had been here before, I paused, took a deep breath, held my husband’s hand, and said calmly but firmly, “I’m aware it’s nature’s way. This is my fourth pregnancy. But that’s not helpful when I believe I’m miscarrying for a fourth time. I’m very worried.”
Sometimes, people don’t hear or grasp the magnitude of what they are saying. They don’t recognize how they might be invalidating or unsupportive. I do believe that for the most part, people are not actively trying to hurt our feelings. They simply don’t know how to respond. And, for doctors, there are a few things happening that could lead to an invalidating statement:
1. They’ve seen pregnancy loss thousands of times before, and recognize it as a very real and common risk to pregnancy.
2. They take a medical, scientific look that has nothing to do with how we are feeling emotionally.
3. They want to solve a problem.
Problem-solving is inherently invalidating. Sometimes we do need our problems solved, but as an initial response, problem-solving diminishes our emotions and attempts to eradicate them by fixing, rather than holding space. Some professionals are trained that they aren’t here to hold space – they are here to solve a problem.
But, they can do both. Medical providers can hold space and solve the problem. As I sat in the emergency room in Grove City, Pa., with a doctor I had never met before, confirming my third miscarriage, he took time to hold space for me. He said, “I’m so sorry to meet under these tragic circumstances.” He took a moment to honor and recognize our pain and our grief. And it was only after that space was given that he started problem-solving.
“I’m going to call your doctor now, and we will find out from her what the next step is. I’m going to recommend you get home today, and schedule an appointment with her first thing tomorrow.” Imagine if he had started with that statement! It would have felt cold and dismissive. Instead, it felt loving and supportive, because he was able to hold space for my grief first. And it doesn’t take long – it takes one extra moment of connection. We can advocate for this with our doctors.
Medical providers are often the people taking care of us, and we look to them for help and support. We consciously, or subconsciously, put them in the position of expert. And in some ways we should. An OBGYN definitely knows more about pregnancy than I do – I wouldn’t know where to start if an OBGYN handed me an ultrasound machine and told me to measure the size of a fetus! They do have expertise that I don’t have.
But I also have expertise when it comes to my body. I am an expert when it comes to my thoughts and emotions. That’s why we’ve spent more than a week working on gaining insight into our own thoughts and feelings. Because the more insight I gain, the more I know how to advocate for myself.
When I had my first fertility consultation, the doctor, who I really trusted and respected, stated that our miscarriages were truly unexplained, and that technically we didn’t need her. One day, after enough attempts, we would have a healthy baby. But, in order to save time and diminish our pain, she was recommending IVF. As we ended our appointment, I noticed a few things: a lump in my throat, a clenching in my stomach, and a million questions swirling in my brain. And that questions weren’t helpful – they were questions that left me confused and uncertain.
Because I recognized this feeling, I knew that in this instance, IVF was not the right path for us at that time. I decided, instead, to see a functional medicine doctor specializing in fertility. And the moment I made that decision, my stomach relaxed, the lump in my throat vanish, and the swirling useless questions dissipated.
It is important to extend grace to our doctors: they see a lot of pregnancy losses, and they see a lot of pain. Doctors are problem-solvers. But, they can also be listeners, supporters, and caregivers. They can validate our pain, and still help us move through it. You deserve to advocate for yourself if you are feeling invalidated. You deserve to say that you feel a doctor isn’t listening to you, or that they are moving too fast on a path you might not be ready for. This takes courage and practice, but it is a practice that might change not only your experience, but the experience of others who might follow you.
Today’s Considerations:
Is there someone on your treatment team who you have felt invalidated by?
In hindsight, how would you have liked to respond? Or, did you respond authentically?
What is one way, moving forward, that you can advocate for yourself?