[Diary of an expat bride] Everything falls apart

We waited for two hours and finally got through to our doctor who was very vague. He told me to come in and see him in two days and that he would check it out, but until then to lie down and relax. The next day Can’s parents came to visit, and we told them about the spotting. I didn’t want to, but Can was leaving the following week for a month-long training session in Antalya, and I might need their help in case of an emergency. My mother-in-law, after hearing our news and seeing how scared we were, then proceeded to tell us about her sister’s son (Can’s cousin) and his wife, who had been trying to get pregnant for awhile. She had several problems, and conceiving normally for them was apparently impossible because they had tried in vitro fertilization. It too had not worked. Can’s mother then told us that she didn’t think her sister should help pay for a second round of in vitro since it wasn’t her son with the problem.

I looked at Can, completely stunned. What did she mean by telling us this? Especially now, when Can and I were so scared? Even now, in my worst moment, I expected nothing financial from her. Can told me to go and lay down in the bedroom, and he would deal with it. He looked more hurt than I did. I blocked my ears to the shouting that followed and heard his parents leave shortly thereafter. Can came and sat on the bed with tears in his eyes.

“I didn’t believe you when you told me that she could talk like that,” Can told me. “I can’t believe that’s my mom.” I was quiet. As hard as it was for me to hear his mom say those hateful words, it was a hundred times harder for Can to hear them. How could she say something like that, in front of her own gelin? At least Can was finally there to witness it.

That night and the next day, the bleeding got worse. When we went to the doctor, his prognosis was grim. I was having a miscarriage. Even though I suspected it, just hearing the doctor say that broke my heart completely. He told me to go home and rest for two days and let my body “get rid of it” naturally. Then, we would come back for what is called a D & C to “clean me out.” Can refused to believe it and asked the doctor if there was some chance the baby could still live. “Maybe a 5 or 10 percent chance,” he told us.

The next 48 hours were the worst of my life, a horror I would never wish on even my worst enemy. I just wanted my mom and hated that we were so far apart. I needed to be around other Americans who could understand why I was grieving so much. The bleeding got progressively worse, and I dreaded going to the bathroom. Can would come with me as I couldn’t flush the toilet, convinced I was flushing my baby away. I was mentally broken. I was also so angry at Can’s mother. I was convinced she had cursed me and told Can she was a murderer. I told Can if she called me or came over, I would kill her. She never wanted us to have a baby, and now she had gotten her wish. Our close friends came over, not an easy feat when one of them was also newly pregnant. There is nothing right to say to someone having a miscarriage, everything hurts. “At least you didn’t hear the heartbeat,” or “It’s better it happened now then later,” only increases the pain, even though they are said with the best of intentions. The best thing you can do for someone suffering a miscarriage is to hold them, cry with them and acknowledge their grief. They have a right to grieve because they did hold a child within them for a short time, and they lost it. I knew the moment I was pregnant, I had felt that life inside of me even if the doctor couldn’t find the fetal heartbeat.

On the third day I woke up and was calm. My life had forever changed, but I was going to get through this, and I was going to be a stronger person. We sat in the waiting room for only a few minutes, and I watched all of the full, pregnant women around me with raw eyes. The nurse came next to me instead of calling my name out and quietly showed me to the mini-operating room. My doctor then came in and told me he would do one last ultrasound to see where most of the “stuff” was located. The nurse held my hand on one side, Can my other. I turned my head away from the screen.

I heard my doctor take a deep breath and then say, “I don’t believe it!” He then turned the monitor up, and Can and I listened in shock to our baby’s strong heartbeat. There, on the screen was a small, white, pulsating dot. Our baby was alive despite the odds! I was too shocked to react. The nurse started crying and told us as she helped clean me up that she had never seen a baby survive after so much bleeding.

Our doctor too was very vague about the prognosis. He prescribed some extra hormone supplements and put me on bed rest. He cautioned us not to be too enthusiastic, as I was still bleeding heavily. We were going to have to take everything one day at a time.