The term “D&C” describes a specific medical procedure. It is not an appropriate catch-all for any procedure that empties a uterus! It is important to use accurate medical terminology when describing the procedures people are going to receive in their body, especially with the intimacy and vulnerability of abortion care & miscarriage management. Respect people enough to trust them to hold new, nuanced information and understand their bodies best.
Lots of people approach me during and after an abortion or a miscarriage describing very normal, expected symptoms and worrying that something is wrong with them. They often feel inadequately prepared by their healthcare providers, or have been helping themselves at home without outside guidance, and are now concerned about their well-being and their bodies.
After my second miscarriage, the deepest, most meaningful healing I experienced was through sex. I’ve had four, maybe five, miscarriages. They’ve each been unique and brought their own lessons on management and aftercare. Miscarriages can be rough. Physically. Emotionally. Practically. Even with my deep knowledge of miscarriage management, I struggle with them just like anyone else. We’re human. Losing children is challenging.
Slowly but surely, there is a growing body of literature and medical practice around administering medication protocols for early pregnancy loss. The delay in the uptake of medications for miscarriage management is often tied to the stigma of these medications and research around them being typically used for abortion … despite the physiology between an early abortion and an early miscarriage being nearly identical.
Having had five miscarriages, I’ve become somewhat of an unfortunate expert. I’ve had a range of experiences from mysterious to practical, from labour & birth to hemorrhage, from grief and pain to relief. When I first started researching miscarriage before I started having my own, my most powerful learning came from storytelling. I hope now to add to that narrative and bring some wisdom from my losses.
To say this process has been, is, painful would be a gross understatement. The coupling of being a midwife and being unwillingly infertile is a brutal existence. While I can easily compartmentalize my individual clients’ joys, fears, and experiences from my own, the simple juxtaposition of spending all day around pregnancy and babies feel ironic at best coming home to a quiet house.
