The shadow of Fusion

Anyone who plans to read this, beware that this post is a pretty sad and depressing one. It is about how our first pregnancy, miscarriage and the aftermath has affected me and still looms over us. This post is more about me writing it than anyone reading it, so there is no obligation to read on...


Like Owen was called Tomato while he was in the womb, our first pregnancy was called Fusion. It only lasted about 6 weeks, in Aug-Sept 2006. I was so excited when we found out Marisa was pregnant on 8/17/2006 -- I still remember the moment vividly. I had resisted the idea of having kids for a little while because I was afraid of the responsibility, but when it happened it seemed like the best and most exciting thing in the world. Unfortunately, it didn't take long to be worried that things weren't right. Those six weeks were completely up and down -- one day the doc would say that everything looked okay, the next day things were way off. In the end, Fusion didn't grow and Marisa had a surgical miscarriage (called a "D&C"). It turns out that 1 in 4 of all pregnancies is a "blighted ovum" like Fusion was but you don't hear about it much until it happens to you.

The year or so that started in Aug/Sept 2006 and lasted until Aug 2007 was by far the worst year of my life. Loking back (and felt even more strongly at the time), I am amazed by the accumulation of crappy feelings, unlucky experiences, and overall bummed-out-ness over a relatively short time. And by far the worst feelings came from the loss of Fusion.

Marisa and I were both completely devastated by the loss, although I think it was much tougher for Marisa than it was for me, because she would (and still does) blame herself for what happened. But after the D&C, things just got worse: Marisa didn't recover physically for about 5 months, and was eventually diagnosed with gestational trophoblastic disease, a (pretty mild) form of cancer caused by a few stray cells hanging around in the uterus and keeping pregnancy hormones elevated after the baby isn't there anymore -- it is really no fun for anyone. A lot of waiting and worrying and one (mild) chemotherapy injection didn't help, but acupuncture came to the rescue and Marisa was (physically) recovered as of Feb 2007. We were told to wait six months before trying to get pregnant again (we waited two).

The one good thing that came of our experience was that Marisa and I grew closer than we ever had been. Our combined grief and frustration was an amazing shared experience. I've never been any good at talking about my feelings (like most guys, I think), but this was too much to hold inside so I let things out with Marisa. It was a really special connection between us that grew from a very unhappy place.

For me personally during that time, things stayed completely up and down, mostly down. Workwise I was doing great -- writing lots of papers and getting invited to give talks. In just about every other way, things were terrible. In the six months after Fusion I got two mild concussions (from ultimate and skiing) and was hit by a car on my bike. My head didn't feel right from about Jan to August 2007 -- I had to stop playing ultimate for a few months and I'm still worried about how I will be when the weather gets hot this year. I also managed to get quite sick about four times that winter, which was a direct result of worrying and stress. I have never been much of a worrier, but I lived in constant inner turmoil, worried to death about Marisa during her recovery.

We didn't feel particularly social for a long while and our social circle dwindled. I didn't feel able to share what was going on with many of my friends, so I felt increasingly isolated. In fact, I still haven't told most of my friends about what happened (until now, if they read this). Since this isolation creeped in, I just haven't felt connected to people as much as I used to. I also don't think the people that knew about this understood how hard this was for us and how long it would take to recover -- this added to our isolation but also, in a way, to bringing us together. I still feel the effects of that horrible year almost every day.

Marisa got pregnant again in April, about two months after she recovered from the miscarriage. Again, we were so happy and excited! But this time, we worried like crazy that things were about to go wrong. When we saw the baby at the first ultrasound, it was really special to see Tomato growing and his heart beating -- one of the best things I've ever seen and made even more special by the contrast with the empty womb from Fusion's ultrasounds. It was still tough because Marisa especially was (and still is) perpetually terrified of something going wrong, which took away from her pregnancy experience. One difficult thing was that other people didn't appreciate that things were still very difficult for us, that we still hadn't recovered from the loss and complications. To be honest, I don't think I would appreciate that about someone else if we hadn't gone through it ourselves -- I think I have grown a bit more sympathetic to people in difficult places. Still, it was one more thing that made us feel isolated.

The rest of the story gets happier. Marisa was pregnant, and Tomato grew and grew and we slowly recovered both physically and mentally from the aftermath of the miscarriage. I still remember a time in August 2007 when I began to feel like things were not so bad anymore, when the joy from Tomato finally overcame the accumulated misery of the previous year. A good feeling.


If Fusion had grown into a little baby, he/she would be almost one year old. I think about Fusion often, although not as often as Marisa does. It makes me sad that the aftermath of the miscarriage was so traumatic that I tend to remember the pain of the following months rather than the baby that almost was. We are still dealing with the lingering effects of that terrible year (Aug 2006-Aug 2007) but we are focusing our energy on Owen. I still don't feel like the "myself" I remember -- I am less connected with my friends than I would like to be and more prone to worrying. Still, we ended up with a pretty great little guy and I wouldn't trade him in for all the wine in France (or for all the beer in Belgium).


Sean