Right as the pandemic was getting underway in New York in April 2020, Joanne Schneider DeMeireles had a miscarriage. She knew something was wrong when she went in for a prenatal appointment and her obstetrician told her that her embryo was only five weeks along. “I was like, that’s not possible,” she says. Her doctor dismissed her concern and told her to come back the following week for another ultrasound. Schneider DeMeireles had previously worked at a fertility clinic and knew when she ovulated, and she had been tracking her pregnancy obsessively. The small size of her embryo—how doctors track the age of the fetus—meant there might be a problem. The following week when she returned to the doctor, there was no heartbeat. It was a miscarriage, one that hadn’t yet expelled. Schneider DeMeireles’s doctor told her she had two options. She could let her body expel naturally, but miscarriages can take days and are painful. Or she could opt for dilation and curettage (D&C), a procedure that removes tissue in the uterus to prevent possible infection. It’s an elective surgery, one she wasn’t able to access under pandemic restrictions. What her doctor didn’t tell her is that she could take a course of pills to help the miscarriage complete. Schneider DeMeireles later found out that her obstetrician used to be religiously affiliated and since they’re the same pills used in an abortion, the doctor didn’t offer them. In the end, Schneider DeMeireles had to go to a different doctor to access the medication. Schneider DeMeireles’s experience is not unique. But now she is one of many women inspired by their experiences with pregnancy, pregnancy loss, and postpartum care who are trying to change how women receive care
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