Two days ago, I found out that I had miscarried a much wanted baby. And now I'm just trying to sort out my feelings and get everything down "on paper" so that I can move on from it.
I don't want to forget. It sounds stupid maybe, because this baby never was and never will be. But I still feel like it was alive, and mine, and I don't want to forget that it lived, it happened. So I guess that by writing all this down, I can also keep a hold on that fact.
So here we go. A place to start.
On Monday, October 11th, it suddenly kind of dawned on me that I hadn't had a period in a while. Stupid, because I knew that we weren't preventing; you would think that I would be keeping track of these things. But, I just hadn't really thought about it, so when it finally occured to me, I was on CD 46! So I bought a test, and that was that.
I was so happy and excited. A little scared, sure, because suddenly it was real. We were going to have a newborn and a toddler to contend with. And how were we going to afford daycare for two of them - daycare for ONE costs an arm and a leg. But, I was also so very very excited. I quit coffee cold turkey. I started taking prenatals and a DHA sup. I started daydreaming about little babies. Hubby and I even started tentatively batting around names, making little jokes about ridiculous names as we did so. I was even looking forward to getting out my old maternity clothes in the next several months, just for a change of wardrobe.
On Wednesday, Oct 13th I had my first visit with the NP. She gave me an over all physical, and they drew blood. Everything looked good. That was also the first day that I had spotting, but she told me that spotting in early pregnancy is very normal, and told me to just take it easy for a couple of days until we got a look at the ultrasound.
On Thursday, Oct 14th, I had an ultrasound. They got me in fairly quickly, because of the spotting. Everything looked great. I saw the baby's heartbeat, and everything was normal. The baby was measuring at exactly 7 weeks.
On Tuesday, Oct 19th, I had my first visit with my Ob/Gyn. He looked at my blood tests and ultrasound and said that everything looked great. I told him about the spotting, which had continued off and on, but he wasn't concerned. He even said that I was okay to keep running if I felt up to it.
On Saturday, Oct 23rd, we told DH's sister that she was going to be an aunt again.
On Sunday, Oct 24th, I ran/walked a 5K in the morning. I've been told that this should have had nothing to do with anything, but I'll probably always think about it and wonder. That afternoon, we told my parents that we were expecting, and then we told my cousin Shanna. Shanna talked about how she kept her pregnancy a secret from everyone until she was 13 weeks, and I talked about how I'm a blabbermouth who can't keep a secret to save my life.
On Monday, Oct 25th, I woke up to much heavier spotting. I called my doctor's office at 8:30 am, as soon as they opened. They had me come in at 10. I told the nurse what was happening, and she seemed nervous. They moved me to a room with an ultrasound. I told the doctor (not my usual doctor) what was happening, and he was reassuring. But then we did the ultrasound. No heartbeat, no matter how hard he looked. Then he flipped a setting on the machine so that we could see blood flow. You could see my blood flowing just fine, bright reds and blues. The baby stayed black.
Later I asked the doctor if he could tell when the baby had died. He said that it was measuring at 8 weeks 3 days, so it must have been very, very recent.
I cried. A lot. The doctor and nurse left the room so I could put on my pants and cry in private. I sent a text to DH to call me, and wonder of wonders, he called me back right away. We talked until the doctor came back to talk about my options, none of them the options that I wanted.
In the end, I chose to take a pill that would cause my body to miscarry. They gave me five little white pills in a paper envelope and a perscription for Percoset, and sent me home.
I thought that I wouldn't be able to bear to tell my parents. I couldn't imagine adding their grief to mine, didn't want to have to say that I was okay when I wasn't. But then I did it - I called my mom and gave her the news. Mercifully, she said she would tell my dad and my cousin so I wouldn't have to. I'm a wimp, but there it is. I also called DH's sister. And gave many, many thanks for the fact that we hadn't yet told DH's parents. We were supposed to tell them that night. DH and I talked about it a little, whether we should tell them what happened, but my thought was that there wasn't much to tell. Why burden them with that when there was nothing that could be done.
That night, I sat for a very long time in DS's room, rocking him and holding him much longer than I usually do before bed. I can understand that I am very lucky. I have a wonderful husband who loves me, and a gorgeous amazing little boy who I'm crazy about. I can understand even more now, what a miracle it is that he was born - that his particular combination came about through the uniting of my body and DH's, that he survived the early weeks of pregnancy, that he is alive and he is mine and to me, he is completely unique. Having him is a balm on all sorts of aches. But that thinking is also a trap, because it reminds me that the baby I lost also would have been a unique and irreplacable individual. He or she too, would have amazed and delighted me with his/her little quirks and personality. But now s/he is gone, and I'll never know who it was that I lost.
It's stunning to me how I could only know that I was pregnant for two weeks, and yet still feel so much sadness in losing something that I only barely had. I try to compare it to losing anything else after only two weeks, but the comparisons never add up.
On Tuesday, Oct 26th, I dropped DS off at daycare, and then I went to the grocery store to get some supplies. I wore my sunglasses inside the store, just needing a little privacy for my hot red eyes. People probably thought that I had a black eye or that I fancied myself to be some sort of local celebrity. No autographs, please.
Then I went home, and I opened the envelope, and I took 5 pills. 6 if you count the Percoset.
That was a good move, I think, because before that, I had some crazy compulsion to deny that anything was wrong. Maybe the doctors were wrong! Maybe! I hadn't had any bleeding for almost 24 hours, and I still *felt* pregnant. How could the baby really be gone if I wasn't bleeding and I still felt nauseous as soon as I woke up? But I know that line of thinking only leads to more sorrow and crazy making. I saw the lack of heartbeat and blood flow with my own two eyes. There isn't any coming back from that. So I took the pills.
Then my mom called. I had been dreading this, dreading having more conversations about the miscarriage, more conversations about how sorry she is. She's sorry, I'm sorry, everyone's sorry. It doesn't change anything, it just brings my mind back to it all. Sorrysorrysorry. But then something weird happened. She told me that she was leaving work and coming to spend the day with me so that I wouldn't have to be alone. And suddenly, that's exactly what I wanted. I wanted to sit with my mom, and have someone to talk to, someone to be sad and sorry with. So she came over, and it just kind of changed the tenor of the day. It still sucked, but it sucked less because my mom was there. She made me lunch and got me Sprite when I got sick to my stomach, and we watched completely trashy daytime TV, and it was still one of the worst days ever, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it would have been otherwise. I survived.
So now I'm here and I know that I'm going to be okay and that someday we'll try it again. I guess that will be good, but right now I can't even wrap my head around that. Trying again, like it's some test I failed, but can retake.
But I guess I have faith that I won't always feel this way, that it will get muffled and then just be something I think about from time to time.
Question to self: what do I do with those first ultrasound pictures? I was saving them for a scrap book, but now what? I don't really feel like I can throw them away, but is it morbid to hang on to them?