A couple of things on Facebook reminded me of a post that I always intended to write. Though I had an outpouring of love and support after I lost my baby in January, I was surprised at how isolating a miscarriage is to women who have lost their babies. Not only is the tragedy isolating, but I found that most women keep quiet about miscarriage unless they pulled my move of blabbing about the pregnancy early on and ended up with a loss.
Why is it that miscarriage is shrouded in painful silence? We know that around 20% of confirmed pregnancies end with a miscarriage and there is some evidence that it's more like 50% of all pregnancies (not necessarily confirmed pregnancies) end in loss. Think of the women you know. . .chances are that several of them have lost at least one baby; perhaps you have too. So why are women so reluctant to talk about it if so many of us have experienced it?
I wonder if the medical establishment view toward miscarriage doesn't help squelch healing discussions after loss. After all, one miscarriage isn't considered to be a problem and a woman isn't generally going to receive additional care until she's suffered at least two (or more!) losses in a row. The message that this attitude sends is that your one miscarriage isn't a big deal. It's not even important enough to warrant any further examination once they've verified that the "products of conception" are out of your womb.
You know what? Every baby that is lost is a big deal. It's a big freaking deal to the woman who miscarried and it's a big deal to her family because they also lost a family member. It's heartless and cruel to suggest or imply that miscarriage doesn't matter.
I also wonder if the standard responses people give to women who have experienced miscarriage doesn't force women to clam up and hold back their feelings. I heard some things that were so off-the-charts insensitive that I almost couldn't believe that a loved one would ever consider saying them to a grieving mother. And that's exactly what a woman who lost a baby is - a grieving mother. It makes no difference that her baby was never born when the fact is that her baby was alive at one time. I think sometimes people forget that a baby is very real to a woman as soon as she discovers that she's pregnant. . .as soon as she hears that precious heartbeat.
I was contacted by many women who had lost babies after I shared that my pregnancy had ended. Whether or not they went on to have a perfectly healthy baby later, we are all united in knowing the pain of miscarriage. A sisterhood of sorrow. Not surprisingly, none of these women tried to downplay what had happened and their support was particularly comforting.
If any good can be found in losing my baby in January it's that I know the ache of loss and, since I have a big mouth (or, more accurately, an active keyboard), I hope that I make the loneliest of tragedies feel a little less isolating to at least one woman.
Showing posts with label miscarriage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label miscarriage. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Thursday, August 4, 2011
A Due Date with No Baby
Most readers probably remember that I suffered a miscarriage earlier this year. If they don't, it's probably because they couldn't bear to read the things that I wrote while trying to process my heartbreak at losing a long-desired pregnancy. I can't say that I would blame anyone for skipping those posts. . .I wish I could just erase that part of my life and I certainly wouldn't want a spectator's seat to it. If you missed out and are interested, check out the posts I wrote in January and February to know what I'm writing about.
I realize that most children are not born exactly on their due date, but today was my baby's due date. I would have either had a newborn by now or I would have had one in the next two weeks or so. Of course, that wasn't to be and here I sit, just shy of 18-weeks pregnant with the one who I hope will be the final member of our family.
Losing that pregnancy resulted in a loss of innocence, an awareness that sometimes the most painfully cruel things can happen when least expected. Sometimes you really do get kicked when you're already down. Losing that baby also resulted in fostering a fierce love and gratitude, deeper than I ever knew possible, for my son who was born and for the baby currently living in my womb. I guess it's because I realize that they could have been, and I suppose still could be, taken from me at any moment.
I attempted to achieve pregnancy for so long and I now know that life is never promised, even where life once existed. In that mindset, I've tried so hard to think positive about this pregnancy and avoid complaining about any uncomfortable symptoms because I know that I'm lucky to have them at all. Some may say that I'm reallly not all that successful with either intention, but I really do try.
One day, one day far in the future, I fully expect to be able to finally hold my babies who were never born. And on that day, the holes in my heart will finally be filled.
I realize that most children are not born exactly on their due date, but today was my baby's due date. I would have either had a newborn by now or I would have had one in the next two weeks or so. Of course, that wasn't to be and here I sit, just shy of 18-weeks pregnant with the one who I hope will be the final member of our family.
Losing that pregnancy resulted in a loss of innocence, an awareness that sometimes the most painfully cruel things can happen when least expected. Sometimes you really do get kicked when you're already down. Losing that baby also resulted in fostering a fierce love and gratitude, deeper than I ever knew possible, for my son who was born and for the baby currently living in my womb. I guess it's because I realize that they could have been, and I suppose still could be, taken from me at any moment.
I attempted to achieve pregnancy for so long and I now know that life is never promised, even where life once existed. In that mindset, I've tried so hard to think positive about this pregnancy and avoid complaining about any uncomfortable symptoms because I know that I'm lucky to have them at all. Some may say that I'm reallly not all that successful with either intention, but I really do try.
One day, one day far in the future, I fully expect to be able to finally hold my babies who were never born. And on that day, the holes in my heart will finally be filled.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Good News from the Lab!
After writing my post last night, I was fairly certain that I was jinxing myself. . .and I was right since the spotting returned today. But I can't be too upset about it because I got some good news from the lab today. Not just good news, but very good news! Let me start from the beginning and stop being so dang cryptic. . .
I am pregnant again. I am 4 weeks + 6 days pregnant. I keep wanting to pinch myself because I'm so thrilled and so happy that I hope it's not just a pleasant dream. I know exactly when this baby was conceived and readers of this blog can probably figure it out pretty easily too. I believe this baby likely implanted 2-years (nearly to the day!) since we've been trying for the baby who will complete our family. Assuming I carry this child to term, I could very well have a new babe in my arms at the very end of this year.
I began using the progesterone suppositories on April 17 and I had already conceived (but obviously didn't know it yet) at that point. I have had spotting every day since beginning to use the prog suppos. That sucks, but it's a "normal" side effect so I was tolerating the bleeding fairly well. . .until I got a positive pregnancy test at 4:00 am on Easter Sunday. There is little that is more distressing to a pregnant woman than vaginal bleeding. Given that bleeding marked the beginning of the end of my last pregnancy, it is truly something that I'd rather not be experiencing at the moment. But, since it was just light spotting, it wasn't too too bad to handle.
However, I had two clots this last weekend. They were small (about half the size of a dime) and mucousy (stretchy & sticky), but they freaked me the heck out because the obvious implication. Then I began to bleed. I wasn't spotting, I was bleeding. It was a thin & watery blood and it was a color that I would consider red. I think every woman would naturally assume that their pregnancy was ending/had ended in an early miscarriage at that point.
I contacted my doctor and inquired if I should cancel my first prenatal appointment, which is scheduled for May 16th, because I was certain that the pregnancy had ended. He suggested that we should check my hCG levels instead and see what we can discover about the pregnancy. I wrote about the results from my initial test two days ago and I decided to go in today for the follow-up hCG test. The rap on hCG is that it should double approximately every 2 to 3 days in early pregnancy. Also, it's a very good indicator of miscarriage if the numbers are dropping.
My hCG level at 4w4d was 3,852.
My hCG level at 4w6d was 7,424.
THE NUMBERS NEARLY DOUBLED IN JUST AT 48 HOURS! This isn't a guarantee of the best possible outcome (a healthy, full-term pregnancy), but it is VERY GOOD news!
It's interesting to note that my hCG levels in my last pregnancy weren't doing nearly so good this early on. . .at 5w3d I was only at 4,000 last time. Again, none of this is a guarantee that I won't suffer another miscarriage, but it is good to know that I have not miscarried. I don't know how it's possible to lose so much blood and not lose the baby, but I'm just trying to take it one day at a time and sometimes I'm taking it one hour at a time.
As it stands tonight, I am still pregnant and this pregnancy is progressing. For that, I give all the thanks to God above.
I am pregnant again. I am 4 weeks + 6 days pregnant. I keep wanting to pinch myself because I'm so thrilled and so happy that I hope it's not just a pleasant dream. I know exactly when this baby was conceived and readers of this blog can probably figure it out pretty easily too. I believe this baby likely implanted 2-years (nearly to the day!) since we've been trying for the baby who will complete our family. Assuming I carry this child to term, I could very well have a new babe in my arms at the very end of this year.
I began using the progesterone suppositories on April 17 and I had already conceived (but obviously didn't know it yet) at that point. I have had spotting every day since beginning to use the prog suppos. That sucks, but it's a "normal" side effect so I was tolerating the bleeding fairly well. . .until I got a positive pregnancy test at 4:00 am on Easter Sunday. There is little that is more distressing to a pregnant woman than vaginal bleeding. Given that bleeding marked the beginning of the end of my last pregnancy, it is truly something that I'd rather not be experiencing at the moment. But, since it was just light spotting, it wasn't too too bad to handle.
However, I had two clots this last weekend. They were small (about half the size of a dime) and mucousy (stretchy & sticky), but they freaked me the heck out because the obvious implication. Then I began to bleed. I wasn't spotting, I was bleeding. It was a thin & watery blood and it was a color that I would consider red. I think every woman would naturally assume that their pregnancy was ending/had ended in an early miscarriage at that point.
I contacted my doctor and inquired if I should cancel my first prenatal appointment, which is scheduled for May 16th, because I was certain that the pregnancy had ended. He suggested that we should check my hCG levels instead and see what we can discover about the pregnancy. I wrote about the results from my initial test two days ago and I decided to go in today for the follow-up hCG test. The rap on hCG is that it should double approximately every 2 to 3 days in early pregnancy. Also, it's a very good indicator of miscarriage if the numbers are dropping.
My hCG level at 4w4d was 3,852.
My hCG level at 4w6d was 7,424.
THE NUMBERS NEARLY DOUBLED IN JUST AT 48 HOURS! This isn't a guarantee of the best possible outcome (a healthy, full-term pregnancy), but it is VERY GOOD news!
It's interesting to note that my hCG levels in my last pregnancy weren't doing nearly so good this early on. . .at 5w3d I was only at 4,000 last time. Again, none of this is a guarantee that I won't suffer another miscarriage, but it is good to know that I have not miscarried. I don't know how it's possible to lose so much blood and not lose the baby, but I'm just trying to take it one day at a time and sometimes I'm taking it one hour at a time.
As it stands tonight, I am still pregnant and this pregnancy is progressing. For that, I give all the thanks to God above.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
It's Okay to Cry
I sometimes think that our tears refresh our dusty spirits in much the same way that raindrops refresh living plants. . .I often forget that I don't have to be this rough & tough bad-ass (okay, I'm never that, but you know what I mean) and that it's perfectly acceptable to let my soft & gooey insides show up. Thanks, Nikki, for giving me the stated permission to break down and cry out my heartbreak over my brother and my baby. I've cried it out dozens of times previously and I imagine that I'll do it dozens of times more.
This week would have marked the 20th week of my pregnancy. I would have been at the half-way point. I would have known the baby's gender with reasonable certainty. I would have already had the child's name known completely. . .I know that I've blogged about my baby's name, and it was a feminine name, but I did have a masculine name in the hopper - just in case. I would have been counting down the next 20-weeks. . .waiting to meet the little one who would be my last baby.
I tell myself that I would have had the birth that I have always wanted; the birth that I was denied with my son. Instead of waiting hours before seeing my sweet child, I tell myself that I would have been able to put this baby to my breast within minutes of the birth. I tell myself that I'd never wish away the days, hours, and minutes of this child's infancy because I know now just how fleeting those moments truly are and I realize now how much you miss them when they are gone.
Of course, we all know that my baby died and that this darling and precious baby was expelled in the most spectacularly painful fashion that I could ever imagine. I expect that I'll cry an ocean of tears this August. . .particularly around what would have been my estimated due date. I don't really believe in astrology, but I do wonder how my lil' bull (my Taurus son) would have reacted to my little Leo lion. He's so sweet and empathetic toward babies that I'm sure he'd make a wonderfully protective and loving big brother.
I adore my little boy and my love burns for him like the fire of a thousand suns. I just would really, really, really like to give him the joy in life that only a sibling can offer. I loved having an older sister and brother - absolutely loved it! Once there were three. . .and now there are only two - my sister and myself. But, growing up, my brother and sister were phenomenally wonderful and I'm so thankful that I wasn't an only child because my siblings were fantastic.
I want to give my son a similar experience and biology seems to be stopping my efforts. Indeed, my reproductive organs appear to be giving me a very pronounced "F-You!" Next month will mark two-years of trying to conceive a sibling for my son.
I have the green-light to try again and, due to my age, I am not interested in wasting any time getting to it. I'm sure some will think that I should completely mourn and process the grief associated with losing this last baby, but I just don't feel that I have that luxury of time. It'll happen if it happens and, if it doesn't happen, I'm still so thankful for the beautiful boy that I already have.
And I'll remember that it's perfectly normal and natural to cry over babies who were never to be born.
This week would have marked the 20th week of my pregnancy. I would have been at the half-way point. I would have known the baby's gender with reasonable certainty. I would have already had the child's name known completely. . .I know that I've blogged about my baby's name, and it was a feminine name, but I did have a masculine name in the hopper - just in case. I would have been counting down the next 20-weeks. . .waiting to meet the little one who would be my last baby.
I tell myself that I would have had the birth that I have always wanted; the birth that I was denied with my son. Instead of waiting hours before seeing my sweet child, I tell myself that I would have been able to put this baby to my breast within minutes of the birth. I tell myself that I'd never wish away the days, hours, and minutes of this child's infancy because I know now just how fleeting those moments truly are and I realize now how much you miss them when they are gone.
Of course, we all know that my baby died and that this darling and precious baby was expelled in the most spectacularly painful fashion that I could ever imagine. I expect that I'll cry an ocean of tears this August. . .particularly around what would have been my estimated due date. I don't really believe in astrology, but I do wonder how my lil' bull (my Taurus son) would have reacted to my little Leo lion. He's so sweet and empathetic toward babies that I'm sure he'd make a wonderfully protective and loving big brother.
I adore my little boy and my love burns for him like the fire of a thousand suns. I just would really, really, really like to give him the joy in life that only a sibling can offer. I loved having an older sister and brother - absolutely loved it! Once there were three. . .and now there are only two - my sister and myself. But, growing up, my brother and sister were phenomenally wonderful and I'm so thankful that I wasn't an only child because my siblings were fantastic.
I want to give my son a similar experience and biology seems to be stopping my efforts. Indeed, my reproductive organs appear to be giving me a very pronounced "F-You!" Next month will mark two-years of trying to conceive a sibling for my son.
I have the green-light to try again and, due to my age, I am not interested in wasting any time getting to it. I'm sure some will think that I should completely mourn and process the grief associated with losing this last baby, but I just don't feel that I have that luxury of time. It'll happen if it happens and, if it doesn't happen, I'm still so thankful for the beautiful boy that I already have.
And I'll remember that it's perfectly normal and natural to cry over babies who were never to be born.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Me So Hooooorny!
Yeah, I just stole the title of this post from two pop culture references. Do you know the movie and the song? My alternate title was: One Week Down, Five More to Go
What's the surest way to make me think of something non-stop? Much like dealing with a spoiled child, tell me I can't have something and that is all I want to have or think about. I want to throw myself a tantrum on the floor and beg for whatever it is that I can't have.
What am I restricted from for five more weeks? Sex.
I get that I just had a completed miscarriage and all that, but why was I told that I needed 6-weeks of "pelvic rest?" I read the hospital discharge paperwork and was taken aback at the severity of most of the restrictions, but this one really threw me for a loop. Seriously, six-friggin'-weeks. A month and one half. In case you're wondering, I don't think that's considered a short amount of time and I sure as heck don't like to have my hoo-haw ordered on lockdown.
This waiting period seems rather excessive since I'm not in any pain and I'm certainly good to go - if you know what I mean. Add in that I've been on doctor-ordered pelvic rest nearly non-stop since the end of November and you might understand why I'm chomping at the bit to get back to business with my hubs.
I think my lonely pelvis has only been in full operation for like two solid weeks since the very end of November and it's friggin' February now. How much rest does one pelvis really need?? I can truthfully say that my pelvis is plenty rested at this point!
And what the heck does "pelvic rest" mean anyway? I get that penile penetration is probably out, but what about everything else? Is third-base still on the table? And, if that's not okay, then why does every doctor I see lately feel compelled to get their gloved hands up my vadge? What about orgasms? Will I wreck something up there if I just go for the Big O by myself? Is horseback riding okay? What about enjoying a glass of wine and setting the washing machine to agitate for a good long while?
I've come to the conclusion that these doctors hate my husband, therefore I have had a perpetual pelvic rest restriction for what seems like forever. Do these doctors want me to go bat-shit crazy? Because, if so, the diabolical plan is totally working.
In closing, remember this helpful bit of advice the next time you're trying to decide whether or not to have kids or go to the doctor: Kids don't kill your sex life - doctors do!
What's the surest way to make me think of something non-stop? Much like dealing with a spoiled child, tell me I can't have something and that is all I want to have or think about. I want to throw myself a tantrum on the floor and beg for whatever it is that I can't have.
What am I restricted from for five more weeks? Sex.
I get that I just had a completed miscarriage and all that, but why was I told that I needed 6-weeks of "pelvic rest?" I read the hospital discharge paperwork and was taken aback at the severity of most of the restrictions, but this one really threw me for a loop. Seriously, six-friggin'-weeks. A month and one half. In case you're wondering, I don't think that's considered a short amount of time and I sure as heck don't like to have my hoo-haw ordered on lockdown.
This waiting period seems rather excessive since I'm not in any pain and I'm certainly good to go - if you know what I mean. Add in that I've been on doctor-ordered pelvic rest nearly non-stop since the end of November and you might understand why I'm chomping at the bit to get back to business with my hubs.
I think my lonely pelvis has only been in full operation for like two solid weeks since the very end of November and it's friggin' February now. How much rest does one pelvis really need?? I can truthfully say that my pelvis is plenty rested at this point!
And what the heck does "pelvic rest" mean anyway? I get that penile penetration is probably out, but what about everything else? Is third-base still on the table? And, if that's not okay, then why does every doctor I see lately feel compelled to get their gloved hands up my vadge? What about orgasms? Will I wreck something up there if I just go for the Big O by myself? Is horseback riding okay? What about enjoying a glass of wine and setting the washing machine to agitate for a good long while?
I've come to the conclusion that these doctors hate my husband, therefore I have had a perpetual pelvic rest restriction for what seems like forever. Do these doctors want me to go bat-shit crazy? Because, if so, the diabolical plan is totally working.
In closing, remember this helpful bit of advice the next time you're trying to decide whether or not to have kids or go to the doctor: Kids don't kill your sex life - doctors do!
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Circumstances Change Everything
The mind does strange things sometimes. Your mind can play tricks on you when you're awake, but it really comes out to mess with you when you're sleeping. I've been having weird dreams for the last few days. I really am a lightweight when it comes to taking pills and I'm sure it's related to the pain meds because I'm also doing weird things lately, but the dreams are pretty bothersome.
I keep dreaming that I'm still pregnant and that I'm going to abort this baby. My reasons vary in these dreams though they generally are: I've been newly widowed, I've been abusing alcohol & tobacco and didn't realize I was PG, Hubs & I can't afford another child, and a few times it's been a combination of all three excuses. Usually my OB will not help me terminate the pregnancy and he most often gives me an ultrasound pic of my baby sucking it's thumb before I wake up. My son still sucks his thumb to this very day. . .
I wake up with my heart racing and my eyes crusted with evidence of silent tears that must have fallen while I was sleeping. My hands fly down to my stomach and that's about the time that I remember what has really happened in this particular situation. It's a dream, just a bad dream.
You may or may not realize or understand why I was so reluctant to have a D&C, but it does have to do with abortion. I know that I didn't get an "abortion" in that this baby was already dead and that I was not voluntarily stopping this baby's life by getting a D&C. It's complicated to explain my position and I'm not going to attempt it at the moment.
I am struck that so many things are changed by simple circumstances. It's all in the circumstances, isn't it? D&C is, after all, the same damn procedure whether the pregnancy is being voluntarily terminated or if it's removing the "products of conception." Cute, the way the name changes, huh? No, I don't really think so either.
The only difference between an "abortion" and my D&C is that my baby's heart was already long silent when it was removed from my body. I suppose it's entirely natural that I'd have uncomfortable feelings about the procedure even if I have no reason to feel guilt.
After weeks of enviable warm weather (80s & 90s), it's raining right now and I can't help but feel it's entirely appropriate. The current conditions match my mood. I'm relieved that the sun just popped out from behind a cloud. . .
I keep dreaming that I'm still pregnant and that I'm going to abort this baby. My reasons vary in these dreams though they generally are: I've been newly widowed, I've been abusing alcohol & tobacco and didn't realize I was PG, Hubs & I can't afford another child, and a few times it's been a combination of all three excuses. Usually my OB will not help me terminate the pregnancy and he most often gives me an ultrasound pic of my baby sucking it's thumb before I wake up. My son still sucks his thumb to this very day. . .
I wake up with my heart racing and my eyes crusted with evidence of silent tears that must have fallen while I was sleeping. My hands fly down to my stomach and that's about the time that I remember what has really happened in this particular situation. It's a dream, just a bad dream.
You may or may not realize or understand why I was so reluctant to have a D&C, but it does have to do with abortion. I know that I didn't get an "abortion" in that this baby was already dead and that I was not voluntarily stopping this baby's life by getting a D&C. It's complicated to explain my position and I'm not going to attempt it at the moment.
I am struck that so many things are changed by simple circumstances. It's all in the circumstances, isn't it? D&C is, after all, the same damn procedure whether the pregnancy is being voluntarily terminated or if it's removing the "products of conception." Cute, the way the name changes, huh? No, I don't really think so either.
The only difference between an "abortion" and my D&C is that my baby's heart was already long silent when it was removed from my body. I suppose it's entirely natural that I'd have uncomfortable feelings about the procedure even if I have no reason to feel guilt.
After weeks of enviable warm weather (80s & 90s), it's raining right now and I can't help but feel it's entirely appropriate. The current conditions match my mood. I'm relieved that the sun just popped out from behind a cloud. . .
Friday, January 28, 2011
So What Was The Name?
I'm kinda tired tonight, so I'll just write a quick post about this baby's name. Don't worry though because this isn't a tear-jerker. As I said yesterday, I feel okay with what has happened. I'm not turning cartwheels or anything, but I am okay.
I don't share the name of my babies until they are born and, since my baby is gone, I don't see the harm in sharing the name. I mean, it isn't like I'd recycle this baby's name for any other baby I may have in the future. Though I was fairly certain that I'd have a boy, the name that came to me in a dream the day after implantation was a feminized version of the name Emmanuel.
So I knew that Emmanuelle was the baby's first name and I knew without looking it up that the name means God is with us. And He is. Even with everything that has happened, I know that He is. He's with us in joy and He's with us in sorrow. This pregnancy and this loss has served to highlight that very fact in a real and meaningful fashion.
But I struggled with the middle name. I kept trying to feminize my husband's first name and only came up with one version and the resulting full name didn't have a pleasant flow of syllables. Around a month ago I came up with the idea to use one of my names and I liked the way the names easily rolled off my tongue when spoken.
I had never looked up the meaning of the name Suzanne and I sat stunned when I read the meaning a couple of weeks ago. Suzanne means lily. Oh geez, of course it does.
I always thought lilies were pretty flowers, but never gave them much thought. Orchids are my favorites, carnations are cheap, and roses get all the glory. Then I attended my brother's service and I developed a very definite opinion on lilies.
There were many lovely floral arrangements and it seems that the cloying scent of lilies permeated the air, making the room feel smaller than it really was. I've remarked many times over the last several months that I will gladly live the rest of my life without smelling another lily again because now it is a flower I'll always associate with death.
And I unknowingly gave this baby a name that means lily. Life is damn strange sometimes, isn't it?
My darling babe, Emmanuelle Suzanne, has been nestled in God's loving arms for more than two-weeks. Now she has been released from my body. And I was ready to let her go.
* * *
Emmanuelle - Hebrew (feminized French) - God is with us
Suzanne - Hebrew (feminized French) - Lily
* * *
I don't share the name of my babies until they are born and, since my baby is gone, I don't see the harm in sharing the name. I mean, it isn't like I'd recycle this baby's name for any other baby I may have in the future. Though I was fairly certain that I'd have a boy, the name that came to me in a dream the day after implantation was a feminized version of the name Emmanuel.
So I knew that Emmanuelle was the baby's first name and I knew without looking it up that the name means God is with us. And He is. Even with everything that has happened, I know that He is. He's with us in joy and He's with us in sorrow. This pregnancy and this loss has served to highlight that very fact in a real and meaningful fashion.
But I struggled with the middle name. I kept trying to feminize my husband's first name and only came up with one version and the resulting full name didn't have a pleasant flow of syllables. Around a month ago I came up with the idea to use one of my names and I liked the way the names easily rolled off my tongue when spoken.
I had never looked up the meaning of the name Suzanne and I sat stunned when I read the meaning a couple of weeks ago. Suzanne means lily. Oh geez, of course it does.
I always thought lilies were pretty flowers, but never gave them much thought. Orchids are my favorites, carnations are cheap, and roses get all the glory. Then I attended my brother's service and I developed a very definite opinion on lilies.
There were many lovely floral arrangements and it seems that the cloying scent of lilies permeated the air, making the room feel smaller than it really was. I've remarked many times over the last several months that I will gladly live the rest of my life without smelling another lily again because now it is a flower I'll always associate with death.
And I unknowingly gave this baby a name that means lily. Life is damn strange sometimes, isn't it?
* * *
My darling babe, Emmanuelle Suzanne, has been nestled in God's loving arms for more than two-weeks. Now she has been released from my body. And I was ready to let her go.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Third ER Trip in Two Months
The title says it all, but here it is again in case you missed all the excitement: I had yet another trip to the ER yesterday. That brings the final count to three ER trips in less than two months for one pregnancy. I should add that I have only once before been in an ER in my entire 35-years.
I can also say that I've had my first ride in an ambulance. For the record, I don't recommend it. It's not that the paramedics weren't great because I couldn't have asked for better first responders. It's that I was in so much agony that I actually felt the need to get an ambulance to deliver me to the hospital. I could not have made it by riding shotgun in my hubby's car. I couldn't even sit up or stand, let alone walk to a car.
So what happened? Here's the story with all the gory details. There isn't really any gore though so don't be afraid to continue reading.
I began to bleed a little late Tuesday evening. I'll spare you the sexy details, but let's just say that it probably wasn't too smart to ignore certain restrictions that I ignored. The bleeding never increased and it was only enough to justify wearing a liner so it wasn't a big deal.
I woke up yesterday with more back pain than what I've been experiencing for the last several days. Along with the back pain came stomach cramps. Since I'm the Queen of Denial, I figured that something I'd eaten was proving difficult to digest.
I packed up the kiddo and went to a park playdate with friends for a few hours. My back really started to bother me while we were at the park, but I tried to keep my mind off the pain by chatting with friends and having a good laugh over our kids splishing and splashing in puddles. At some point, maybe around noon, I noticed that the cramps were getting stronger. Still wasn't enough pain to worry about though.
My son and I arrived home around 1:30 yesterday afternoon. I realized that I was experiencing fairly strong pain once I'd left my friends and lost my distractions. It wasn't enough to want to take anything for pain management, but it definitely was getting my attention. I put my son down for a nap and I went to lie down on my own bed because I just wasn't feeling well.
I don't suffer menstrual cramps and I have never experienced labor. If you have felt labor, you probably know what was happening. I sure as heck did not.
I had a D&C scheduled for today, but my body had other plans and finally started the process to begin to release the baby. Everything I've read and heard indicates that a completed miscarriage feels like strong menstrual pain. That sounds perfectly acceptable, right? The problem is that I don't suffer from period pain (I just bleed a lot and often) so I was TOTALLY UNPREPARED for how quickly the pain went from 0 to 60 and just how painful it can be. No wonder some women are totally crippled by their cycles! Those of you who suffer painful periods have my complete sympathy.
I started a text-a-thon with a couple of friends; one who has had a natural miscarriage at the same gestational point and one who is a natural childbirth instructor. Both offered much-needed support and fantastically wonderful advice on how to manage the pain and what to expect. Since I was supposed to have the D&C today, I couldn't really take anything so I had to rely upon natural pain relief methods and distraction.
I was quiet so as not to wake my son, but I asked my husband home around 3:00 because the pain was clearly intensifying and I knew that I could not handle caring for my son while trying to handle this event. I tried to remember to stay hydrated with water and even ate an egg sandwich that my husband thoughtfully prepared for me when he arrived home.
Things were fine, relatively speaking, until around 4:00 or so. That's when I began to dry-heave and felt like I might have diarrhea. I contacted my OB around 4:40 and he responded to my message within five minutes. I think he's the best physician I have ever had; he's certainly the kindest and most responsive. He indicated that everything sounded normal, but that I should feel free to take Tylenol or the Norco, which is Vicodin w/ Tylenol (weird name, huh?), that I picked up at the pharmacy the day before.
Those of you who know me surely know that I do not take pills for no reason. I think there is some value in letting pain run it's course. I was trying every single suggestion for natural pain relief and I can say that distraction only goes so far. I first found myself whimpering through the cramping and, as they intensified, I ended up moaning into my pillow while trying to relax.
I took one Norco at 5:00 and it afforded me about 90 minutes of reasonable pain relief. It did not remove the pain by any stretch, but it did make it somewhat more bearable for a period of time. There reached a point where all I could think about was the pain and when it would hit again. The contractions (if you will) brought me to my knees if I was standing or made me writhe around on my bed if I was lying down. I figured this was normal and tried to muster on.
Then I began violently shaking and vomiting. That was followed by cold sweats and then hot sweats. I wasn't merely trembling, I was SHAKING. I was shaking so badly that I could no longer stand or sit up on my own. I became lightheaded and the room began spinning more than once. I've never fainted before and I suppose this is when I began to feel frightened that something was really going wrong with this miscarriage.
I screamed out for my husband to help me. I felt like my insides were trying to get to the outside and I was sitting on the toilet to hasten the process. Besides a tremendous amount of vomit, nothing happened. Nothing. There was some sticky, almost mucousy, blood and several small clots. That was it.
I suddenly felt better wondered aloud if it was over. My husband looked and reported that there was nothing in the toilet. My reprieve lasted probably less than a minute and I became violently ill all over again. There was nothing in my digestive system at this point, but I continued to vomit up stomach acid that burned all the way out my throat and even out through my nose. I started crying and begging for help.
My husband wanted to drive me to the hospital, but I could not handle the idea of the drive (even though it's like 3 miles from our house) or the eons-long wait to be treated. He suggested an ambulance and I brushed off the idea. He continued to carry/drag me back and forth from the bed to the toilet.
The only thing that appeared to be happening was that I began to freak out more and more with each contraction. I thought that I was only moaning through the pain, but my husband told me later that I was crying out loudly enough (screaming really) that I frightened our son. I regret that I couldn't keep better control and that I caused my little boy so much distress. I had no idea that I was having such a massive freak-out and wish now that I'd gone to the hospital when my husband first suggested the idea.
It finally got so bad that we called an ambulance (waaah-mbulance was more like it) to take me to the hospital. I think I had every single awful and uncomfortable symptom: back pain, major contracting, vomiting, diarrhea, cold sweats, hot sweats, weakness, lightheadedness, hyperventilation - basically if it's gross or sucky, it happened. The paramedics (I learned later that the FD showed up too) were at my house in what seemed like only a minute. My blood pressure was high and I was over-oxygenated because I had apparently been hyperventilating for an extended period of time.
They were all incredibly helpful, but the paramedic who looked like Dr. Drew was really helpful at getting me to calm the heck down. He must have repeated that my panic was only serving to increase the pain at least 1,001 times. When my eyes wildly darted around, he'd remind me to look at him and take low and slow breaths. When I'd clench up, he'd remind me to take control of my body and try to relax. When I began crying about the pain, he'd ask me to tell him about the happiest place I've been. No, the happiest place on Earth wasn't Disneyland. It was a quiet beach on Kauai and I kept trying to visualize a palm tree.
I lost my pants at some point so I was wheeled out of my house wearing a blanket from the ambulance. I'm not ashamed of my body, but I would have misgivings about six strange men seeing me nude from the waist down with my legs flailing this way and that. As I memorably said on one occasion, I just wouldn't do split beaver shots these days. You know, I did not care about modesty at that point. I remained unconcerned about my lack of clothing until I was getting ready to be discharged from the hospital.
So they took me to the ER and, I guess since I arrived in an ambulance, I jumped the line of people in the waiting room. Hubs told me the waiting room was PACKED when he got there so I'm thankful that I didn't have to wait for treatment. I don't know what that privilege is going to cost, but that's one bill I will happily pay without complaint because it was worth it. Okay, okay, my husband will happily pay it!
I was immediately ushered into a private ER room and I was surrounded by nurses and a doctor. They inexplicably changed out the IV that I was given in the ambulance (why, I have no idea?), but I was happy they did so since they also began to administer IV pain meds.
I'll point out again that I do not usually bother with taking any medication for pain. Hubby thinks it's because I'm being a martyr, but whatever. The first hit of IV drugs did nothing to ease my pain. They followed up with another dose around ten minutes later. Between that and the Benadryl to help me sleep (as if, right?) I definitely felt my pain and anxiety ease up a bit. Hubby tells me that I got high as a kite and was totally loopy from that point on.
The ER doctor performed a pelvic exam and, unbelievably, my baby still wasn't coming out. I thought for sure it was nearly over, but it wasn't even close. He sent a gynecologist down and she verified that this was nowhere near completion so she slated me to get a D&C. Even though I'd vomited out my stomach contents, I had to wait for six hours to pass since I'd eaten the dang egg sandwich.
Here's a funny side note because you know I have to find something funny in all of this. I was totally inappropriate with the gynecologist and my hubby tells me that I was practically flirting with her. I kept complimenting her pretty blue eyes and going on & on about how lovely I found her eyes. I'm sure that ER staff appreciates when a kind and appreciative patient comes through instead of a bitchy and belligerent one, but damn I'm a weirdo! Alternately, reasons like these are why I don't take drugs! haha
The doubly funny thing is that I'm not even particularly fond of blue eyes, but show me a set of baby browns and I'm all over it. Yes, I'm aware that my hubs has green eyes. What can I say? Eyes just don't matter that much in the grand scheme of things, do they?
I ultimately ended up with at least four (but I think the final tally was six) doses of IV pain meds, but I STILL FELT THE DAMN CONTRACTIONS! They were nowhere near as painful, but I still felt them and there was still slight pain associated with them. I guess they were pretty strong or I'm just a big puss. Maybe a little of both.
I finally passed out before going to the OR. I hadn't even been hit with the general anaesthesia yet. I woke up in recovery and asked when I could expect to have the procedure. They nurses told me it was already over and everything went perfectly fine. I couldn't believe it. I had a complete absence of pain - emotionally and physically. It was the easiest recovery from general that I've ever had and I credit the recovery nurses for keeping me calm and focused. After reflecting on it a little, this is also the first time that I went under while still wearing my contacts so I actually could see my surroundings when I came to. Perhaps that helped keep my anxiety at bay too.
There was talk that they might keep me overnight for observation. I wasn't too keen on that idea once my husband told me how upset our son was before I left and after I was gone. I really wanted to be here when he woke up in the morning so he could see that I was okay and everything was going to be okay. I'm thankful that I didn't lose much in the way of blood and was able to urinate easily once I was permitted to consume liquids so they determined that I could go home. As always, it's a hurry up and wait game to get discharged from a hospital. I arrived back home at around 3:00 am.
So how am I doing? I'm doing good. And that's not just trying to be positive; I really am okay. I went through a lot of emotional pain just waiting for it to happen and, once I had the lack of heartbeat confirmed over and over again, I felt a sense of peace for the first time since I learned of my baby's death. Oddly enough, I feel perfectly fine from a physical and emotional standpoint for the first time in nearly three-weeks.
The playground is shut down for six-weeks, I can't drive for two weeks (WTF?!), and I have a bunch of lifting and rest restrictions, but I feel so damn good right now physically and emotionally that I can't get too worked up about it. I guess I'm finally ready to accept/acknowledge what has happened and begin the healing process of this grief journey.
I went to a damn dark place once the pain meds kicked it at the ER and hubs tells me that I told him I was sure I was dying. I thought it at the house, but certainly wasn't going to verbalize it and jinx myself. I even told him that I wanted him to find a good wife and mother for our son. He told me to stop it and I guess I replied that that's just what I do. Uh, what exactly did I mean? Brood about death? That's creepy!
I also clearly informed him that I will never, never, never take the wait and see approach again. The emotional cost was too high and I simply couldn't pay the physical price. Additionally, I let him know that labor pains (if they can even be called that this early on) were immensely over-rated. Everyone thinks they're a comedian when they're a little loaded, eh?
Thank you all for your thoughts, prayers, and well-wishes. It was, simply put, the single most frightening and painful thing that I've ever experienced. I've had four impacted wisdom teeth removed at once and I've had a c-section that left me feeling like I was hit by a bus, but those were NOTHING compared to how much I was suffering before I finally went to the hospital and received treatment. Thank goodness for modern medicine!
I can also say that I've had my first ride in an ambulance. For the record, I don't recommend it. It's not that the paramedics weren't great because I couldn't have asked for better first responders. It's that I was in so much agony that I actually felt the need to get an ambulance to deliver me to the hospital. I could not have made it by riding shotgun in my hubby's car. I couldn't even sit up or stand, let alone walk to a car.
So what happened? Here's the story with all the gory details. There isn't really any gore though so don't be afraid to continue reading.
I began to bleed a little late Tuesday evening. I'll spare you the sexy details, but let's just say that it probably wasn't too smart to ignore certain restrictions that I ignored. The bleeding never increased and it was only enough to justify wearing a liner so it wasn't a big deal.
I woke up yesterday with more back pain than what I've been experiencing for the last several days. Along with the back pain came stomach cramps. Since I'm the Queen of Denial, I figured that something I'd eaten was proving difficult to digest.
I packed up the kiddo and went to a park playdate with friends for a few hours. My back really started to bother me while we were at the park, but I tried to keep my mind off the pain by chatting with friends and having a good laugh over our kids splishing and splashing in puddles. At some point, maybe around noon, I noticed that the cramps were getting stronger. Still wasn't enough pain to worry about though.
My son and I arrived home around 1:30 yesterday afternoon. I realized that I was experiencing fairly strong pain once I'd left my friends and lost my distractions. It wasn't enough to want to take anything for pain management, but it definitely was getting my attention. I put my son down for a nap and I went to lie down on my own bed because I just wasn't feeling well.
I don't suffer menstrual cramps and I have never experienced labor. If you have felt labor, you probably know what was happening. I sure as heck did not.
I had a D&C scheduled for today, but my body had other plans and finally started the process to begin to release the baby. Everything I've read and heard indicates that a completed miscarriage feels like strong menstrual pain. That sounds perfectly acceptable, right? The problem is that I don't suffer from period pain (I just bleed a lot and often) so I was TOTALLY UNPREPARED for how quickly the pain went from 0 to 60 and just how painful it can be. No wonder some women are totally crippled by their cycles! Those of you who suffer painful periods have my complete sympathy.
I started a text-a-thon with a couple of friends; one who has had a natural miscarriage at the same gestational point and one who is a natural childbirth instructor. Both offered much-needed support and fantastically wonderful advice on how to manage the pain and what to expect. Since I was supposed to have the D&C today, I couldn't really take anything so I had to rely upon natural pain relief methods and distraction.
I was quiet so as not to wake my son, but I asked my husband home around 3:00 because the pain was clearly intensifying and I knew that I could not handle caring for my son while trying to handle this event. I tried to remember to stay hydrated with water and even ate an egg sandwich that my husband thoughtfully prepared for me when he arrived home.
Things were fine, relatively speaking, until around 4:00 or so. That's when I began to dry-heave and felt like I might have diarrhea. I contacted my OB around 4:40 and he responded to my message within five minutes. I think he's the best physician I have ever had; he's certainly the kindest and most responsive. He indicated that everything sounded normal, but that I should feel free to take Tylenol or the Norco, which is Vicodin w/ Tylenol (weird name, huh?), that I picked up at the pharmacy the day before.
Those of you who know me surely know that I do not take pills for no reason. I think there is some value in letting pain run it's course. I was trying every single suggestion for natural pain relief and I can say that distraction only goes so far. I first found myself whimpering through the cramping and, as they intensified, I ended up moaning into my pillow while trying to relax.
I took one Norco at 5:00 and it afforded me about 90 minutes of reasonable pain relief. It did not remove the pain by any stretch, but it did make it somewhat more bearable for a period of time. There reached a point where all I could think about was the pain and when it would hit again. The contractions (if you will) brought me to my knees if I was standing or made me writhe around on my bed if I was lying down. I figured this was normal and tried to muster on.
Then I began violently shaking and vomiting. That was followed by cold sweats and then hot sweats. I wasn't merely trembling, I was SHAKING. I was shaking so badly that I could no longer stand or sit up on my own. I became lightheaded and the room began spinning more than once. I've never fainted before and I suppose this is when I began to feel frightened that something was really going wrong with this miscarriage.
I screamed out for my husband to help me. I felt like my insides were trying to get to the outside and I was sitting on the toilet to hasten the process. Besides a tremendous amount of vomit, nothing happened. Nothing. There was some sticky, almost mucousy, blood and several small clots. That was it.
I suddenly felt better wondered aloud if it was over. My husband looked and reported that there was nothing in the toilet. My reprieve lasted probably less than a minute and I became violently ill all over again. There was nothing in my digestive system at this point, but I continued to vomit up stomach acid that burned all the way out my throat and even out through my nose. I started crying and begging for help.
My husband wanted to drive me to the hospital, but I could not handle the idea of the drive (even though it's like 3 miles from our house) or the eons-long wait to be treated. He suggested an ambulance and I brushed off the idea. He continued to carry/drag me back and forth from the bed to the toilet.
The only thing that appeared to be happening was that I began to freak out more and more with each contraction. I thought that I was only moaning through the pain, but my husband told me later that I was crying out loudly enough (screaming really) that I frightened our son. I regret that I couldn't keep better control and that I caused my little boy so much distress. I had no idea that I was having such a massive freak-out and wish now that I'd gone to the hospital when my husband first suggested the idea.
It finally got so bad that we called an ambulance (waaah-mbulance was more like it) to take me to the hospital. I think I had every single awful and uncomfortable symptom: back pain, major contracting, vomiting, diarrhea, cold sweats, hot sweats, weakness, lightheadedness, hyperventilation - basically if it's gross or sucky, it happened. The paramedics (I learned later that the FD showed up too) were at my house in what seemed like only a minute. My blood pressure was high and I was over-oxygenated because I had apparently been hyperventilating for an extended period of time.
They were all incredibly helpful, but the paramedic who looked like Dr. Drew was really helpful at getting me to calm the heck down. He must have repeated that my panic was only serving to increase the pain at least 1,001 times. When my eyes wildly darted around, he'd remind me to look at him and take low and slow breaths. When I'd clench up, he'd remind me to take control of my body and try to relax. When I began crying about the pain, he'd ask me to tell him about the happiest place I've been. No, the happiest place on Earth wasn't Disneyland. It was a quiet beach on Kauai and I kept trying to visualize a palm tree.
I lost my pants at some point so I was wheeled out of my house wearing a blanket from the ambulance. I'm not ashamed of my body, but I would have misgivings about six strange men seeing me nude from the waist down with my legs flailing this way and that. As I memorably said on one occasion, I just wouldn't do split beaver shots these days. You know, I did not care about modesty at that point. I remained unconcerned about my lack of clothing until I was getting ready to be discharged from the hospital.
So they took me to the ER and, I guess since I arrived in an ambulance, I jumped the line of people in the waiting room. Hubs told me the waiting room was PACKED when he got there so I'm thankful that I didn't have to wait for treatment. I don't know what that privilege is going to cost, but that's one bill I will happily pay without complaint because it was worth it. Okay, okay, my husband will happily pay it!
I was immediately ushered into a private ER room and I was surrounded by nurses and a doctor. They inexplicably changed out the IV that I was given in the ambulance (why, I have no idea?), but I was happy they did so since they also began to administer IV pain meds.
I'll point out again that I do not usually bother with taking any medication for pain. Hubby thinks it's because I'm being a martyr, but whatever. The first hit of IV drugs did nothing to ease my pain. They followed up with another dose around ten minutes later. Between that and the Benadryl to help me sleep (as if, right?) I definitely felt my pain and anxiety ease up a bit. Hubby tells me that I got high as a kite and was totally loopy from that point on.
The ER doctor performed a pelvic exam and, unbelievably, my baby still wasn't coming out. I thought for sure it was nearly over, but it wasn't even close. He sent a gynecologist down and she verified that this was nowhere near completion so she slated me to get a D&C. Even though I'd vomited out my stomach contents, I had to wait for six hours to pass since I'd eaten the dang egg sandwich.
Here's a funny side note because you know I have to find something funny in all of this. I was totally inappropriate with the gynecologist and my hubby tells me that I was practically flirting with her. I kept complimenting her pretty blue eyes and going on & on about how lovely I found her eyes. I'm sure that ER staff appreciates when a kind and appreciative patient comes through instead of a bitchy and belligerent one, but damn I'm a weirdo! Alternately, reasons like these are why I don't take drugs! haha
The doubly funny thing is that I'm not even particularly fond of blue eyes, but show me a set of baby browns and I'm all over it. Yes, I'm aware that my hubs has green eyes. What can I say? Eyes just don't matter that much in the grand scheme of things, do they?
I ultimately ended up with at least four (but I think the final tally was six) doses of IV pain meds, but I STILL FELT THE DAMN CONTRACTIONS! They were nowhere near as painful, but I still felt them and there was still slight pain associated with them. I guess they were pretty strong or I'm just a big puss. Maybe a little of both.
I finally passed out before going to the OR. I hadn't even been hit with the general anaesthesia yet. I woke up in recovery and asked when I could expect to have the procedure. They nurses told me it was already over and everything went perfectly fine. I couldn't believe it. I had a complete absence of pain - emotionally and physically. It was the easiest recovery from general that I've ever had and I credit the recovery nurses for keeping me calm and focused. After reflecting on it a little, this is also the first time that I went under while still wearing my contacts so I actually could see my surroundings when I came to. Perhaps that helped keep my anxiety at bay too.
There was talk that they might keep me overnight for observation. I wasn't too keen on that idea once my husband told me how upset our son was before I left and after I was gone. I really wanted to be here when he woke up in the morning so he could see that I was okay and everything was going to be okay. I'm thankful that I didn't lose much in the way of blood and was able to urinate easily once I was permitted to consume liquids so they determined that I could go home. As always, it's a hurry up and wait game to get discharged from a hospital. I arrived back home at around 3:00 am.
So how am I doing? I'm doing good. And that's not just trying to be positive; I really am okay. I went through a lot of emotional pain just waiting for it to happen and, once I had the lack of heartbeat confirmed over and over again, I felt a sense of peace for the first time since I learned of my baby's death. Oddly enough, I feel perfectly fine from a physical and emotional standpoint for the first time in nearly three-weeks.
The playground is shut down for six-weeks, I can't drive for two weeks (WTF?!), and I have a bunch of lifting and rest restrictions, but I feel so damn good right now physically and emotionally that I can't get too worked up about it. I guess I'm finally ready to accept/acknowledge what has happened and begin the healing process of this grief journey.
I went to a damn dark place once the pain meds kicked it at the ER and hubs tells me that I told him I was sure I was dying. I thought it at the house, but certainly wasn't going to verbalize it and jinx myself. I even told him that I wanted him to find a good wife and mother for our son. He told me to stop it and I guess I replied that that's just what I do. Uh, what exactly did I mean? Brood about death? That's creepy!
I also clearly informed him that I will never, never, never take the wait and see approach again. The emotional cost was too high and I simply couldn't pay the physical price. Additionally, I let him know that labor pains (if they can even be called that this early on) were immensely over-rated. Everyone thinks they're a comedian when they're a little loaded, eh?
Thank you all for your thoughts, prayers, and well-wishes. It was, simply put, the single most frightening and painful thing that I've ever experienced. I've had four impacted wisdom teeth removed at once and I've had a c-section that left me feeling like I was hit by a bus, but those were NOTHING compared to how much I was suffering before I finally went to the hospital and received treatment. Thank goodness for modern medicine!
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Peace At Last
I thought I'd write a quick update since I had my doctor's appointment this afternoon.
First, the unwavering love and support that I've received from my husband has proved invaluable in this situation. I have generally felt upside down, but he's been solid as a rock. I know that he's been concerned about my mental condition as well as my physical health, but he's wisely held his tongue and only offered counsel when I've asked for his advice. He's held me when I've needed the comfort of his strong arms and he stays away when I need my solitude. This situation could have been completely intolerable with another man, but his steadiness has kept me from totally losing balance and perspective.
Secondly, having a warm and compassionate doctor has been a tremendous blessing to me. I went to the ER and received the news that my baby had died on a Saturday afternoon and by 5:00 that evening, my doctor had sent me a condolence message. He also explained what I could expect to occur by taking the "wait & see" approach. I don't get the impression that he tried to scare me into any other option, he just wanted me to be aware and prepared for the experience. Did I mention that he did this at 5:00 on a Saturday evening?!
My husband was not with me when I received the news that our baby had died. The ER doctor simply walked in and said, "Your baby doesn't have a heartbeat. I'm sending in a gynecologist to discuss how to remove it." IT! This baby was already named and, yet, he said "it." I was less than thrilled with his bedside manner, but I understand that it's probably all too easy to be calloused in that situation. Who can even guess how many women he's had to give the same bad news to or how much it pained him at one time.
I saw my doctor this afternoon. He said something about obstetrics being such an odd practice in that he sees people at their happiest and sometimes he sees them in the saddest circumstances. He made a point to say that there is absolutely no reason to blame myself for this loss and that there is absolutely no reason why we can't try to conceive another child in a month or two if we're ready to try again.
He conducted a brief pelvic exam and found that my cervix is still tightly shut. As if it's not awkward enough for my husband to watch another guy get to third base with me, I had on a dress and didn't bother with a gown so I basically let the doctor get a little upskirt action. That's a joke. Um, except not really. Yeah, this is why I don't do funny - no worries, I won't quit my day job!
Anyway, then he performed a trans-vag ultrasound. What can I say? Miracles can and do happen, but a miracle did not happen in this case. He looked and looked, but there was still no heartbeat.
My dumb-ass body apparently still hasn't got the message that my baby has died because my amniotic sac has grown quite large in the last two weeks. Super lame. I'm ashamed now that I had to look away from the screen and couldn't stand seeing my baby still in that sac.
I fixed my gaze on the ceiling because I couldn't possibly look at the heartbreak on that screen. My tears felt hot as they silently fell from my eyes and trickled into my ears. I clenched my hands tightly and my body shook a little as I struggled to not cry out when he confirmed that the baby was still there and that it was not living. Don't get me wrong, he was perfectly kind, but I hated what he had to say. Who wouldn't hate hearing it?
He helped me back into a sitting position, my foot slipped and I damn near kicked him in the junk. Yes, I'm the jerky kind of patient who laughed at the near-miss so I'm apparently the target demographic for, "Ow, My Balls." Who knew?
He gave me three options: Continue to let nature take it's course, take the pills (seems weird to say "take" since they get put up your vadge and not down your mouth, but whatever), or have the D & C. He laid out the pros and cons of each course of action, said it's my decision, and even said that I didn't have to decide anything right that moment.
I was not pressured in the least. He didn't heavily campaign for any option and remained impartial. This was entirely my decision. Even my husband didn't say a word one way or the other.
And I chose to have the D & C. I wasn't pressured at all and, dammitall, I chose the fucking D & C. I looked down and could meet neither my husband's eyes nor my physician's when I said that I just want it out as soon as possible. If my lips hadn't been moving, I wouldn't have believed it was my own voice saying such a thing.
Perhaps one day I will be able to articulate why I so do not want this procedure. I don't want it. I really don't. But I can not stand carrying this child any longer. The knowledge of what happens to living tissue once it is no longer living is making me crazy. I know that, little by little, this child of mine is deteriorating and breaking up inside of me. Mentally, I can not take that knowledge any longer. I wish I could, oh how I wish I could!, but I'm just not strong enough emotionally to take it.
So there you have it. This experience has forced me to voluntarily chose to undergo a procedure that I swore I would never, never, never experience again. I'm scheduled for Thursday. I know that it is an easy recovery from a physical standpoint, but I am concerned about the emotional toll. It appears that I'll be wounded no matter which course of action I chose to take.
Oddly enough, I feel more at peace now than I have been in the last two-weeks. I have accepted/acknowledged that this baby has died and I'm fairly certain, hopeful anyway, that I will be back to my old self in short order. How I'll feel about the D & C is another topic, but that's one that I'll hold close to my own heart.
I have Wordless Wednesday coming up for tomorrow. . .I hope I can find some pervy-looking produce in our backyard. Perhaps I'll find a penis gourd?? Nah, I don't have a freaky harvest to reap. . .
First, the unwavering love and support that I've received from my husband has proved invaluable in this situation. I have generally felt upside down, but he's been solid as a rock. I know that he's been concerned about my mental condition as well as my physical health, but he's wisely held his tongue and only offered counsel when I've asked for his advice. He's held me when I've needed the comfort of his strong arms and he stays away when I need my solitude. This situation could have been completely intolerable with another man, but his steadiness has kept me from totally losing balance and perspective.
Secondly, having a warm and compassionate doctor has been a tremendous blessing to me. I went to the ER and received the news that my baby had died on a Saturday afternoon and by 5:00 that evening, my doctor had sent me a condolence message. He also explained what I could expect to occur by taking the "wait & see" approach. I don't get the impression that he tried to scare me into any other option, he just wanted me to be aware and prepared for the experience. Did I mention that he did this at 5:00 on a Saturday evening?!
My husband was not with me when I received the news that our baby had died. The ER doctor simply walked in and said, "Your baby doesn't have a heartbeat. I'm sending in a gynecologist to discuss how to remove it." IT! This baby was already named and, yet, he said "it." I was less than thrilled with his bedside manner, but I understand that it's probably all too easy to be calloused in that situation. Who can even guess how many women he's had to give the same bad news to or how much it pained him at one time.
I saw my doctor this afternoon. He said something about obstetrics being such an odd practice in that he sees people at their happiest and sometimes he sees them in the saddest circumstances. He made a point to say that there is absolutely no reason to blame myself for this loss and that there is absolutely no reason why we can't try to conceive another child in a month or two if we're ready to try again.
He conducted a brief pelvic exam and found that my cervix is still tightly shut. As if it's not awkward enough for my husband to watch another guy get to third base with me, I had on a dress and didn't bother with a gown so I basically let the doctor get a little upskirt action. That's a joke. Um, except not really. Yeah, this is why I don't do funny - no worries, I won't quit my day job!
Anyway, then he performed a trans-vag ultrasound. What can I say? Miracles can and do happen, but a miracle did not happen in this case. He looked and looked, but there was still no heartbeat.
My dumb-ass body apparently still hasn't got the message that my baby has died because my amniotic sac has grown quite large in the last two weeks. Super lame. I'm ashamed now that I had to look away from the screen and couldn't stand seeing my baby still in that sac.
I fixed my gaze on the ceiling because I couldn't possibly look at the heartbreak on that screen. My tears felt hot as they silently fell from my eyes and trickled into my ears. I clenched my hands tightly and my body shook a little as I struggled to not cry out when he confirmed that the baby was still there and that it was not living. Don't get me wrong, he was perfectly kind, but I hated what he had to say. Who wouldn't hate hearing it?
He helped me back into a sitting position, my foot slipped and I damn near kicked him in the junk. Yes, I'm the jerky kind of patient who laughed at the near-miss so I'm apparently the target demographic for, "Ow, My Balls." Who knew?
He gave me three options: Continue to let nature take it's course, take the pills (seems weird to say "take" since they get put up your vadge and not down your mouth, but whatever), or have the D & C. He laid out the pros and cons of each course of action, said it's my decision, and even said that I didn't have to decide anything right that moment.
I was not pressured in the least. He didn't heavily campaign for any option and remained impartial. This was entirely my decision. Even my husband didn't say a word one way or the other.
And I chose to have the D & C. I wasn't pressured at all and, dammitall, I chose the fucking D & C. I looked down and could meet neither my husband's eyes nor my physician's when I said that I just want it out as soon as possible. If my lips hadn't been moving, I wouldn't have believed it was my own voice saying such a thing.
Perhaps one day I will be able to articulate why I so do not want this procedure. I don't want it. I really don't. But I can not stand carrying this child any longer. The knowledge of what happens to living tissue once it is no longer living is making me crazy. I know that, little by little, this child of mine is deteriorating and breaking up inside of me. Mentally, I can not take that knowledge any longer. I wish I could, oh how I wish I could!, but I'm just not strong enough emotionally to take it.
So there you have it. This experience has forced me to voluntarily chose to undergo a procedure that I swore I would never, never, never experience again. I'm scheduled for Thursday. I know that it is an easy recovery from a physical standpoint, but I am concerned about the emotional toll. It appears that I'll be wounded no matter which course of action I chose to take.
Oddly enough, I feel more at peace now than I have been in the last two-weeks. I have accepted/acknowledged that this baby has died and I'm fairly certain, hopeful anyway, that I will be back to my old self in short order. How I'll feel about the D & C is another topic, but that's one that I'll hold close to my own heart.
* * *
I have Wordless Wednesday coming up for tomorrow. . .I hope I can find some pervy-looking produce in our backyard. Perhaps I'll find a penis gourd?? Nah, I don't have a freaky harvest to reap. . .
Grief PSA - Part II
I wrote a lot of posts about grief after my brother passed away last September. Most of those posts were read a lot and shared by many readers. I've noted that sometimes people just don't know what to do or say around someone who is grieving and that is what prompted me to write the first Grief PSA post.
I'm writing this post because it's clear to me that most people don't know what to say to someone who is hurting after a miscarriage. I don't think the people who have said these things to me are trying to be hurtful, at least I hope not, but these words do carry quite the sting at the moment.
DON'T SAY:
- You just need to relax. Every single time that I hear this, and it has been a lot, I want to reply, "And you just need to STFU." If it were only so easy as simply relaxing. If only! I might add that this line in particular pisses me off because, let's face it, it puts the blame for the entire thing on the woman who has lost her baby. How wonderfully kind and loving, eh?
- At least the baby wasn't born. True, the baby wasn't born. It wasn't born because it died before it could be born. This was, in fact, a real and living baby at one point and now it is not.
- At least you didn't get too attached. As someone who intentionally had been trying to conceive, I can say that this baby was a very real and loved family member to me from the moment that conception was suspected. Attachment and love already existed even in the earliest days.
- It wasn't even a baby yet so I don't know why you're so upset. Fine, let's argue semantics. Sure, it's technically called a fetus. It's a fetus with arms, legs, fingers, toes, a heart. . .it was very wanted, already loved, and it was living at one time. Now it's heart has stopped and that's why it's so upsetting. What was alive is not living any longer.
- Your baby was probably messed up so this is a blessing. No, no it isn't. Any baby is a gift, regardless of the so-called imperfections.
- You're being stupid/silly/crazy/irrational/fill-in-the-blank. And you're being cold and heartless, so what's your point and how does this help the person who is grieving?
- Get over it, this happens to a lot of women and you don't see them carrying on about it for weeks on end. Yes, this does happen to a lot of women, but this happened to me and I'm still hurting over it. Perhaps insensitive comments such as these are why most women don't feel that they can talk about it? And I can't say that I blame them for suffering in silence because these "helpful" comments are anything but helpful.
DO SAY:
There really isn't anything to say, is there? A simple, "I'm sorry," would suffice if you feel the need to say anything.
If you've experienced a miscarriage, it may be helpful to share your story with the person who has recently lost their baby. I was shocked at how many women I know who have experienced a similar situation, but I was comforted by their words and encouragement. Some went on to have perfectly healthy pregnancies and others did not. Some lost their babies before they even knew they were pregnant, and others ended in a stillbirth. No matter how far along they were, all experienced hurt and grief when they lost their baby.
Why do I mention these things? Because it is perfectly normal and natural to grieve over a lost baby! I'll repeat it in case that didn't come across loud and clear: It is perfectly normal and natural to grieve over a lost baby! I think it would be suspect if I didn't care. However, I also acknowledge that other people grieve differently so I'm not saying there is anything wrong if one doesn't grieve for a miscarried baby. There's no right or wrong when it comes to grief. It just is what it is and we all feel loss and experience grief differently.
Perhaps one day my story, as documented in this blog, will serve as comfort and encouragement to another woman who is suffering. And, if that's the case, then I suppose this experience is worth the present pain.
I'm writing this post because it's clear to me that most people don't know what to say to someone who is hurting after a miscarriage. I don't think the people who have said these things to me are trying to be hurtful, at least I hope not, but these words do carry quite the sting at the moment.
DON'T SAY:
- You just need to relax. Every single time that I hear this, and it has been a lot, I want to reply, "And you just need to STFU." If it were only so easy as simply relaxing. If only! I might add that this line in particular pisses me off because, let's face it, it puts the blame for the entire thing on the woman who has lost her baby. How wonderfully kind and loving, eh?
- At least the baby wasn't born. True, the baby wasn't born. It wasn't born because it died before it could be born. This was, in fact, a real and living baby at one point and now it is not.
- At least you didn't get too attached. As someone who intentionally had been trying to conceive, I can say that this baby was a very real and loved family member to me from the moment that conception was suspected. Attachment and love already existed even in the earliest days.
- It wasn't even a baby yet so I don't know why you're so upset. Fine, let's argue semantics. Sure, it's technically called a fetus. It's a fetus with arms, legs, fingers, toes, a heart. . .it was very wanted, already loved, and it was living at one time. Now it's heart has stopped and that's why it's so upsetting. What was alive is not living any longer.
- Your baby was probably messed up so this is a blessing. No, no it isn't. Any baby is a gift, regardless of the so-called imperfections.
- You're being stupid/silly/crazy/irrational/fill-in-the-blank. And you're being cold and heartless, so what's your point and how does this help the person who is grieving?
- Get over it, this happens to a lot of women and you don't see them carrying on about it for weeks on end. Yes, this does happen to a lot of women, but this happened to me and I'm still hurting over it. Perhaps insensitive comments such as these are why most women don't feel that they can talk about it? And I can't say that I blame them for suffering in silence because these "helpful" comments are anything but helpful.
DO SAY:
There really isn't anything to say, is there? A simple, "I'm sorry," would suffice if you feel the need to say anything.
If you've experienced a miscarriage, it may be helpful to share your story with the person who has recently lost their baby. I was shocked at how many women I know who have experienced a similar situation, but I was comforted by their words and encouragement. Some went on to have perfectly healthy pregnancies and others did not. Some lost their babies before they even knew they were pregnant, and others ended in a stillbirth. No matter how far along they were, all experienced hurt and grief when they lost their baby.
Why do I mention these things? Because it is perfectly normal and natural to grieve over a lost baby! I'll repeat it in case that didn't come across loud and clear: It is perfectly normal and natural to grieve over a lost baby! I think it would be suspect if I didn't care. However, I also acknowledge that other people grieve differently so I'm not saying there is anything wrong if one doesn't grieve for a miscarried baby. There's no right or wrong when it comes to grief. It just is what it is and we all feel loss and experience grief differently.
Perhaps one day my story, as documented in this blog, will serve as comfort and encouragement to another woman who is suffering. And, if that's the case, then I suppose this experience is worth the present pain.
Monday, January 24, 2011
The Waiting is Nearly Over
Update on the subject of yesterday's post: My friend's little boy has significantly improved and is home with the family. Thank you for your prayers and well-wishes.
My dreaded doctor's appointment is scheduled for tomorrow. I don't exactly know what to say, what outcome to hope for, what to pray about with regard to my present situation. Whatever is to be already is and nothing I say or do will change that.
I still haven't passed my baby. It's been over two-weeks and I still haven't passed the baby. It's pure torture to know that it's still there, but not living. It boggles my mind that my body won't just release it so I can begin to move on and heal. I never thought it would take so long to complete this miscarriage. I was sure that it would be over within days of that ER visit. . .that ER visit that seems like it was a hundred-years ago.
The cruelty of the situation is that, in the absence of any fetal tissue passing, I'm still hopeful that the ER was wrong. My fondest hope is that my OB will announce that my baby still has a perfectly strong heartbeat and everything looks okay. I dream about it sometimes and wake up with tears of joy, only to realize it's just a dream and my joyful tears turn to sadness.
I've stopped saying aloud that I'm holding out hope for a miracle because the pity in people's eyes is just too hard for me to see. And, if it's not pity, it's the way people awkwardly look away and avoid my gaze. Look, I know it's crazy. I'm fully aware that I don't sound rational about this. I just can't give up hope until it's abundantly clear that all hope is lost. I know, I know, three ultrasounds should be proof enough. But it isn't enough proof for me - not yet, not now.
I have a feeling that my OB will strongly suggest that I consider the D & C at this point. I feel like I should have known it would come to this; I really should have known. I can't possibly explain why I am so reluctant to go that route, but trust that it is absolutely the most emotionally painful option for me. It's been days since I've cried, but I began crying when I was talking about it last night. I hope that I can remain stoic and simply nod my head in front of the doctor because I know that I'll end up a blubbering mess if I try to explain why I do not want this procedure.
No matter what happens, I guess the waiting is nearly over. I suppose it doesn't really matter whether I pass the baby naturally or whether I allow a doctor to put me under general, dilate my cervix, and scrape my baby's pitiful remains from my womb. The end result is the same and I'll ache over this loss with either method of removal, but I know that healing can't possibly begin to happen until it's over. And, if there is one thing I want right now, it's to move on and heal.
* * *
My dreaded doctor's appointment is scheduled for tomorrow. I don't exactly know what to say, what outcome to hope for, what to pray about with regard to my present situation. Whatever is to be already is and nothing I say or do will change that.
I still haven't passed my baby. It's been over two-weeks and I still haven't passed the baby. It's pure torture to know that it's still there, but not living. It boggles my mind that my body won't just release it so I can begin to move on and heal. I never thought it would take so long to complete this miscarriage. I was sure that it would be over within days of that ER visit. . .that ER visit that seems like it was a hundred-years ago.
The cruelty of the situation is that, in the absence of any fetal tissue passing, I'm still hopeful that the ER was wrong. My fondest hope is that my OB will announce that my baby still has a perfectly strong heartbeat and everything looks okay. I dream about it sometimes and wake up with tears of joy, only to realize it's just a dream and my joyful tears turn to sadness.
I've stopped saying aloud that I'm holding out hope for a miracle because the pity in people's eyes is just too hard for me to see. And, if it's not pity, it's the way people awkwardly look away and avoid my gaze. Look, I know it's crazy. I'm fully aware that I don't sound rational about this. I just can't give up hope until it's abundantly clear that all hope is lost. I know, I know, three ultrasounds should be proof enough. But it isn't enough proof for me - not yet, not now.
I have a feeling that my OB will strongly suggest that I consider the D & C at this point. I feel like I should have known it would come to this; I really should have known. I can't possibly explain why I am so reluctant to go that route, but trust that it is absolutely the most emotionally painful option for me. It's been days since I've cried, but I began crying when I was talking about it last night. I hope that I can remain stoic and simply nod my head in front of the doctor because I know that I'll end up a blubbering mess if I try to explain why I do not want this procedure.
No matter what happens, I guess the waiting is nearly over. I suppose it doesn't really matter whether I pass the baby naturally or whether I allow a doctor to put me under general, dilate my cervix, and scrape my baby's pitiful remains from my womb. The end result is the same and I'll ache over this loss with either method of removal, but I know that healing can't possibly begin to happen until it's over. And, if there is one thing I want right now, it's to move on and heal.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
What Was I Thinking?
My body is stubbornly keeping my baby so I'm still waiting for this miscarriage to complete. It's been a week and a half since my baby died and I thought this nightmare would have been over by now. This waiting is torture, but I almost welcome the torment because I deserve it.
I mentioned to my husband that I might ask my doctor about sterilization options when I see him next week. My husband was surprised and asked why I'd want to know about such things. The answer is ridiculously simple: I don't want to experience this ever again and I'm willing to deprive my son of siblings in order to avoid it. I don't care how selfish that sounds because that's how I feel.
I've never thought that my husband is naive, but I'm beginning to think that my husband's naivete is greater than mine. Even though it took over a year and a half to get pregnant with this failed pregnancy, he seems to think that I'll get pregnant with no problem and go on to have a perfectly fine pregnancy. I wish I could believe that, but I don't. As I said the other day, my faith just isn't that strong.
I've been finding myself playing the "If only. . ." game. It's like the "What if. . ." game only full of more regret. If only I hadn't married my ex-husband, I could have started dating my husband several years earlier. If only my husband and I had decided to get married right away instead of screwing around for a couple of years. If only we had started a family right after getting married instead of enjoying each other so thoroughly.
Let's face it, these "if only" exercises highlight what's really bothering me. If only I wasn't in my mid-30s and he wasn't in his mid-50s, if only that then I'm sure we wouldn't have found it so hard to conceive our son or this poor baby. I've never spent much time regretting decisions I've made with my life, but I am now.
What was I thinking? Why did I wait so long to settle down, to get married, to start a family? I may be stupid, but I'm not dumb. So why did I make such stupid choices with my life? Why was it so damned important that I accomplish the things I wanted to accomplish prior to starting a family? Why did I do this to myself?
I know how women's fertility works. I know the age when it starts to decrease and children weren't even remotely on my radar at that time. I stupidly thought that getting pregnant in my mid-30s would be as easy as getting pregnant in my mid-20s. Guess what? It isn't.
I'm aware that plenty of women have no trouble getting pregnant in their 30s and beyond. I'm glad for them because they are fortunate, but I am not one of those women.
I thought I was so damn smart to delay parenthood and focus solely on growing my financial health. I've never had trouble making money. I've never had trouble managing my finances. I've never had trouble getting ahead in "life." No, my problem is worse and harder to remedy. I have trouble creating and sustaining life. It took a long time to conceive my son and it took more than twice as long to conceive this baby who didn't even make it to the second trimester. You can always make money, but you can't always easily make a family.
My husband doesn't think I should inquire about sterilization options so I probably won't. He's smarter than me and perhaps his emotions aren't so battered so he may be thinking more clearly than I am right now. I just don't know and I guess I won't know until the time comes to bring it up or not.
I mentioned to my husband that I might ask my doctor about sterilization options when I see him next week. My husband was surprised and asked why I'd want to know about such things. The answer is ridiculously simple: I don't want to experience this ever again and I'm willing to deprive my son of siblings in order to avoid it. I don't care how selfish that sounds because that's how I feel.
I've never thought that my husband is naive, but I'm beginning to think that my husband's naivete is greater than mine. Even though it took over a year and a half to get pregnant with this failed pregnancy, he seems to think that I'll get pregnant with no problem and go on to have a perfectly fine pregnancy. I wish I could believe that, but I don't. As I said the other day, my faith just isn't that strong.
I've been finding myself playing the "If only. . ." game. It's like the "What if. . ." game only full of more regret. If only I hadn't married my ex-husband, I could have started dating my husband several years earlier. If only my husband and I had decided to get married right away instead of screwing around for a couple of years. If only we had started a family right after getting married instead of enjoying each other so thoroughly.
Let's face it, these "if only" exercises highlight what's really bothering me. If only I wasn't in my mid-30s and he wasn't in his mid-50s, if only that then I'm sure we wouldn't have found it so hard to conceive our son or this poor baby. I've never spent much time regretting decisions I've made with my life, but I am now.
What was I thinking? Why did I wait so long to settle down, to get married, to start a family? I may be stupid, but I'm not dumb. So why did I make such stupid choices with my life? Why was it so damned important that I accomplish the things I wanted to accomplish prior to starting a family? Why did I do this to myself?
I know how women's fertility works. I know the age when it starts to decrease and children weren't even remotely on my radar at that time. I stupidly thought that getting pregnant in my mid-30s would be as easy as getting pregnant in my mid-20s. Guess what? It isn't.
I'm aware that plenty of women have no trouble getting pregnant in their 30s and beyond. I'm glad for them because they are fortunate, but I am not one of those women.
I thought I was so damn smart to delay parenthood and focus solely on growing my financial health. I've never had trouble making money. I've never had trouble managing my finances. I've never had trouble getting ahead in "life." No, my problem is worse and harder to remedy. I have trouble creating and sustaining life. It took a long time to conceive my son and it took more than twice as long to conceive this baby who didn't even make it to the second trimester. You can always make money, but you can't always easily make a family.
My husband doesn't think I should inquire about sterilization options so I probably won't. He's smarter than me and perhaps his emotions aren't so battered so he may be thinking more clearly than I am right now. I just don't know and I guess I won't know until the time comes to bring it up or not.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Losing Hope in a Miracle
I began to mentally outline a blog post this afternoon, but I started feeling lousy a few hours ago and that post isn't going to happen tonight.
I began to feel ill early this evening and experienced slight bleeding, staining is probably a better term, and I was sure that my body was going to release my poor baby tonight. I was overcome with weakness afterward and I had to lie down for a rest as my legs were trembling just from the effort to stand up. It felt like the muscle exhaustion that accompanies the flu, but I think it was nerves because I'm absolutely terrified to see the remains of my baby. But the bleeding unexpectedly stopped as quickly as it showed up.
I currently have a nagging ache in my lower back and my stomach is cramping up periodically. I'm feeling a constant pressure from the base of my ribs to the bottom of my pelvis. It almost feels like I'm wearing a too-tight girdle. I ate too much at lunch so it could just be gas. Or maybe the meals I consumed today just aren't digesting very effectively. Or it could be a symptom that this miscarriage is going to be complete soon.
I began to lose pregnancy symptoms a couple of days ago. It's wonderful and horrible that I no longer suffer crippling nausea every morning and painfully tender breasts are no longer making it difficult to give or accept hugs. I suppose the lack of any obvious outward symptoms will force me to come to grips with the fact that the ultrasounds weren't wrong and that, though my baby is still inside of me, this pregnancy has ended.
I can't help but continue to pray for this baby, for this pregnancy to somehow continue and yield a perfectly healthy baby in 29 more weeks. My faith has been praised, but I'm losing hope in a miracle. I guess my faith isn't so great after all.
It's been more than a week since my baby died and I have to believe that my body will let go of my baby one day soon. How I dread that day.
I began to feel ill early this evening and experienced slight bleeding, staining is probably a better term, and I was sure that my body was going to release my poor baby tonight. I was overcome with weakness afterward and I had to lie down for a rest as my legs were trembling just from the effort to stand up. It felt like the muscle exhaustion that accompanies the flu, but I think it was nerves because I'm absolutely terrified to see the remains of my baby. But the bleeding unexpectedly stopped as quickly as it showed up.
I currently have a nagging ache in my lower back and my stomach is cramping up periodically. I'm feeling a constant pressure from the base of my ribs to the bottom of my pelvis. It almost feels like I'm wearing a too-tight girdle. I ate too much at lunch so it could just be gas. Or maybe the meals I consumed today just aren't digesting very effectively. Or it could be a symptom that this miscarriage is going to be complete soon.
I began to lose pregnancy symptoms a couple of days ago. It's wonderful and horrible that I no longer suffer crippling nausea every morning and painfully tender breasts are no longer making it difficult to give or accept hugs. I suppose the lack of any obvious outward symptoms will force me to come to grips with the fact that the ultrasounds weren't wrong and that, though my baby is still inside of me, this pregnancy has ended.
I can't help but continue to pray for this baby, for this pregnancy to somehow continue and yield a perfectly healthy baby in 29 more weeks. My faith has been praised, but I'm losing hope in a miracle. I guess my faith isn't so great after all.
It's been more than a week since my baby died and I have to believe that my body will let go of my baby one day soon. How I dread that day.
Monday, January 10, 2011
I Think I Must Have Known
Today I stared at the Christmas letter I wrote just a few short weeks ago. The Christmas letter that I inexplicably never sent to anyone even though I've promised many people the pictures that were going to be sent along with it. In this Christmas letter, I excitedly shared the news that my husband and I were finally expanding our family.
I'm at a loss to explain why I didn't send it out a month ago. When I didn't send it out before Christmas, I figured that I would send it out as a New Year's greeting. I never sent it then either. The letter and accompanying pictures sit, largely ignored, on our desk. Now it serves as a bitter reminder of the abundant joy that I had in my heart.
Why didn't I send out this letter to anyone? Did I know all along, somewhere deep down in a place that I would never acknowledge, did I know that this baby wasn't meant to be born to me? I found this pregnancy far more difficult than the one I had with my son, but I don't know that I feared that it wouldn't last. I didn't on any conscious level anyway.
I'm still waiting for the final part of this process to be complete, yet still clinging unrealistically to the hope that there might still be the tiniest heartbeat in my baby. I know it's going to hurt when it happens and, in a weird way, I'm looking forward to the pain. I'm hoping that the physical pain will be so great that it takes my mind off the emotional hurt I'm feeling.
As is my custom, I'm trying to find the good in this situation. It's really hard to find anything to give thanks for in this situation, but what shines out to me is that this pregnancy gave me ten-weeks of joy, heart-filling joy, that I haven't felt in such a long time. Yes, I'm suffering now, but I wasn't just a few short days ago. And, for that, I'm thankful.
I'm at a loss to explain why I didn't send it out a month ago. When I didn't send it out before Christmas, I figured that I would send it out as a New Year's greeting. I never sent it then either. The letter and accompanying pictures sit, largely ignored, on our desk. Now it serves as a bitter reminder of the abundant joy that I had in my heart.
Why didn't I send out this letter to anyone? Did I know all along, somewhere deep down in a place that I would never acknowledge, did I know that this baby wasn't meant to be born to me? I found this pregnancy far more difficult than the one I had with my son, but I don't know that I feared that it wouldn't last. I didn't on any conscious level anyway.
I'm still waiting for the final part of this process to be complete, yet still clinging unrealistically to the hope that there might still be the tiniest heartbeat in my baby. I know it's going to hurt when it happens and, in a weird way, I'm looking forward to the pain. I'm hoping that the physical pain will be so great that it takes my mind off the emotional hurt I'm feeling.
As is my custom, I'm trying to find the good in this situation. It's really hard to find anything to give thanks for in this situation, but what shines out to me is that this pregnancy gave me ten-weeks of joy, heart-filling joy, that I haven't felt in such a long time. Yes, I'm suffering now, but I wasn't just a few short days ago. And, for that, I'm thankful.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
The Waiting is The Hardest Part
I had an awful dream last night. I thought that my baby had died in the womb. I woke with a start at the horrible nightmare and sat up in bed. I could feel the pad between my legs, the pad that is there to catch the pitiful remains of my baby. I remembered what had happened yesterday and my tears started afresh. If you read yesterday's blog post, you know what happened.
This isn't a dream. This is happening. This is real. It's a reality that I hate, but it's real nonetheless.
I've been out of sorts all day, irritated with everyone who has had the misfortune to interact with me. I know it's no one else's fault (according to all three doctors I've spoken with, it's not even my fault), but I'm taking my frustration and pain out on the world. I want someone to take it out on, but there is no one to blame.
The anger is masking my aching sadness. And, oh God, how I ache with sadness. My mouth and my bones and my blood cries out, screaming and pleading for a miracle. Begging for my joy to be restored.
I haven't resumed bleeding yet and I'm torn about how to feel. On one hand, I'm hopeful. . .ridiculously hopeful that maybe somehow my baby will come back to life and that it's little heart will start beating once again. I know it probably sounds stupid, but I can't abandon hope just yet; I can't give up. On the other hand, I'm painfully aware that I have a dead baby in my womb. I'm driving myself crazy wondering when my body will expel this baby, wondering if it will hurt, hoping that I'll just be numb to the event by the time it happens. But hoping that I could never feel numb to the realization that my body is releasing a child of mine.
Waiting to pass your dead baby is a terrible feeling, a feeling I wouldn't wish on anyone. I handled the news that my baby's heart was still. I didn't freak out or have a breakdown - not in the ER anyway. I nodded and thanked the doctor for the news. But this waiting. . .I think this waiting is the cruelest part of the entire event. I wonder now if I made the wrong decision about how to remove my dead baby.
I feel silly that I've received so many offers of help since I'm not experiencing any physical pain. I feel like a sucker that I was already so in love with this baby. I feel stupid that I was so eager to share my good news with everyone on Thanksgiving, only to share my heartbreak now. Mostly though I feel the overwhelming ache of sadness.
This isn't a dream. This is happening. This is real. It's a reality that I hate, but it's real nonetheless.
I've been out of sorts all day, irritated with everyone who has had the misfortune to interact with me. I know it's no one else's fault (according to all three doctors I've spoken with, it's not even my fault), but I'm taking my frustration and pain out on the world. I want someone to take it out on, but there is no one to blame.
The anger is masking my aching sadness. And, oh God, how I ache with sadness. My mouth and my bones and my blood cries out, screaming and pleading for a miracle. Begging for my joy to be restored.
I haven't resumed bleeding yet and I'm torn about how to feel. On one hand, I'm hopeful. . .ridiculously hopeful that maybe somehow my baby will come back to life and that it's little heart will start beating once again. I know it probably sounds stupid, but I can't abandon hope just yet; I can't give up. On the other hand, I'm painfully aware that I have a dead baby in my womb. I'm driving myself crazy wondering when my body will expel this baby, wondering if it will hurt, hoping that I'll just be numb to the event by the time it happens. But hoping that I could never feel numb to the realization that my body is releasing a child of mine.
Waiting to pass your dead baby is a terrible feeling, a feeling I wouldn't wish on anyone. I handled the news that my baby's heart was still. I didn't freak out or have a breakdown - not in the ER anyway. I nodded and thanked the doctor for the news. But this waiting. . .I think this waiting is the cruelest part of the entire event. I wonder now if I made the wrong decision about how to remove my dead baby.
I feel silly that I've received so many offers of help since I'm not experiencing any physical pain. I feel like a sucker that I was already so in love with this baby. I feel stupid that I was so eager to share my good news with everyone on Thanksgiving, only to share my heartbreak now. Mostly though I feel the overwhelming ache of sadness.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
My Baby's Heartbeat Has Stopped
There's no easy way to say this so I'm just going to come right out with it: My baby's heart isn't beating any longer. My baby's heart has stopped and my heart is broken.
My baby died. My sweet darling baby, the baby who I've longed for, the baby who I pray for every day, the baby who I already call by name, that same baby is dead. I feel like I'm in some horrible nightmare, but it's reality. My baby died.
I experienced some light leaking yesterday and I wasn't sure what it was, but I was inclined to believe that it was just the normal fluid that's been hanging out down there lately. I woke up this morning and was experiencing moderate bleeding. Not as heavy as a period, but enough to need to wear a pad. Along with that blood came a few very small clots. I screamed and started sobbing when I saw the clots. I think I knew then, but I hoped for the best. I called my husband home and we went to the emergency room.
The ER doctor was puzzled that there was no sign of blood while he performed a manual pelvic exam. It had been 1 1/2 hours since I first bled. He was further surprised that my cervix was totally closed. I was feeling pretty positive at this point. It sounded like it was just some weird bleeding that sometimes happens.
Then he did a quick abdominal ultrasound. It was really quick. He said that he was ordering a full scan and he'd return to discuss the results. I had a bad feeling because I figured he'd tell me everything is fine if he could see my baby and the heartbeat.
The ultrasound technician didn't tell me anything (they aren't allowed to) and her face was expressionless as she performed the abdominal and trans-vaginal ultrasounds. She was fairly chatty wheeling me in for the ultrasounds, but she was quiet - somber - bringing me back. I was fairly certain this meant there was bad news.
The ER doctor came back and confirmed my worst fears. My baby is still there, but there isn't a heartbeat. He sent a gynecologist in to discuss my options. In other words, to help me decide how to remove my dead baby. The doctor was very kind and gave me three choices. I could let this miscarriage continue naturally, I could let them force it along with some pills that cause you to expel the baby, or I could have a D & C.
I elected to let the miscarriage continue naturally. Since I've inexplicably stopped bleeding, there's no telling when it will start up again. There's also a chance that all fetal tissue won't be expelled and, worst case scenario, I'll need a D & C anyway.
Forgive me for being crazy, but the only reason I chose to go the natural route is because I'm desperately clinging to the hope that maybe all three ultrasounds were wrong. My husband looked so sad when I told him why I wanted to take a wait & see approach. I told him that I'm not bleeding anymore so maybe it was just some "normal" spotting that sometimes happens. He reminded me that no heartbeat means that there is no life. Somewhere deep down, I know he's right. But I can't stop hoping for a miracle.
My son put his hands on my lower abdomen when I returned home and said, "Mama has a baby." That is the first time that he's done that and I had been holding it together fairly well until then. In his sweet innocence, I know he thought it would make me happy to hear him talk about the baby.
You know, the name that I dreamt for this baby, the name that I call this baby, means God is with Us. I know He is. . .even in these horrible moments.
My baby died. My sweet darling baby, the baby who I've longed for, the baby who I pray for every day, the baby who I already call by name, that same baby is dead. I feel like I'm in some horrible nightmare, but it's reality. My baby died.
I experienced some light leaking yesterday and I wasn't sure what it was, but I was inclined to believe that it was just the normal fluid that's been hanging out down there lately. I woke up this morning and was experiencing moderate bleeding. Not as heavy as a period, but enough to need to wear a pad. Along with that blood came a few very small clots. I screamed and started sobbing when I saw the clots. I think I knew then, but I hoped for the best. I called my husband home and we went to the emergency room.
The ER doctor was puzzled that there was no sign of blood while he performed a manual pelvic exam. It had been 1 1/2 hours since I first bled. He was further surprised that my cervix was totally closed. I was feeling pretty positive at this point. It sounded like it was just some weird bleeding that sometimes happens.
Then he did a quick abdominal ultrasound. It was really quick. He said that he was ordering a full scan and he'd return to discuss the results. I had a bad feeling because I figured he'd tell me everything is fine if he could see my baby and the heartbeat.
The ultrasound technician didn't tell me anything (they aren't allowed to) and her face was expressionless as she performed the abdominal and trans-vaginal ultrasounds. She was fairly chatty wheeling me in for the ultrasounds, but she was quiet - somber - bringing me back. I was fairly certain this meant there was bad news.
The ER doctor came back and confirmed my worst fears. My baby is still there, but there isn't a heartbeat. He sent a gynecologist in to discuss my options. In other words, to help me decide how to remove my dead baby. The doctor was very kind and gave me three choices. I could let this miscarriage continue naturally, I could let them force it along with some pills that cause you to expel the baby, or I could have a D & C.
I elected to let the miscarriage continue naturally. Since I've inexplicably stopped bleeding, there's no telling when it will start up again. There's also a chance that all fetal tissue won't be expelled and, worst case scenario, I'll need a D & C anyway.
Forgive me for being crazy, but the only reason I chose to go the natural route is because I'm desperately clinging to the hope that maybe all three ultrasounds were wrong. My husband looked so sad when I told him why I wanted to take a wait & see approach. I told him that I'm not bleeding anymore so maybe it was just some "normal" spotting that sometimes happens. He reminded me that no heartbeat means that there is no life. Somewhere deep down, I know he's right. But I can't stop hoping for a miracle.
My son put his hands on my lower abdomen when I returned home and said, "Mama has a baby." That is the first time that he's done that and I had been holding it together fairly well until then. In his sweet innocence, I know he thought it would make me happy to hear him talk about the baby.
You know, the name that I dreamt for this baby, the name that I call this baby, means God is with Us. I know He is. . .even in these horrible moments.
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