So, I contemplated writing about this or not since I hadn't announced that we were pregnant for the whole purpose of not having to tell people about this, but ultimately decided that I should. I think it's deeply personal, but a friend recently posted about her experience and it was the only thing I really had to relate to and I found myself very grateful for her decision to share her story of her miscarriage. I think sometimes it's a good thing to share hard things if it can help others. I also think that writing it down will help me. So with that being said,
I found out that I was pregnant on December 13th. We were so excited because we had tried for another baby for a long time. We decided that even though it was early, we would tell our family for Christmas because it was so exciting and seemed like a good time to share good news. I had normal pregnancy symptoms for the most part as far as nausea, aches, etc. I had already started to show. We bought a new car so we'd have room for two kids. I bought maternity pants for my expanding waistline. I had no cramping or bleeding or anything like that. There were no physical reasons to think that anything was wrong, but I had had a feeling for a while that something might not be right and had been praying that I would be prepared for whatever happened.
On Thursday we went to the doctor for my 10-week checkup to hear the heart beat. We were so excited, but all we heard was silence. At that moment I knew. I looked at Paul who was chasing James and he just didn't have a clue. I tried to tell him to prepare for bad news, but James was pretty out of control and I don't think he heard me. After searching with no success we went in for an ultrasound. The baby measured about 7 weeks and there was no heart beat. Paul was blind-sided. He had never even thought of the possibility that something could be wrong. James was screaming because he had gotten into a drawer of things that just shouldn't be played with or mentioned here and landed his butt in timeout. It was stressful to listen to the bad news while James was screaming his head off. My doctor was very sympathetic and told me my options, but highly suggested a D&C* since I had been carrying a dead baby for 3 weeks already with no bleeding, no cramping or any other signs of miscarriage. I never really doubted my doctor's choice of a d&c since he's pretty much saved my life once already and I was comfortable with the fact that I would be unconscious and never have to see any of it. We filled out the paperwork and the office faxed it to the hospital. I couldn't stop crying for most of the day. I texted everyone that we had told and told them the sad news. Everyone was pretty supportive. My mom brought over dinner, my sisters brought over dessert and my boys got me flowers. James gave me lots of snuggles and told me not to cry and that it would be alright.
It was a hard day.
(*D&C stands for Dilation and Curettage. Basically, the Doctor scrapes the inside of the uterus and vacuums out the contents.)
On Friday I decided that we should probably clean up, move some furniture around that we had planned on moving but couldn't because I was pregnant, and get ready for me to be out of commission for a few days. I tried to stay calm and not really think about things, but every time I thought about it I cried. We waited all day for the hospital to call and set up the appointment, but they never did. So I called my doctor and he told me to call him in the morning and he'd do his best to get me in on Saturday. So I stopped eating at 10 and stayed up until 2 am to avoid having to think about it. A few friends came by with dinner and to check up on me. I was doing a little better. I could really feel the prayers being offered on my behalf working. I was at peace with what had happened and really felt that everything would be ok.
On Saturday morning I called the doctor and we got it set up for 11 am. At this point I had Paul give me a blessing because the reality of it was starting to sink in. I was so nervous I was shaking and sweating uncontrollably (I know, gross). My mom came over to sit with James and Paul and I left for the hospital. It took an hour to get through admitting. Then I bawled through the IV. I really hate IVs. I don't think that's why I was crying though. Yes, it hurt, but the fact that I was there in the first place and was about to have my baby vacuumed out of me was pretty traumatizing. Because it was Saturday and I was the only one getting a D&C they let Paul come back to holding with me where they got me all hooked up and started getting me groggy. Then they took me to the OR and Paul had to go to the waiting room. I remember them putting a bunch of those sticker monitors all over me and pressing three spiky things into my forehead to be able to tell if I was coming out of the anesthesia. Then I crawled onto a metal surgical table. It was so cold. They put a few warming blankets on me and started pumping them full of warm air. The last thing I remember was having to breathe through a mask that I thought for sure was going to suffocate me. That was my last thought: I can't breathe, I'm going to suffocate. Thank you, claustrophobia.
I remember waking up and my throat was killing me. They had put a tube in my throat and it really hurt! I asked if it was done and the nurse said yes. I didn't have my glasses on so everything was blurry. I just coughed and coughed and bawled my eyes out for thirty minutes while they tried to get me to fully wake up and fed me ice chips. When they took me to recovery I was still bawling. Paul looked hopeless. It makes me sad thinking of it. After about an hour they fed me something they called chocolate pudding but tasted more like gritty chocolate paste. Then came some tomato soup. It hurt going down my raw throat so I only took a few sips before giving up. They made me walk around and use the bathroom before we could leave. The whole thing took about 5 1/2 hours. I really just wanted to go home and snuggle my little boy. We went to the store and bought ice cream and picked up my prescription.
I was glad to be home, although I was in a lot of pain. Not even Lortab and ice cream could soothe my throat. I distracted myself with tv and surfing the internet until I couldn't stay awake any longer and then we went to bed. I kept waking up after the pain meds wore off, but was so tired and didn't want to find food in the middle of the night to take with the medicine so I tossed and turned and moaned all night.
This morning is much of the same. Pain. Painkillers. Pudding. The recovery itself isn't as bad as I thought it would be though. I won't be able to lift over 10 pounds for 2 weeks so I'm pretty much homebound. I can't lift James at all and he still needs assistance climbing into the car, getting into shopping carts, his stroller, etc. The bleeding is minimal and other than some painful cramps I'm doing fine...physically. It pains me to see pregnant women. I can't imagine that it will be easy any time soon. I'm scared that I might not have more children. I'm disappointed that all the dreams we had for this year and this baby are gone. But I know that we will get through it. Each day gets a little bit better and I have faith that the Lord will help to heal our hearts.
