October 30, 2007
I sat on the table at a doctor’s office for my 13 week
prenatal checkup. I had been feeling a
bit queasy and very tired- both signs of a healthy pregnancy. After some small talk Dr. G pulled out his
Doppler. No heartbeat. He didn’t appear too concerned as he went to
get the portable ultrasound machine. I
waited patiently as he began an abdominal ultrasound my eyes locked on the
screen. I had had a couple of
ultrasounds with this pregnancy- enough to know what the little flicker of the
heart looked like. The image on the
screen was still. No flicker. No heartbeat.
Dr. G turned off the ultrasound machine and placed his hand gently on
top of mine. “I’m sorry. I do not believe this is a viable
pregnancy.” He said so matter-of-fact
like. I just stared at him. I was numb.
No tears came to my eyes and no words would come out of my mouth. He went on to explain that he wanted me to
have a more extensive ultrasound the next morning to be sure and we would make
decisions based off of that. I don’t
remember getting to my car. I do
remember sitting in the driver’s seat when I finally started to cry. I sobbed like a baby as I called Dave to tell
him our baby had died. He was doing an
inspection on the house (our current house) we had just put an offer in
on. He rushed home so I wasn’t alone. I spent the evening calling the people that I
thought needed to know. I called work
and took the next day off. Mostly, I
cried. I cried for myself. I cried for Dave. I cried for the little person I’d never get
to know. I had started a collection of things
for this baby. A few cute outfits,
blankets, books- one by one I packed them away in a tote to hide in the closet
where I wouldn’t have to see them. That
night I had a very vivid dream. I was
standing in front of a huge hand that was wearing a white glove. Placed in that hand was a tiny, sleeping
baby. There was a light in the room that
kept flickering on and off. I was on my
knees pleading for the light to remain on.
Abruptly, the room went black.
And I woke up feeling defeated.
Any possible hope I had that the original ultrasound was incorrect had
disappeared. I knew the baby was
gone. Dave was able to get off of work
to go with me to the ultrasound. The u/s
tech watched the screen. No heartbeat. With sad eyes she asked me if I wanted to see
the screen. I did and I’ll never forget
the image on the screen. The tiny little
image of our baby was laying against the womb.
She gave me one last picture. We
headed over to the clinic immediately following the ultrasound visit. I waited for an eternity in the OB area surrounded by pregnant women. They really should separate OB
patients from other patients. It is
excruciating to sit next to a women who is about to deliver a baby when you
were losing your own pregnancy. Finally
it was my turn to go back into the office.
I was supposed to be 13 weeks along.
My baby was measuring at 9weeks 4 days.
I had my last ultrasound and saw a healthy baby at 9 weeks. That meant I had been carrying a dead baby
around for nearly 4 weeks. Because my body
was not passing the baby on it’s own it was recommended that I go in for a
d&c first thing the next day. I was
glad he wasn’t going to make me wait any longer. In my mind, getting the baby out was the
first step in the healing process. We
left the doctor’s office that day feeling lost.
Neither of us really knew how we were supposed to feel or what we were
supposed to do next. I felt stuck in a
bad dream that I couldn’t escape out of.
That night was Halloween. We had
planned to go to my parent’s house for pizza and to see my niece & nephew
in their costumes. We still went. It was easier for me to plaster on a smile
around other people than to be alone in our apartment. We called it a night fairly early because the
next morning was my d&c. We woke up
early the morning of Nov. 1 in order to get to the surgical center on
time. I hopped in the shower, held my
belly and sobbed. I whispered goodbye to
the little being I had grown to love in 13 short weeks. I had dreams for this little one. I envisioned myself rocking him to sleep
wearing a blue sleeper. Of us going for
long walks in the spring. From the
beginning I felt as though the baby was a boy.
After having three other children I think I was right. This pregnancy was very similar to that of
Eli & Toby. We had planned to name
him Noah. But that didn’t really matter
any more. I watched my tears slide off
my cheeks and down the drain that day just like my dreams for my baby. Finally it was time to head to the surgical
center. I took a deep breath, put on my
brave face and went in for surgery. The
d&c itself wasn’t horrible. The
nurses were so sweet to me. A couple of
them even told me they had miscarriages and went on to have healthy
babies. Dave took good care of me. Having a miscarriage throws your body into a weird
funk. I still *felt* pregnant for
several days- nauseous, tired, sore. It
was awful. I went in to the doctor for a
follow up visit two weeks after my d&c.
I had lost over 10 lbs in two weeks (grief does that to you). Dr. G told me they had sent our baby’s tissue
to pathology. The good new was that it appeared
as though there was nothing wrong with our baby. Sometimes these things just happen. There was no reason to think we wouldn’t be
able to have a healthy pregnancy the next time.
That gave me a little bit of hope that I would be a mother someday. In the weeks after my miscarriage I
definitely struggled with grief. I was angry, very angry. WHY ME?
THIS ISN’T FAIR! I was so mad at
God. Mad at myself. I was mad at almost everyone who tried to
offer words of encouragement. Many
people, while well meaning said things that just poured salt into the
wound. “You’re young you can try again.” “It’s probably for the better. Maybe it’s sparing you future
heartache.” “Someday you’ll have a
baby.” What they didn’t understand is
that I wanted THIS baby, not another baby, no matter how old I was or the fact
that I could *try again* didn’t make my loss any easier. In my heart, my baby had died and a small
piece of my heart died along with him. The
most helpful people were the ones who quietly held my hand while I cried. Who didn’t say anything but made sure I knew
they cared. The friends waiting with a
hug as soon as they saw me. The ones who
didn’t judge me when I was simply pissed off and let me vent regardless of how
ridiculous I sounded. I felt abandoned
by many people during that time (I now realize others were being respectful
& giving me space). I ended up
having about 6 days off from work following my miscarriage. Perhaps the hardest part for me was moving on
with life on that seventh day. Just
putting on makeup & blow drying my hair felt like a massive task. But it was time to move forward &
heal. My first day back to work I sat in
my car in the parking lot staring at the door.
I couldn’t get myself to go back to work. There didn’t seem to be a point. I wanted to curl up in my bed and cry. I called my mom and sobbed “ I need you to
talk me into going back to work.”. She
did. And I made it through the
shift. I took it one day at a time. The first full day I made it through without
crying I cried because I was so proud of myself.
Grief is a process I had not had to face
before. I was blindly trying to find my
way out of this dark cloud that engulfed me.
I felt my first glimmer of hope when I found out I was pregnant with
Breena. I went in for my first doctor’s
appointment. My due date: October 30,
2008. Exactly one year after I found out
about my May baby (I ended up bringing Bree home from the hospital on Halloween
2008). Losing my May 2008 baby was the
worst experience of my life. But in many
ways I learned the most valuable lessons from it. I learned life goes on even after a
devastating blow. I learned that I can
handle a lot more than I thought I was capable of. I learned how to be a good friend to others
when they are struggling. I’m a better mother because of it. I still find my mind wandering back to that
time in my life, especially this time of year as the leaves are changing. Remembering my first pregnancy doesn’t sting
anymore. Wonderful, beautiful things
have come my way because of it. So for
that I am grateful. But I will forever
embrace that my heart loves not 3 but 4 precious children. And someday, when they are much older I’ll
even share this with my children. For
now I find peace in honestly, wholeheartedly believing that someday I will get
to hold the one whom I carried first.
Remember…Please light a candle for one hour in remembrance
on October 15 at 7pm.
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