"And now number 6 on the way...."
Those words grabbed me as I re-read my last entry. I read them again.
"And now number 6 on the way...."
Unfortunately, not any more. We lost the baby on January 10th, 2010. I remember sitting in the waiting room of the ER, filling out paperwork. I signed and dated it: 01/10/10.... and I thought to myself, "I'm going to remember this date."
Even then, I knew something was wrong. I was hoping the doctors could tell me everything was fine, stay on bedrest for now...we'll check you again in a week. But the bleeding got heavier even as I waited to be examined. The ultrasound proved what I already suspected. The technician refused to let me see the screen almost immediately. She also refused to tell me anything at all.
I knew. I didn't want to believe it, but I knew I'd already lost the baby I was carrying.
She called the doctor in and after a few minutes, he confirmed it. He said, "The baby doesn't have a heartbeat." He looked at me with pity in his eyes. "That means the baby isn't alive. I'm so sorry." They told me the baby was 8 weeks old.
They gave Brian and I a few moments to ourselves, which will remain private and close to my heart. But I cried a little. Even so, I wasn't as sad as I thought I'd be. I was handling it very well, I thought.
Our first order of business was to fill my prescription. I went to the grocery store where I worked to fill it, and as soon as I walked in, it seemed like all eyes were on me. Everyone at the front end smiled and waved and greeted me with nothing but joy. And it hit me like a Mack truck. The emotional tidelwave was so unexpected that I was embarrassed in spite of myself. I managed to let my supervisors know I would be unable to work until further notice. My immediate supervisor told me to take as long as I needed.
Once home, we settled in and waited. The waiting was hard. I placed my hand on my tiny bump of a belly and waited some more. I watched TV to distract myself and talked to Brian about nothing in particular. I finally said, "I just wish it would hurry up and happen." We didn't know if it would be that day, or several days from now, so we waited.
Fortunately, the wait wasn't several days, but only several hours. Suddenly my bleeding increased as did the pain. I took a pain pill the doctor prescribed and waited some more. Within 30 minutes I had one very hard cramp, then an audible "POP!" followed by a gush. I cried out in pain, but I was alone.
Once in the bathroom, I surveyed the result to see if the miscarriage was complete. Next to a large blood clot on my pad was a tiny, tan-colored, jelly-bean shaped feature. I studied it closely. Was this it? Was this our baby? I couldn't tell, so called Brian in. He and I agreed there had to be more....that tiny thing couldn't possibly be the whole baby. We found out several days later, however, that that was indeed the complete baby. One very tiny, floppy jellybean. At the time, because I thought it was only partial tissue, I simply threw it away. Now, I kind of wish I had kept it to bury...given it some sort of ceremony... let this tiny life know that it was loved.
My grief over the loss of the baby has been an interesting journey. Many days I was surprised at how well I was handling it all. I felt rather unaffected by the miscarriage and wondered if I shouldn't be crying more; grieving more. Then someone would say something, usually I was that someone, and I would be surprised at the sudden flow of emotion and tears. My grief drug out over weeks and weeks. But grieve I did.
Many people are embarrassed when they find out I'm no longer pregnant. They are afraid to mention the miscarriage or bring it up for fear of upsetting me, I'm sure. I try to assure them it's okay... It's okay to bring it up. It's okay to acknowledge that I carried a precious life and that I lost that life after a very short eight weeks. Don't fear that acknowledgment. I find comfort in the fact that you appreciate my loss...that you can stand with me and say, "That was something special, but it's okay. Life goes on and we will not forget that little one as we move forward."
We're going to try again. Part of me is terrified to do this. For one, I'm 40 years old. But another part of me really, really wants to have just one more. So yes, we are trying again. We are trying in the midst of my four teenagers working their way through school, one of whom is graduating this year, and another who is preparing for a major surgery. We are trying in spite of our financial situation, because there is never a "good time" to have a baby. They always come when you least expect them and when you need them most. So, if the gods that be grant us one more, we will raise and love that little booger just as we have and are the other five.
Life moves forward, and so do I. Tears still come now and then, and they always surprise me when they do, but they come less frequently now. If you would like to express your condolences, please feel free to do so. It is never a stab to the heart when someone says, "I'm sorry for your loss." Each person that reaches out to touch me in that way is appreciated to my core. It's good to share the joys in life, but it's better to share the pain. It makes the burden lighter...
Thank you to each of you who have lightened my burden for me.
