***I'm going to start with a disclaimer: This post has some strong subject matter. It contains some medical stuff. It is also very personal. I don't expect comments. I don't write this post for sympathy or pity. I write as an emotional outlet for something that I can't seem to form into words to force out of my mouth.***
There are some incredibly ugly and horrible words in the English language. There are also some that aren't intended to be hurtful, but they cut very deep nonetheless. This week I have spent a significant amount of time considering one of these words in particular. Here is the story of that word.
Around the Sharkbaby's first birthday I couldn't shake the feeling that it was time to start trying for another baby. I felt like someone was missing from our little family. So I broached the subject with Curious George. He wasn't sure how he felt about things, so he told me he needed a little bit of time. Within a week he was on board. So, we began trying for another baby. By March, we discovered we were pregnant.
I was elated! Our babies were going to be close in age, only 21 months difference. I was ok with that, though. All that mattered is that I was going to be a mommy again.
Things with this pregnancy were very different than my first, almost from day one. My nausea was very mild and just sort of vague. I was hungry constantly. I had to pee about every thirty seconds. It was all I could do not to shout my news from the mountaintops.
And then I hit 6 weeks and the trouble started (this is where it gets a bit graphic if you want to skip to the end). On Friday there was some light spotting. I was a little bit worried, so I called my midwives. I left a message with my symptoms and waited to hear back.
Friday, no call.
Saturday, no call.
Sunday morning, spotting is more like bleeding, I get a call back (finally). I talk to Angel (who is possibly the sweetest person on the face of the planet), she tells me to keep an eye on the symptoms, call if they get worse, and gives me my current options. We decide the best course of action is watchful waiting, and agree to just talk it over at my appointment on Thursday. On Sunday night I have my husband and brother give me a blessing. It helps.
Monday, my bleeding is significantly heavier now. I call again and they get me an appointment for that same morning. I go in, they opt to do a couple of blood draws to check my pregnancy hormone levels. They do the first draw on Monday, and ask me to return on Wednesday to have a follow up. If my hormone levels have doubled from Monday to Wednesday, they'll do an early ultrasound at my Thursday appointment to check for a heart beat.
Monday night things got ugly. I started to have some pretty severe cramping and aching low back pain. I began passing some small clots. This continued on through the night into Tuesday. I opted to call in sick and just spend the day taking it easy at home with the boy.
I spent all day Tuesday dealing with mild cramps and preparing myself for what Wednesday's blood draw would show. At this point I was already pretty sure what the blood draw was going to show. My levels won't have doubled, in fact they will probably have dropped.
And then came Wednesday, also known as doomsday. Things were going fairly well. The bleeding had slowed down and I was feeling well enough to go run some errands with Sharkbaby. While out and about I was hit with a sudden, double-me-over pain in my abdomen. I hurried to my parents house (the closest safe place I could think of) and left a screaming child with his toys to run to the bathroom. My heart sank as I realized what was there. My body had gotten rid of anything substantial left inside. I opted to just pack things up and head home.
Once there, I put the baby down for his nap and made the dreaded call to the midwives. They told me not to worry about coming in for the blood draw, just make an appointment to come in for a follow-up the next week.
So, my story comes full circle to the ugly word that has been my constant shadow this week: Miscarriage. What a horribly, ugly, foul word... somehow implying that I am to blame for what happened.
And now, I am one of the 25% of women that will experience this heartbreaking, gut wrenching, terrible trial. For now I am left with a gaping hole in my heart that was the hope I held for this future life. I am not ok.
But I will be.
