What a week it has been.
Saturday we spent the day on the GA/SC line striper fishing. We didn’t have the best of luck, but I did have a whole lot of fun. I managed to find a dinky little place with Wi-Fi to get some school work complete. That night when we got home, what I had been waiting for (anxiously, nervously) finally happened.
I started bleeding from the miscarriage, just like the doctor anticipated. I just stared at it, sadly. Then, the tears came. Jake held me until I slept. Sunday, I still bled, but not so much that I couldn’t continue on with life. I assumed it would be like a period, last for a while, and fade away. But it didn’t. Sunday night I went into labor. Like, yes, pregnant and having a baby labor. Long story short, I was having contractions every five or so minutes, then passing a horrid amount of blood, including solid tissue. I called into work, and my very understanding principal took care of a substitute. I couldn’t believe it was so bad. I kept thinking it would end, and then I’d go to work. By the time Jake had to go to work, I had called my mom and she came to sit with me until Jake could get a substitute and get back to me… it just so happened he had planned a big day complete with a guest speaker and it wasn’t exactly plausible for him to not go in at all. And there wasn’t much he could do for me. So Mama came, and I continued to cramp and bleed, and it was much more horrible than I care to describe. By the time I got to the the doctor that morning, it was slacking off, but if you can understand how much I was bleeding, slacking off made little difference. My doctor, concerned about hemorrhaging, sent me straight to the hospital for a D&C. I’ve had mixed emotions about D&Cs mostly due to too many days and nights spent on pregnancy message boards. I was scared to have one right away on the off-chance we were wrong. I just couldn’t handle what-ifs. I was originally scheduled to come in two weeks after the miscarriage was diagnosed for one last ultrasound to see if anything had changed, and if I had not yet passed it on my own, we’d talk about the D&C. I was okay with this, because I wanted to give my body time to take care of it on it’s own. I mean, if it’s so smart to know to end a potentially dangerous pregnancy, it should be smart enough to complete the task, or at least that was my mindset. When he told me that he wanted me to have the D&C right away, I was relieved, much to my own surprise. At this point, there was no question it was over, and no potential what-ifs. Jake was already back from work and there, and so was my mom, plus the on-call doctor at the hospital was one many friends and family see, and without even knowing him, just hearing his name was comforting because of his reputation of having outstanding bedside manner, not to mention years of experience. I agreed right away, and they sent me straight to admitting. As it turns out, I didn’t really have much of a D&C, more just the C part… I was nearly fully dilated when they started, and I had passed most everything on my own, so it was just a matter of keeping me from continuing to bleed.
My experience in the hospital was as pleasant as could be for what I was dealing with. My emotions were stable, but I just felt overwhelmingly sad. The nurses, doctors, techs, even the lady at admitting, each offered love and condolences and some even prayed over me. They shared their own stories and situations, held my hand, and made sure I was as comfortable as possible. They were all so wonderful. My parents were there, and so was Jake, and even my aunt stopped by. Our Sunday school class members all wanted to bring food, visit, or help in anyway. By the time I got home, all I wanted was sleep, so that’s what I’ve been doing. Heather and Jonathon, two incredibly dear friends from our church, who have been through 6 miscarriages themselves brought us dinner on Monday, and they have proved to be a quiet, resilient source of strength for us. Since I’m at home recouping the rest of the week, I’ve been spending my time watching Hulu, writing, and sleeping. Just trying to sit and heal, physically and emotionally. Sometimes, I feel just fine. Like I should get up and move on. Go to work, bake a cake, and just be me. Other times, I feel like I can see myself sinking in a deep, dark hole. A place where I don’t want my grief to take me.
So this is where I am now. On the couch, trying to heal. Trying to move forward. Feeling a little stuck. Just stuck being sad. I feel like I’m writing a letter in my head… over and over.
Dearest Little Baby I Never Got to Hold,
I miss you already. I love you, and it sucks not have you in my life. They told me your blood type was O positive. I didn’t even know your gender yet, so your daddy and I keep calling you Baby O. I know I will miss you and think of you everyday. I don’t know why this happened, but I’m trying to understand that it was for a purpose, and I’m trying not to be angry about things that I don’t understand. Please, just know that you were loved more in your short life than could ever be put into words, and know that your mommy misses you. So, so, so much, sweet Baby O.
I’m glad that the physical part of this is over, and I know that emotionally, time will help. Writing has helped, and has prayer and scripture, especially Proverbs 19:21… He knows what my heart wants, my I know His plans prevail. And my friends and family… oh, how the love and prayers have helped. Right in the middle of my sad, dark moments, a phone call, a visit, a hug lifts me up, dusts me off, and helps me smile.