"If you let it happen again, I really don't think I'll be able to handle it. I'll go crazy. I'll die."
With a threat like that, how could my God even think to make me go through another miscarriage?
Yes, I was so sure this time. This time, we'll come out with a baby. A real, living baby.
I have a hard time talking about number two. Number two was special.
You see, number two was supposed to be our "miracle baby".
When we first thought we had lost number two, I was 6 weeks pregnant. I had noticed some light spotting and of course I flipped. "WE HAVE TO GO TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM RIGHT NOW," I screamed at him, even though I knew there was nothing anyone could even do for me in the event that I was actually miscarrying.
During the ultrasound, both the OB on call and the technician could not detect any signs of life at all. It was just an empty womb. They call it a "blighted ovum"-- where the egg was fertilized but never implanted into the uterus, but the body kept believing it was pregnant.
I was devastated. Nothing felt real.
The ultrasound tech was taken aback by my hysterical cry and I will never forget what she said to me. "There are hundreds of baby boys and girls out there waiting for you to be their mom."
What. the. fuck. First of all, I don't even know what that means. Second of all, SCREW YOU. (those were just my thoughts. I don't swear outloud.) I've never wanted to punch a stranger in my life as I did then. I just ignored her and cried louder so I could drown out any more of her incompetent comments.
I cried until I felt like I was going to throw up. The doctor offered me cytotec again, but I told her I would see my OB in a few days and go from there. I just wanted to get the hell out of there. So we left the hospital and ate a disgusting amount of sushi and I drank like a gallon of diet coke just because I could. Gotta make the most of not being pregnant.... again.
And then we went home and held each other and cried ourselves to sleep.
No comments:
Post a Comment