what not to say (to avoid getting punched):
it wasn't meant to be.
i'm sure you'll have hundreds of babies in the future.
you'll get pregnant again.
maybe you need to see a specialist.
don't stress. once you stop stressing, you'll have a baby.
i've had three babies and the secret is, you need to not wear high heels.
did you drink caffeine while you were pregnant?
what to say:
i'm sorry.
that's shitty.
that sucks, and i'm sorry you're going through that.
...or just don't say anything. silence can be nice and not awkward if you don't let it be awkward.
and hugs are great.
Tuesday, October 14, 2014
The first time we thought we lost number two.
"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.
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.
The first time.
We started "trying" in November 2012 and conceived right away.
When we first saw the two lines on the pregnancy test, I looked at him, both bewildered and excited, and said, "What are we going to do?" We hugged and shed tears.
It was already past midnight, but we drove to the local CVS and bought 4 more tests, just to be sure.
I scheduled my first ultrasound appt, and in the meantime, we thought up baby names, and dreamed what he or he would look like. We downloaded a pregnancy app on our phones. Your baby is starting to form ears, the app alerted us. Every night I would fall asleep with him wrapped around me, his hand on my belly. We were utterly and instantly in love... but oh, what a terribly naive love affair we were in.
--
I was 8 weeks when we first went in for the ultrasound.
We held hands as the NP inserted the probe. She was fishing around, moving the probe from left to right. It seemed like forever. She had a perplexed look on her face, and my heart started racing.
Without saying a word, she took out the probe and gave me a towel to clean myself up. Then she turned to me and said, "Are you sure about your dates?"
I was sure. More than sure.
"Well, I see an embryo that's measuring 2 weeks behind and unfortunately, there is no heartbeat."
She gave me an informational packet on miscarriage, It's Not Your Fault, and told us to schedule a follow up appointment.
And there I was left in the exam room-- naked from waist down, staring at the heartbeat-less ultrasound left on the screen-- tears streaming down my face. Within seconds, all my hope and dreams had been crushed.
It sickened me to think that the baby we were so in love with, that we had been singing to, that already had 10 possible names, had been dead inside me for more than 2 weeks. And we had no idea.
My body kept thinking I was pregnant, and maintained the pregnancy for another week. I took a medication called cytotec to induce an abortion. Within hours, my uterus start convulsing-- releasing the nutrient filled lining that had been sustaining our baby.
The pain was so sudden and intense. I was soaking through my pads and just stayed in the bathroom all night. Then finally, I felt an excruciating pain and a need to push, and ended up passing a large softball sized clot. Within that clot, there was an eerily bright white round form that was almost seemed like it was shining- and that was our baby. I slumped over on the toilet, feeling pathetic, face and hair soaked with tears, and wailed loudly as I grieved our loss. He crouched down next to me and just held me for a bit. Then we flushed the toilet together, and that was how we said goodbye to number one.
When we first saw the two lines on the pregnancy test, I looked at him, both bewildered and excited, and said, "What are we going to do?" We hugged and shed tears.
It was already past midnight, but we drove to the local CVS and bought 4 more tests, just to be sure.
I scheduled my first ultrasound appt, and in the meantime, we thought up baby names, and dreamed what he or he would look like. We downloaded a pregnancy app on our phones. Your baby is starting to form ears, the app alerted us. Every night I would fall asleep with him wrapped around me, his hand on my belly. We were utterly and instantly in love... but oh, what a terribly naive love affair we were in.
--
I was 8 weeks when we first went in for the ultrasound.
We held hands as the NP inserted the probe. She was fishing around, moving the probe from left to right. It seemed like forever. She had a perplexed look on her face, and my heart started racing.
Without saying a word, she took out the probe and gave me a towel to clean myself up. Then she turned to me and said, "Are you sure about your dates?"
I was sure. More than sure.
"Well, I see an embryo that's measuring 2 weeks behind and unfortunately, there is no heartbeat."
She gave me an informational packet on miscarriage, It's Not Your Fault, and told us to schedule a follow up appointment.
And there I was left in the exam room-- naked from waist down, staring at the heartbeat-less ultrasound left on the screen-- tears streaming down my face. Within seconds, all my hope and dreams had been crushed.
It sickened me to think that the baby we were so in love with, that we had been singing to, that already had 10 possible names, had been dead inside me for more than 2 weeks. And we had no idea.
My body kept thinking I was pregnant, and maintained the pregnancy for another week. I took a medication called cytotec to induce an abortion. Within hours, my uterus start convulsing-- releasing the nutrient filled lining that had been sustaining our baby.
The pain was so sudden and intense. I was soaking through my pads and just stayed in the bathroom all night. Then finally, I felt an excruciating pain and a need to push, and ended up passing a large softball sized clot. Within that clot, there was an eerily bright white round form that was almost seemed like it was shining- and that was our baby. I slumped over on the toilet, feeling pathetic, face and hair soaked with tears, and wailed loudly as I grieved our loss. He crouched down next to me and just held me for a bit. Then we flushed the toilet together, and that was how we said goodbye to number one.
Us.
Me: registered nurse, working in the postpartum unit of a hospital.
Working in postpartum was never my first choice of nursing because frankly, teeny tiny babies scared the crap out of me. But as I became more experienced, I grew to love the field and couldn't wait to have babies of my own.
Him: program director, hosting after school programs for school-age children.
Kids are drawn to him. Maybe it's his kind demeanor, maybe his silly tendencies, or maybe it's the great goofy faces he makes-- but kids just love him. He's always said that he wants like 10 kids.
Us: best of friends. married since July 2012.
We decided to start trying for kids right away. Timing felt right. And we both loved kids. We were ready.
So... we started "trying".
That word makes me shudder.
Working in postpartum was never my first choice of nursing because frankly, teeny tiny babies scared the crap out of me. But as I became more experienced, I grew to love the field and couldn't wait to have babies of my own.
Him: program director, hosting after school programs for school-age children.
Kids are drawn to him. Maybe it's his kind demeanor, maybe his silly tendencies, or maybe it's the great goofy faces he makes-- but kids just love him. He's always said that he wants like 10 kids.
Us: best of friends. married since July 2012.
We decided to start trying for kids right away. Timing felt right. And we both loved kids. We were ready.
So... we started "trying".
That word makes me shudder.
Not again.
"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."
That was my threat to God, circa August 2013.
Let it happen again, God, and you'll be sorry.
Well. It happened again. 4 more times after I said that, in fact.
5 total freaking times.
But I'm still here. Alive.
That was my threat to God, circa August 2013.
Let it happen again, God, and you'll be sorry.
Well. It happened again. 4 more times after I said that, in fact.
5 total freaking times.
But I'm still here. Alive.
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