Monday, February 28, 2011


Wow. That last post was a difficult one to write. I haven't really written about my first pregnancy ever, and I haven't spoken about it in detail for almost a year. Writing about it brought a lot of emotion back. Remembering how I told my husband about the pregnancy made my heart ache, because seeing that excitement in his eyes and then watching it fade away was really sad. I asked him the other night why he wasn't so brokenhearted about loosing that baby and his response surprised me. He said, "I was angry with that baby. That baby tried to hurt and could of killed you. I was so grateful you were ok."
Apparently the doctor was more honest with him than me about the seriousness of the situation. I leared that he was told before I went into surgery that I could loose a fallopian tube, an ovary, or both, and it really scared him.
Its weird what I do remember in detail to this day. I remember the uniform I was wearing the day I lost the baby. It was a bright cheery green scrub set. I don't wear it to this day because it brings me back to that horrible lunch hour when everything began to fall apart. I should get rid of it, but instead it hangs in my closet, a reminder of what once was.
I remember the song that played in the car when my friend and I left the doctors office after that dreadful ultrasound. After I learned it was over. It was "Do I" by Luke Bryan. That song makes me shiver to this day.
The first two weeks after surgery were filled with constant blood draws waiting for the pregnancy hormone (HCG) to fall out of my system, confirming that the pregnancy was over. Finally on January 2nd my level was 2, which is considered not pregnant. And, on January 4th I had my final appointment with my doctor.  I remember looking at crazy pictures of my reproductive organs and my doctor saying to me, “this was a fluke, I expect great things from you.” I cried in his office. I cried about the baby I lost, and about the nagging fear that either this would happen to me again, or I would never conceive again. I wanted to start trying right away. Looking back, I know it was because deep down I knew the grieving I was about to feel, and I thought filling the emptiness with a new baby would make it dissipate. That didn’t happen.
            My doctor told me that I had to wait three cycles to start trying again. Because of hormone changes and recovering from surgery my body needed time to heal. I was so upset about this, what the heck was going to do for three whole months? I get it now, he wanted me to grieve. My husband later told me that the doctor had told him that I also needed the time to heal emotionally. Because, if for some reason I had another loss, I needed to be able to deal with that. So we waited.
            There were days I didn’t get out of bed. There were days I didn’t care whether I ever talked with anyone I loved ever again. I’m not proud to say that, but it’s the truth. The few people that did reach out to me could not say anything right. I was angry at people for trying to console me, but not saying what I thought they should of. I don’t really even know what I wanted from them. I wanted people to sit with me and let me cry and just stay quiet. I did not want to hear any of the following statements:
  1. “it’ll be ok, you’ll have a baby when it’s the right time.”
  2. “everything happens for a reason.”
  3. “obviously something was wrong, so the baby wasn’t healthy.”
But, I heard these things over and over again. Why? Because my friends and family are human and they didn’t know what else to say. They didn’t know, just like I didn’t know, how to let this go. I wanted time to stop for my grief, and anyone who has gone through grieving can relate to this, I know they can.
      Loosing my baby was one of the hardest things I have gone through to date. Even though that little one was the size of a pea, or smaller for that matter, it was mine. From the minute that digital test read “pregnant.” I became a mother. My job was crystal clear. Protect and nourish my baby so that in 40 weeks I could hold him or her in my arms.
Grief and loss is always a touchy subject. Always.  I could go on, but one of my favorite blogs "The Pregnant Chicken" recently did a post on Loss and I couldn't say it as well, and with as much humor and pure honesty as she did. Please read:

1 comment:

  1. I'm so sorry for everything you went through. I know there isn't anything that can be said to make it better. I'm glad you're able to get it all out though. For some reason talking (or in this case typing) about things can be so therapeutic.