December 14th was my one year blogiversary. That day last year had been a pretty crappy day and I was so inspired to write about it that I came straight home and crafted this post. Hence, the beginnings of Schmoopy.
I wish this post was just about writing on this blog for a year. I wish this December 14th could just be known as the day I started my blog. Instead it turned out to be one of the worst days of my life.
I had an ultrasound scheduled the morning of December 14th. Jimmy was coming to this appointment so he could hear the baby's heartbeat and see it's precious little self move around the screen. The first two ultrasound's I had were so amazing (heart beating, arms and legs dancing about) and I wanted to share this joy with him.
We arrived at the doctor's office where they had already been treating me like family -- my doctor and his staff are kind, comforting and helpful individuals. I owe them a tremendous amount of gratitude.
As we waited in the ultrasound room I was pretty giddy with anticipation. I was 13-weeks along now and knew the baby would have grown so much since my 9-week ultrasound and there would be even more detail to see.
The machine was turned on, Jimmy shut the lights and as our baby came up on the screen I excitedly greeted him/her with, "Hi Baby!"
I knew pretty quickly something was wrong, however. The baby had grown quite a bit since my last visit. I could clearly make out his head, facial features and body but I couldn't see the very prominent flickering that was the first thing to usually come up on ultrasound -- the heartbeat. There was also no movement -- his still little body just lie there, still, limp, no movement at all.
Everything from that point on seemed to be in slow motion. The doctor's words, my tears, Jimmy's tears, Jimmy hugging me tightly from behind. The doctor spoke with us for a moment and then left the room to give us some time. We just sat there, in disbelief, and cried openly and loudly, our combined grief filling the room. This just couldn't be real. How did this happen?
Melissa, his nurse came in and held us both, told us to take all the time we needed and they would see us in the doctor's office when we were ready. How could I ever be ready for this? I felt everything had just been taken away from me. Our hopes, our plans, our dreams, my sanity.
Once in the doctor's office he tried to make sense of it all, spoke to us in caring words, encouraged us to ask many questions. I couldn't speak without breaking down -- I just couldn't stop thinking this had to be a bad dream and Jimmy and I would soon wake up, see the baby's heartbeat and go about our day.
There was still more to be done. I had to visit another doctor to confirm the results of the first ultrasound and then had to discuss next steps. I really don't know what I would have done had Jimmy not been there with me that day. I know we are both going through grief but he literally held me up so I could walk -- none of this made sense to me and I had seemed to lose all sense of function.
At the second ultrasound, I cried and shook the entire time. It seemed cruel and unbearable to have to go through this twice, but I understood why. I think anyone in this situation grasps on to that hope that it was all a mistake and perhaps there would be a heartbeat this time.
My D&C was scheduled yesterday -- the final steps to terminate this pregnancy. I couldn't let nature take it's course on this one, as I did the last one, as I was already too far along. That morning I woke up early and cried for what seemed like hours. After today I would no longer be pregnant, no longer be carrying my child. The loss is profound.
Jimmy was with me the whole day, held me while I cried, stayed with me before and after surgery, made phone calls to family, fed me and took care of me when we finally arrived home, and even made me laugh a few times.
I don't know how long I will need to grieve for this loss. My first miscarriage seemed very different and I believe that was because it happened very early on at 8 weeks. I hadn't seen a heartbeat, or any signs of progress. I hadn't seen our child develop that first pregnancy.
This miscarriage feels like a death in the family. This pregnancy had been very real to us. We knew in our hearts we would be having a child in June. We had already painted a picture of our new life as three. We had discussed in depth and visualized the kind of parents we might be, how we would help them grow and spread their wings, the places we wanted to show our child, the things we wanted to pass on to them.
The other really special part of this pregnancy was that I was lucky enough to also be sharing it with two friends. One who lives in Austin who had been going through some of the same conception frustrations we had -- we were one week apart in our pregnancies. Another who is one of my closest friends in the world. We always talked about how great it would be to experience pregnancy together and we made it happen. For a little while anyway.
I will still be there for both of them as they go through this wonderful experience and I will love both their little babies with all I have. At times it will be hard. I feel broken in every possible way. My heart is broken for the possibilities of what could have been and my body feels broken wondering what could have gone wrong.
I believed that this pregnancy was very different then my last pregnancy and that I would carry this child to term.
I believed that although I did have a previous miscarriage that I was meant to go on and deliver a healthy baby.
I believed that having every pregnancy symptom in the book meant that the baby was developing and progressing.
I believed that waiting the obligatory 12 weeks to tell people meant we were "safe" somehow.
I believed that I did everything right for my body, and this baby, that I possibly could have done.
I want to believe that Jimmy and I can still have a biological child conceived and delivered naturally.
However, my belief system has changed drastically in the past couple of days. I now believe there is nothing that can ever guarantee a given outcome. All signs may point to yes, but there can never be a promise attached to that. Everything is fleeting and can be taken away in the beat of a heart. If you have something (a loving partner, good friends, your health, a child, a warm place to sleep at night, food in your belly) consider yourself truly blessed and damn lucky. Embrace it for each day you have it and never take it for granted. None of us know what might change tomorrow.
I hate that this has happened. In my heart it just feels so unfair. I am sad. I am angry. I am depressed. I hurt. I want to be okay but right now I'm just not.
I do want some answers. As my sadness wanes I want to know why this is happening to our babies. My doctor ran a battery of tests on me for the past two days and my hope is that he can tell me something, anything, as to why this is happening. There just seems to be no logical explanation for this loss, everything seemed normal and fine.
I understand that when this happens it usually is because there was something wrong chromosome-wise and that's it's better that the body takes care of it now rather than let it develop to term. But please don't ever tell someone who has just lost their child through miscarriage these words thinking it is somehow comforting to them. It's not. What I am experiencing is a death.
This is all very hard to write about but I think helps somewhat too. I want nothing more to just lie on my couch for the next few days with my husband and just grieve our loss. I believe it's healthy to do this.
We are taking one day at a time right now. Today, I am recovering from surgery and just plan to lie low. I can't tell you what happens after that.
Thank you for those of you who have called and/or left messages and emails. We appreciate your love and kindness. We know some of you are heartbroken too and are crying with us. If I don't call you back right away it's because I literally can't talk, or write, about it right now without breaking down so I need the healing powers of time. But we DO appreciate all the kindness you have shown. We feel your love. We are blessed to have some of the greatest friends in the world.
There will be more posts as I continue my grieving, and healing. Writing it out does help.