If you’ve read Monday’s post, you know that Jen at Life on the Sonny Side awarded me the awesome Inspiring Blogger award. As part of my acceptance, I have to share 7 things about myself. But if you’ve read any of my other posts, you know that I have a habit of taking an incident/fact/statement and stretching that son-of-a-bitch out like taffy. Given that, my “7 things about me” needs to be broken up so that you can get on with your day. My goal…make it so that you can read this by the time you’re finished on the toilet (update: I hope you’re constipated)
Today, I’m telling you only 1 thing about me. That’s right, 1. And I warn you, it’s sad and it won’t make you laugh, so if you came here today to laugh…turn around now (and come back tomorrow). But if you stay it might make you or someone you love feel less alone.
FACT #3
I’ve suffered 2 miscarriages.The first one broke my trust in my body and the second one broke my heart.
My body was like clockwork, my period was every 28 days, I had regular bowel movements, I even got pregnant with Collin on the first try. So when I got pregnant again (on the first try) it was no surprise…in fact, it was assumed. But only 6 weeks into the pregnancy I began to bleed. My logical side knew exactly what was happening- I mean c’mon, I was passing clots. But yet I ran to get an ultrasound because things like this did not happen to me. They just didn’t. But the lab tech said they do, and it did.
I was amazed at how that moment changed my faith in my body and in my assumption that I was safe from experiencing such sadness- I thought that kind of pain was reserved for others. Looking back, I wonder if this was life’s way of preparing me for what would happen next.
About 5 months later, I got pregnant again, on the first try (at least I still had that going for me). Because I had a previous miscarriage, my doctor decided that it would be best to keep a close eye on this pregnancy, so at 6 weeks we went in for an ultrasound to check the heartbeat. Sadly, they couldn’t find it and my doctor declared it a non-viable pregnancy. She gave me the optional to medically terminate the pregnancy or to allow my body to have a natural miscarriage. I opted for the latter.
So I sat and waited…and waited…and nothing. As each day passed, I kept thinking “maybe they’re wrong” “maybe it was too early” “maybe…”. Finally, I went in for another ultrasound and there it was, A HEARTBEAT! I’ll never forget the elation I felt. I hugged the doctor, I cried…but in the back of my mind I still didn’t trust my body. And I was right not to.
Three months later, at 4 am in the morning, I stood from my bed to use the bathroom and my water broke. It was like I had been expecting this moment, wondering on which day my body would betray me again. I specifically remember not waking Brian, I wanted to protect him a little bit longer from the pain…it seemed the kindest thing to do. So I went downstairs, sat on the couch, and cried until the sun came up because, really, nothing could be done about it.
Once Collin was awake, we took him over to Brian’s parent’s house and headed to the hospital. I can not tell you how horrible it is to walk into the maternity ward and tell the lady at the front desk that you’re having a miscarriage, then she offers you a towel because your water won’t stop leaking.
Once I was admitted, I was seen by a doctor. Would you believe she was one of my childhood friends from my old neighborhood?! I hadn’t seen her since I was 13, when her family moved away. I found some comfort in this, though I’m not sure if this made the look of pity in her eyes easier or harder for me to accept.
The ultrasound revealed that his heart was still beating, but my old friend told me that it would soon stop because the umbilical cord was collapsing without the amniotic fluid. Because he was far too young to be saved, we waited for his heart to stop.
During this time I called my family and begged them not to come to the hospital. I love them all so much, and I knew that if I saw their faces, I would lose control and cry for all of us…it would break me. I hate that I probably hurt my mother by denying her the opportunity to come & comfort me but I was in survival mode, I needed to disconnect and watch from afar like an out of body experience. Staying away that day had to be the hardest thing my mother’s ever done, and I love her all the more for understanding what I needed in that moment.
Once I was in a labor & delivery room, I was given Pitocin to stimulate contractions. Unfortunately, my body refused to contract, refused to dilate, refused to let the baby go. My body was cruel and I hated it.
It took many rounds of Pitocin and 12 hours before I would deliver him. But somehow, over the course of those 12 long hours, Brian and I found things that we could joke or laugh about together. I’m sure some of our private jokes were somewhat inappropriate and the nurses probably thought we were a bit crazy to hear any laughter coming from my room. Maybe we were crazy, but we were also in the middle of our darkest storm and we needed to take shelter in any lightheartedness we could find.
I remember the delivery as being painful- but that was my doing. I told the nurse that I didn’t want an epidural- I needed to feel the pain, the pain was cathartic and it took my mind off of the heartache. And when we finally held him, it was a surreal experience. We had no tears, no joy, just a quiet amazement at this perfectly formed tiny little baby. It was an indescribable moment.
Three months later I became pregnant with Ana. I’m not going to lie, I had trouble imagining our lives with this new baby until she was here and I was able to hold her against me. As you know, she was born- she was healthy, strong, and beautiful! And when we left the hospital to bring her home, it was so unexpectedly emotional. I remember looking through my car window, watching the hospital fade away, and crying. It was just a year before that we left that same hospital with empty arms and broken hearts, but now our hearts were full and we were beginning to heal.
You will never hear me say that I wish it never happened. I believe my life is as it should be because,
-I can’t imagine my life without Ana…I don’t want to.
-I learned that I am stronger than I thought possible, making me feel both powerful and resilient.
-I have been able to help others who have had a similar experience (sadly, there are many).
-I am forever touched by the compassion and warmth that strangers can show when you need it most.
-and I was, once again, reminded of the beauty, comfort, and healing power of laughter & love.
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