I’ve been trying hard to resist writing about this, because I’ve been trying not to think about it. Thinking about it hurts, and it’s easier to not think about it and feel angry at everyone and everything than it is to admit that I am hurting.
On Saturday, October 5th, I took a pregnancy test and found out that I was pregnant. I was blown away…I have been on birth control since six weeks postpartum. I have an alarm set on my phone. I took my pill at the exact same time every single day. But I was pregnant, and terrible timing be damned, I was happy. I made an appointment with my OB on Monday and figured out that my due date would have been June 8th…right in between David’s birthday on the 1st and mine on the 10th. I told Bri in whispers that she was going to be a big sister. (I thank GOD that she was too little to know what that meant…)
But on Thursday the 10th, my happiness turned to worry when I started bleeding. It scared me. I spotted during my pregnancy with Bri, but this didn’t seem normal, and when I called the nurse at my OBs office, she wasn’t very reassuring. Oh, sure, she gave me a rote spiel about how people bleed during pregnancy all the time and it could be nothing…and then spent ten minutes explaining in depth what to expect if I was having a miscarriage.
My mind kind of went numb and I listened to her without really hearing what she was saying. She wanted me to go get a blood test so they could check my hormone levels. She said that depending on the results of that test they may need another blood test in 48 hours. They also told me not to have sex. Um, hello?! Furthest thing from my mind.
I called into work. I was panicked and scared and knew I wouldn’t be able to focus. I got the blood test done and tried to stay positive, but I was still bleeding and I was getting very crampy, and in my heart I knew I was losing the baby before I ever really had a chance to wrap my head around the fact that we were having another child.
The test results were give to me by a different nurse the next day. My hormone levels were extremely low. Much lower than they would be at this point if the pregnancy was viable. “The doctor believes you are having an extremely early miscarriage.” Even knowing beforehand, hearing the words come out of her mouth broke my heart.
She repeated everything the other nurse said about what to expect. She asked if I had any questions. She made a follow up appointment with my OB for me and canceled the other appointments I had made in my initial excitement.
I hung up the phone and sobbed. I felt like my body had betrayed me, that I had betrayed this baby by not providing it with a good enough place to grow and thrive. People have told me I am wrong, that 1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage, that there was probably something seriously wrong and Mother Nature knew it. I’ve had people tell me it’s better this way.
Knowing all of that doesn’t take away the hurt. How is it possible to get so attached to something so quickly? I knew I was pregnant for less than a week, but it doesn’t matter. I never felt the baby move, my belly hadn’t grown bigger, I will never see a picture from an ultrasound or hear the baby’s heartbeat. It doesn’t matter. I’m still devastated.
I can’t decide if it’s better or worse that I had none of those things yet. On the one hand, I had less time to get attached, so even though I am sad and devastated and heartbroken, I know it would have been worse later. But on the other hand, I have absolutely nothing. Nothing to put in a frame, nothing to put in my journal. I don’t have anything concrete to look at.
I don’t even know if it would have been a boy or a girl.
But I have an angel baby.
I had to go to work Friday, still bleeding and cramping and miserable and sad. I was angry that I had to go to work and angry that everyone kept asking me why I was there (because my manager asked me if I would come in anyway and then, disregarding my answer of yes, marked me as being absent, so everyone wanted to know what was happening), angry that I had let myself get so happy so soon and angry at the world just for existing.
Anger got me through my shift. And it was so much easier to be angry than to be sad. But now I am still angry and it’s not helping me not be sad. It’s just pointless anger aimed at nothing in particular. I keep lashing out at my husband, which isn’t fair or right. (And is particularly horrible since he could really use my support right now with everything he is going through.)
I guess I need support too though. I want to feel taken care of. I’m really tired. Not just from lack of sleep, but just from this heavy load I’ve been carrying around since…as long as I can remember. I have always felt like I needed to take care of everyone and be there for everyone else. So here I am, carrying everyone’s problems in my heart, and not dealing with my own.
Ugh. This blog is getting long and melodramatic. Know I am not being this way on purpose. I just feel overwhelmed. I’m just writing what comes to mind because if I don’t I feel like my head will explode.
Bottom line: I thought Bri was going to be a big sister and now she isn’t. At least not yet. I’m sad and dealing with that poorly. My plate is very full. Life is hard. I’ll get over it eventually.
Still a Mom to One