Going into a miscarriage you are left with very little knowledge, and though you may find opinion eventually, there is a good chance that even that is not abundant at the moment.
I was lucky. Our miscarriage was as lucky as they come. Which is a hard enough thing to admit.
We had our first appointment with our midwife, and opted to not have a ultrasound yet. It is not recommended at this time, not entirely necessary. The nurse took blood from me and we left with a sense of euphoria.
A day later we received a message to call her back. My labs showed my HCG was low. They wanted us to come back for a re draw, we would come as soon as we could. We'd scheduled an appointment for a few days from then.
My husband and I are nurses- it was then that we knew what was happening.
We went to work the next night- a 12 hour night shift in critical care units. At 1:40 am I found blood in my underwear. Not a lot, but enough to just absolutely break me down.
I ran down to my husbands unit, yelling behind me I was taking my lunch, grateful to have observant co-workers.
No words had to be said. The first words from his mouth were, "This is not your fault." That is my best friend- no pause, no thought, just honest comfort. We hugged for thirty minutes. I sobbed uncontrollably. People moved awkwardly around us in the break room- not sure if they should acknowledge my obvious breakdown or not.
Life got a bit fuzzy there. I remember someone prying when I went back to my unit that night... and I remember another nurse telling her to leave me alone and mind her business.
I remember crying on the drive home, and barely swallowing a sandwich.
I remember faking a smile while picking up the dog at the in-laws house.
Three hours of sleep before the midwife fit us in for an appointment.
When we told her about the blood she knew. Her eyes said, "there is no point in drawing this blood."
Then she did the kindest thing she could have. She prepared me, us, for what was to come. She did not make me walk blindly into that darkness.
She said it would hurt, that I should watch how much blood and when to call. She said it could last days, a week... come back if it starts to look infected.
We went home.
My Joel- he went into best friend mode again. Pillows from the room, cushions from the couch, all the blankets in existence- they combined on the floor to make our fort.
I mentioned before that he does this. When your heart is on the ground he makes that ground soft.
Hours past and the blood increased. Cramps became contractions and I went from sad, to panicked, to despondent and then finally, for a small period- I became present.
I hit a wall. I couldn't handle the pain, or the reality of our loss. How was I supposed to mourn when all I could do was feel my physical pain?
I went into the shower, I meditated and I cried. I immersed myself in my pain and I embraced it.
It was 2 am September 20th 2014. That was when my sweet boy passed.
Why am I writing this?
Because it is too often not spoken about. How are we as a society supposed to prepare, supposed to know how to handle this tragedy if no one ever talks about it?
Because it is too often not spoken about. How are we as a society supposed to prepare, supposed to know how to handle this tragedy if no one ever talks about it?
I am lucky. And the truth is life goes on after you lose a big part of yourself and that kind of sucks. But eventually life moves on to a place where joy rebounds and pain dwindles and all that is left its the impression of love that a small life shared with you for a short time.
We are trying again and that is no easy feat when each time we dream of a baby there is a portion of that dream that still says- I had a baby.
I had a baby. And hopefully with any luck and enough glasses of wine I will again soon.
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