I’ve been having this internal debate. Do I write this post? I could write it but not publish it publicly. I’d like to have my thoughts and feelings down on “paper” for the future and I’m no good at keeping a journal. But is it too personal?
In the end I (obviously) decided to publish it. For all to see. I know this is a public blog and I’ve never been one to be embarrassed about things that are completely out of my control. I’ll talk about it. It may be hard. I might become emotional but it feels good to let it out. It’s therapeutic. Much like this blog post. So here goes.
MLK day I had a regular, every four week Dr. appointment with my OB (well, the nurse practitioner really.) To be honest, I was terrified. I had been terrified two weeks prior when I went in for my 12 week ultrasound to size and date the pregnancy. But all was well. I was so…SO happy and extremely relieved.
Why was I so terrified? Because I have been pregnant now five times and have two kids. I miscarried December (‘09), again in June 2010 and here I was due in July, giving myself pep talks just about every.single.day. I was so miserable because I was sick yet so happy that I was so sick because it meant I was…well…PREGNANT.
So, back to my appointment. She pulls out the doppler and begins searching for a heartbeat and can’t find it. My heart plummeted. I knew it. I just knew it.
I was instructed to go to radiology where they would perform an ultrasound immediately. But I already knew. I walked through that hallway in a thick fog. I didn’t want them to do it. I didn’t want to know.
The tech spent ten agonizing, SILENT minutes searching for a heartbeat. I had to remind myself to breathe.
I finally made it back to the nurse where she told me the news. Up until that point I had not cried because I was still holding onto a tiny shred of hope. “There is no heartbeat. Baby stopped growing last week.”
And then the overwhelming feeling of emptiness washed over me. My husband and girls who were waiting at home, anticipating a trip to the beach, had to alter their plans. He came to me and held me. He has been amazing. I have no idea what I would do without him.
I was then scheduled for a D&C for the next morning. I’ll let the curious ones google that procedure on their own.
It has all been very upsetting, to say the least. But I find myself being so GRATEFUL. Grateful for my two healthy, adorable, smart, sassy, beautiful, intelligent little girls who can make me laugh, cry or scream all within a few minutes. Grateful for my husband who has treated me like a queen. Grateful for my wonderful mother and mother in-law who will drop anything to do anything for us. Grateful for my friend who immediately called me when finding out and told me she was bringing dinner the next day. Grateful for health insurance. Grateful for warm, sunny days to make it all seem much less depressing. Grateful that my nurses during my procedure had the same names as my sisters so I could think of them and know they were thinking of me. Grateful for phone calls, for messages, for emails and texts. Grateful for beautiful flowers from some of my wonderful friends-half of whom I have never met in person (long story.) Grateful for prayers and thoughts. Grateful for the Gospel.
So really, even though I know I will be sad, and it might take me awhile to recover emotionally, I know that I am blessed. Beyond blessed. So many people go through so much more with a much more positive outlook and I aspire to be like them.
Thank you for all your thoughts, prayers and words of comfort. It means so, SO much to me.