People have been asking me lately how I am doing.
Honestly? I can't describe it.
I am engulfed in school work (getting ready for our Christmas program and starting to think about graduation, now that I won't be giving birth around that time) and yet, it's the farthest from my mind.
I am thrilled that I am going to decorate for Christmas, and yet, I have no energy to do so.
I am feeling normal, life has moved on and so have many others. But my heart is heavy, my mind is heavy and restless for answers.
I am depressed and guilt sinks in when I laugh. It's too early and I'm still in too much pain.
My heart breaks as I read the books I borrowed from Jen (which, I promise to return by Christmas. I can only read about 2 pages before I start crying). My heart breaks and breaks. My eyes well up with tears as I look at the ornaments we are going to order. At the necklace I want to wear around my neck until the day that I die. I need those things to feel closure. To feel something that belongs to these precious little ones.
I need to go work on stuff for conferences and all I want to do is sleep. But life doesn't wait for sleep and neither do parents. I need motivation. Serious motivation.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Musings
I just wanted to write that I am glad that I had my D&C on the Labor and Delivery floor in the Mother/Baby wing at the hospital on the day that I did.
Well, sort of glad.
I had my first D&C on June 26th, 2007 in our hospital's outpatient surgery center (where my husband also has had tumors removed and where I had a hernia fixed just months before the D&C). They have spectacular nurses and staff that were very helpful when I had my D&C. Don't get me wrong - if I have to have outpatient surgery, I will do everything in my power to have it there.
But having a nurse and OB techs that deal with this type of thing, day in and day out...it makes a difference. I know that I am not the only one, nor will I be the last, who has had to endure the pain of walking those halls of the Mother/Baby wing while knowing that their baby is dead inside their womb, a baby that will never take it's first breath, first step, laugh it's first laugh, or love it's first love. I know that pain and I don't wish it upon ANYONE.
But I also know when a nurse knows how to handle that situation from the moment she walks in your room. I know the love and sympathy (and empathy, from a few nurses who shared their own miscarriage pain) and the pain THEY felt from our story that I could see in their eyes as they asked questions, answered our questions, put in an IV, check my vitals and later, help me in to bed and check my blood flow. I know their care and concern as they ask us if there is anything they can do or help us with. I know the care they give when they hand me papers on a support group for bereaved parents, a father's grief and a mother's time to let go. I know the concern they show as they quietly tell me why I have a card with a white rose and teardrops on my door.
They knock quietly, speak in normal terms and are honest.
They know how to handle an irrational ,emotional, distraught woman and her equally distraught husband. And hell, they even handled my parents!
I'm not saying I didn't get great attention at the Outpatient Surgery Center; however, the attention and service I got last Saturday was different. It was tailored exactly to what we needed. What I needed.
Thank you, Vicki, Christin and Jeri-Lynn for loving us, caring for us and supporting us on one of the toughest days of our lives. You are an amazing team...and I've already said that if we have to go through this again (Dear Lord, Help us) or we are blessed with a baby, I want them there with me. They are amazing women.
Thank You.
Well, sort of glad.
I had my first D&C on June 26th, 2007 in our hospital's outpatient surgery center (where my husband also has had tumors removed and where I had a hernia fixed just months before the D&C). They have spectacular nurses and staff that were very helpful when I had my D&C. Don't get me wrong - if I have to have outpatient surgery, I will do everything in my power to have it there.
But having a nurse and OB techs that deal with this type of thing, day in and day out...it makes a difference. I know that I am not the only one, nor will I be the last, who has had to endure the pain of walking those halls of the Mother/Baby wing while knowing that their baby is dead inside their womb, a baby that will never take it's first breath, first step, laugh it's first laugh, or love it's first love. I know that pain and I don't wish it upon ANYONE.
But I also know when a nurse knows how to handle that situation from the moment she walks in your room. I know the love and sympathy (and empathy, from a few nurses who shared their own miscarriage pain) and the pain THEY felt from our story that I could see in their eyes as they asked questions, answered our questions, put in an IV, check my vitals and later, help me in to bed and check my blood flow. I know their care and concern as they ask us if there is anything they can do or help us with. I know the care they give when they hand me papers on a support group for bereaved parents, a father's grief and a mother's time to let go. I know the concern they show as they quietly tell me why I have a card with a white rose and teardrops on my door.
They knock quietly, speak in normal terms and are honest.
They know how to handle an irrational ,emotional, distraught woman and her equally distraught husband. And hell, they even handled my parents!
I'm not saying I didn't get great attention at the Outpatient Surgery Center; however, the attention and service I got last Saturday was different. It was tailored exactly to what we needed. What I needed.
Thank you, Vicki, Christin and Jeri-Lynn for loving us, caring for us and supporting us on one of the toughest days of our lives. You are an amazing team...and I've already said that if we have to go through this again (Dear Lord, Help us) or we are blessed with a baby, I want them there with me. They are amazing women.
Thank You.
Friday, November 14, 2008
The journey - Days 3 and beyond
I realized last night that I can have coffee. Cold medicines, pain medications, anti-depressants. Things that I don't WANT to be allowed to have. But that's the way life is right now.
On Saturday, November 8, 2008, I am up by 4 am on the day of my surgery because I can't sleep and my head is so clogged that I am literally gagging every time I swallow. Caleb wakes up as I get out of bed and asks where I'm going. While he is a rather deep sleeper, I make one move to get out of bed and he's up :) I head downstairs, where the cats start meowing for breakfast. I go to let the dog out, only to remember that my parents had picked her up the night before. I miss her and the normalcy that comes with it. I want to eat and drink SO incredibly badly but I know I cannot. My fear of vomiting overtakes all other fears in my life...it is THAT bad. I play on the Internet until it's time for Caleb to get up. We get our showers and I get dressed in comfy clothes. I pack extra underwear and my own pads, as I learned the hard way the first time around that hospital pads are bad news. Bad bad news. We head up the hospital, where we meet my parents at just about 8 am. It is raining, cold and very depressing out. I feel the same way inside. I get registered and they tell me that they're sending me to the 4th floor.
I ask why and she tells me that the day surgery center is closed. I say nothing but grip Caleb's hand tighter. We head up the the labor and delivery floor. The floor where mothers are birthing babies, where babies are being born. Where healthy, LIVE babies are being swaddled and kissed on. We get on the floor and head towards the Mother/Baby wing, where the mothers and new babies are at after birth, where the families can visit. Of course, as we walk by the nurses station, they have about 6 babies out, being wrapped up and ready to taken to Mom. I nearly lose it there but we are quickly taken to the end of the hall, in the corner.
I don't mind, for once, to be put in the corner. As I am being escorted to my room, the nurse asks why we are so early. I look surprised and she tells me that my surgery is scheduled for 11am, not 10:15am. I told her that we were never told of a time change and that I came when I was told to. She was quick to bite back: Well, we're not going to do anything to do you for another hour. So you might as well just sit and pass the time.
Oh thanks.
I am wheeled back to the freezing cold surgery room. Someone says to call Dr. S and that it is 13:30...1:30. Nearly 3 and a half hours after surgery was originally scheduled. Dr. K is here, along with the nice man (he said Dr.....but I can't remember), nurse Donna and another nice nurse, Anna. Anna and Donna help move me to the surgery table. It is extremely cold. My head feels heavy and I am in and out. They help me sit up, put a pillow in my arms and tell me to lean over. Dr. K does the spinal and the other Dr. and Anna stand at my head. They keep telling me to relax and not tense my right arm. I keep thinking that I'm not, but I guess I was? As soon as Dr. K tells me that I am going to feel pressure, my hips feel like they are going to blow up. Actually, blow out of my body. And then my legs are immediately tingly, like when they are falling asleep. Only the feeling is from my toes up to my hips. I am laid back down on the table, where my arms and belly are strapped down. My feet are placed into some boots that look like skiing boots. Those are then strapped into over sized stirrups that are found in every OB/GYN office. Dr. K's assistant tells me to relax and an oxygen mask is placed over my nose and mouth. I fall asleep, tears streaming down my face. I wake up once during surgery, but only enough to hear. I hear the suction, the suctioning of my baby and my body being ripped apart. I am aware of what's going on and quickly go back to sleep.
I wake up again at 2:05, only 35 minutes after being taken back to surgery. I am immediately asked what hurts/has no feeling. I can feel my uterus contracting regularly (thanks to the Pitocin I will be enduring for the next 4 hours) but can feel nothing past hips. And my right arm also has no feeling. Someone says that I had to be given more medication to sedate me because I kept coming in and out during surgery. Hence, the noise.
I am moved to recovery holding area, where my nurse happens to be my hairdresser's mother in law. Her name is Skip and she's great. Dr. S comes over and apologizes but I don't really understand what he's saying. Caleb tells me later that when Dr. S had called to tell Caleb that I was out and everything went well, that I was the 5th of 6th surgeries that day that were being performed by 3 of the OB/GYN's. That is why we were so late without any knowledge. Excuse? No. Explanation? Definitely.
My left leg is getting feeling back, but nothing else.
At 3:00, I am wheeled back to my room. I don't have my glasses on, but I can see Caleb holding my bright maroon purse. The transport person giggles when I tell her that that is DEFINITELY my purse, but can't identify who's holding it :) Caleb grabs my hand and lets me put my glasses on. I am then wheeled back to my room. Vicki, my afternoon OB tech Jeri-Lynn, the transport person and another OB tech have to roll me onto my bed, as I still have no feeling in my legs. Well, my left leg is sort of there, but not my right or my hips. I get settled into bed and Jeri-Lynn checks my vital, while Vicki checks my blood flow on the hospital pad in the MESH UNDERWEAR. Holy cow, I do NOT remember those! I don't look because it scares me a bit. Vicki tells me I'm okay but that I can't leave until I eat, pee and am able to feel my entire lower part of my body. Caleb and I just sit and talk for a bit. Jeri-Lynn and Vicki come in and check on me a few more times. Dinner comes, and I have to get permission to make sure I can eat. It's fried chicken strips, jello pudding, cold fries, ice cream, milk, water and I don't think there was a vegetable but I'm not sure. I eat a bit but not a lot - Caleb starts to eat until we realize that they're determine if I can go home on how much I eat and that he probably shouldn't eat anymore and fake them into thinking I am hungry if I'm really not. But Vicki said it was fine that I only ate a bit. We watch television until Jeri-Lynn and another OB tech (I didn't get her name) come in to check my blood flow and to help me get to the bathroom. At this point, I can feel everything but my pelvic area. Not so good when you've got to pee and you can't feel yourself peeing! So they help me go to the bathroom and ultimately, have to help me sit because I can't feel my butt. They turn the water on like we do to the kids who are potty training at the daycare because I can't feel the urge to go to the bathroom. I pee and pee and when I wipe, all there is is bright red blood and clots.
I resist the urge to start crying uncontrollably.
As I get up to walk out, the cranky OB tech bitch quickly points out that I need to wash my hands. No shit Sherlock - I still had to manage to get up with a numb ass, an IV line full of Pitocin and a shaking body, thankyouverymuch. Jeri-Lynn is quick to help me turn the water on and help me wash my hands, and get back into bed. I asked about the aforementioned fruit basket and the grumpy bitch OB tech lady tells me that there aren't anymore and I shouldn't worry about. Yet, I do. There are notes on other doors - can't leave without fruit basket. And mine? None. Isn't it bad enough that I had to endure the crying of babies all day while I carry my dead, unborn child in my body and yet you can't get me a damned fruit basket. I'm still miffed about that.
After the bathroom trip, I just sit and wait for my body to become un-numb. Eventually, about 5:45, Vicki comes in and says that I'm okay to get ready to go home. I get dressed, with the help of my husband and am ready to leave. As we are sitting there, a knock on the door and I get a SECOND dinner delivered. Evidently, I was supposed to be really hungry. That dinner even had CHEESECAKE on it! But I just wanted to go home and wasn't up for more hospital food, so we sent the nice lady away.
Vicki came back, had me sign some paperwork, gave me discharge instructions and helped me out of bed. She then genuinely asked if I needed ANYTHING, I could call the L&D floor and ask for her or Jeri-Lynn or Christin (my first OB tech). She asks if they have found anything as to why we are losing babies and we tell her no. She tells us that she'll be thinking of us as we continue on this journey. She hugged us and we walked out.
We got home and our dear friends, Amy and Sid brought some dinner over for us. I fell asleep on the couch where I stayed much of Sunday and Monday.
As I wrote before, I feel physically fine. My back was sore from the spinal tap on Sunday and Monday, but very little bleeding and cramping. I am tired easily, but as my mom put it, I DID just have some major surgery.
Emotionally, I'm a mess. It seems to hit the hardest at bedtime/times when I'm just laying down and it's quiet. I cried when I ordered a Coke the other day. I cry when people offer dinner (we've had some yummy chicken and dumplings, chicken and noodles and chicken pot pie that friends and family have brought for us and we got stuffed shells tonight!). I feel weird accepting meals when I'm fine to do it myself, but then again, I am not fine. I just lost my third child. My precious baby that died inside of me and that I couldn't save.
I couldn't save them. And that makes me feel so incredibly powerless. And depressed.
On Saturday, November 8, 2008, I am up by 4 am on the day of my surgery because I can't sleep and my head is so clogged that I am literally gagging every time I swallow. Caleb wakes up as I get out of bed and asks where I'm going. While he is a rather deep sleeper, I make one move to get out of bed and he's up :) I head downstairs, where the cats start meowing for breakfast. I go to let the dog out, only to remember that my parents had picked her up the night before. I miss her and the normalcy that comes with it. I want to eat and drink SO incredibly badly but I know I cannot. My fear of vomiting overtakes all other fears in my life...it is THAT bad. I play on the Internet until it's time for Caleb to get up. We get our showers and I get dressed in comfy clothes. I pack extra underwear and my own pads, as I learned the hard way the first time around that hospital pads are bad news. Bad bad news. We head up the hospital, where we meet my parents at just about 8 am. It is raining, cold and very depressing out. I feel the same way inside. I get registered and they tell me that they're sending me to the 4th floor.
Labor and Delivery floor.
I ask why and she tells me that the day surgery center is closed. I say nothing but grip Caleb's hand tighter. We head up the the labor and delivery floor. The floor where mothers are birthing babies, where babies are being born. Where healthy, LIVE babies are being swaddled and kissed on. We get on the floor and head towards the Mother/Baby wing, where the mothers and new babies are at after birth, where the families can visit. Of course, as we walk by the nurses station, they have about 6 babies out, being wrapped up and ready to taken to Mom. I nearly lose it there but we are quickly taken to the end of the hall, in the corner.
I don't mind, for once, to be put in the corner. As I am being escorted to my room, the nurse asks why we are so early. I look surprised and she tells me that my surgery is scheduled for 11am, not 10:15am. I told her that we were never told of a time change and that I came when I was told to. She was quick to bite back: Well, we're not going to do anything to do you for another hour. So you might as well just sit and pass the time.
Oh thanks.
- By 9am, my nurse Vicki and OB tech Christin are there to do my vitals, height, weight and numerous pre-surgery questions. They tell me that they are there to help me and support me in whatever ways I or my family may need. Vicki is very delicate in asking her questions and is very sympthetic when she asks what surgery and why. She tells me to try to relax and that they'll be back later.
- By 10am,they are back, with IV lines ready and waiting. Poor Christin tries twice to get a vein, only to have one roll and the other one never pan out. So a IV therapist is called in and she gets it in one shot. Saline solution is quickly put in my body and I am then peeing every 20 minutes on the nose. Vicki and Christin come back to check my IV line and to bring papers to sign for the surgery, as well as pamphlets, brochures and reading material on a Support Group that meets as well as information on miscarriages for Fathers and Mothers. Something we didn't get from the first D&C (maybe because it was in the Day Surgery Building across the street?) or the second miscarriage because...well, I don't know why. But they bring it and my mom reads it. They put a card on my door that has a picture of a single white rose with a few tear drops. Vicki explains that this for anyone who enters the room to know that there is no baby, no normal labor and delivery. This is to help curb any confusion, upsetting comments or unwanted comments. I wanted to keep it but it was gone from the door when we left. We asked Vicki to talk to Dr. S about doing tests on the baby, placenta, etc. She talks to him and he says that the baby had already begun to deteriorate and that there's only 2 places in MI that does that type of testing on a baby and it's extremely expensive. We really just wanted tests on the placenta, sac and the like to see if that was all okay. But there was mis-communication and it was too late.
- By 11am, no noise of surgery. Christin comes in and tells me that they'll get me as soon as they're ready. She also tells me that she will make sure to get a gift basket (full of fruit!) for me before we leave. My dad leaves sometime in here to run an errand and Caleb goes to get my antibiotic, Vicodin and Motrin 800 from the pharmacy before they close. It's just me and my mom and we don't say much. And I'm okay with that.
- By now, it's 12 noon. 2 hours after I was told initially that my surgery would start. Vicki comes in and asks how we are. I'm in tears from frustration and asks when we'll go down to surgery. She says as soon as they know anything, they'll let me know. I'm irritated, antsy and incredibly uncomfortable from the babies crying (which we've had the TV on the entire time to drown out the noise) and the nasty head cold. Caleb sits by me on the bed and my mom and dad just read the paper. It is quiet and I hate it. But I don't want to hear the babies. I want noise but I don't. I don't like the mundane talking that is really going nowhere.
- 12:30rolls around and the surgery transport lady is there. Everyone keeps asking me if I'm Dr. S's patient. And I keep telling them yes. Maybe I should write it on my forehead or something. We all troop down to the large patient-transport elevator and go down to the surgery holding area. My parents are allowed, but I just needed time with Caleb alone. My parents will stay with Caleb during my surgery and wait until I get out of recovery. They'll leave after that because I know I just can't handle them after surgery. My mom kisses me goodbye and my dad does too.
I am wheeled back to the freezing cold surgery room. Someone says to call Dr. S and that it is 13:30...1:30. Nearly 3 and a half hours after surgery was originally scheduled. Dr. K is here, along with the nice man (he said Dr.....but I can't remember), nurse Donna and another nice nurse, Anna. Anna and Donna help move me to the surgery table. It is extremely cold. My head feels heavy and I am in and out. They help me sit up, put a pillow in my arms and tell me to lean over. Dr. K does the spinal and the other Dr. and Anna stand at my head. They keep telling me to relax and not tense my right arm. I keep thinking that I'm not, but I guess I was? As soon as Dr. K tells me that I am going to feel pressure, my hips feel like they are going to blow up. Actually, blow out of my body. And then my legs are immediately tingly, like when they are falling asleep. Only the feeling is from my toes up to my hips. I am laid back down on the table, where my arms and belly are strapped down. My feet are placed into some boots that look like skiing boots. Those are then strapped into over sized stirrups that are found in every OB/GYN office. Dr. K's assistant tells me to relax and an oxygen mask is placed over my nose and mouth. I fall asleep, tears streaming down my face. I wake up once during surgery, but only enough to hear. I hear the suction, the suctioning of my baby and my body being ripped apart. I am aware of what's going on and quickly go back to sleep.
I wake up again at 2:05, only 35 minutes after being taken back to surgery. I am immediately asked what hurts/has no feeling. I can feel my uterus contracting regularly (thanks to the Pitocin I will be enduring for the next 4 hours) but can feel nothing past hips. And my right arm also has no feeling. Someone says that I had to be given more medication to sedate me because I kept coming in and out during surgery. Hence, the noise.
I am moved to recovery holding area, where my nurse happens to be my hairdresser's mother in law. Her name is Skip and she's great. Dr. S comes over and apologizes but I don't really understand what he's saying. Caleb tells me later that when Dr. S had called to tell Caleb that I was out and everything went well, that I was the 5th of 6th surgeries that day that were being performed by 3 of the OB/GYN's. That is why we were so late without any knowledge. Excuse? No. Explanation? Definitely.
My left leg is getting feeling back, but nothing else.
At 3:00, I am wheeled back to my room. I don't have my glasses on, but I can see Caleb holding my bright maroon purse. The transport person giggles when I tell her that that is DEFINITELY my purse, but can't identify who's holding it :) Caleb grabs my hand and lets me put my glasses on. I am then wheeled back to my room. Vicki, my afternoon OB tech Jeri-Lynn, the transport person and another OB tech have to roll me onto my bed, as I still have no feeling in my legs. Well, my left leg is sort of there, but not my right or my hips. I get settled into bed and Jeri-Lynn checks my vital, while Vicki checks my blood flow on the hospital pad in the MESH UNDERWEAR. Holy cow, I do NOT remember those! I don't look because it scares me a bit. Vicki tells me I'm okay but that I can't leave until I eat, pee and am able to feel my entire lower part of my body. Caleb and I just sit and talk for a bit. Jeri-Lynn and Vicki come in and check on me a few more times. Dinner comes, and I have to get permission to make sure I can eat. It's fried chicken strips, jello pudding, cold fries, ice cream, milk, water and I don't think there was a vegetable but I'm not sure. I eat a bit but not a lot - Caleb starts to eat until we realize that they're determine if I can go home on how much I eat and that he probably shouldn't eat anymore and fake them into thinking I am hungry if I'm really not. But Vicki said it was fine that I only ate a bit. We watch television until Jeri-Lynn and another OB tech (I didn't get her name) come in to check my blood flow and to help me get to the bathroom. At this point, I can feel everything but my pelvic area. Not so good when you've got to pee and you can't feel yourself peeing! So they help me go to the bathroom and ultimately, have to help me sit because I can't feel my butt. They turn the water on like we do to the kids who are potty training at the daycare because I can't feel the urge to go to the bathroom. I pee and pee and when I wipe, all there is is bright red blood and clots.
I resist the urge to start crying uncontrollably.
As I get up to walk out, the cranky OB tech bitch quickly points out that I need to wash my hands. No shit Sherlock - I still had to manage to get up with a numb ass, an IV line full of Pitocin and a shaking body, thankyouverymuch. Jeri-Lynn is quick to help me turn the water on and help me wash my hands, and get back into bed. I asked about the aforementioned fruit basket and the grumpy bitch OB tech lady tells me that there aren't anymore and I shouldn't worry about. Yet, I do. There are notes on other doors - can't leave without fruit basket. And mine? None. Isn't it bad enough that I had to endure the crying of babies all day while I carry my dead, unborn child in my body and yet you can't get me a damned fruit basket. I'm still miffed about that.
After the bathroom trip, I just sit and wait for my body to become un-numb. Eventually, about 5:45, Vicki comes in and says that I'm okay to get ready to go home. I get dressed, with the help of my husband and am ready to leave. As we are sitting there, a knock on the door and I get a SECOND dinner delivered. Evidently, I was supposed to be really hungry. That dinner even had CHEESECAKE on it! But I just wanted to go home and wasn't up for more hospital food, so we sent the nice lady away.
Vicki came back, had me sign some paperwork, gave me discharge instructions and helped me out of bed. She then genuinely asked if I needed ANYTHING, I could call the L&D floor and ask for her or Jeri-Lynn or Christin (my first OB tech). She asks if they have found anything as to why we are losing babies and we tell her no. She tells us that she'll be thinking of us as we continue on this journey. She hugged us and we walked out.
We got home and our dear friends, Amy and Sid brought some dinner over for us. I fell asleep on the couch where I stayed much of Sunday and Monday.
As I wrote before, I feel physically fine. My back was sore from the spinal tap on Sunday and Monday, but very little bleeding and cramping. I am tired easily, but as my mom put it, I DID just have some major surgery.
Emotionally, I'm a mess. It seems to hit the hardest at bedtime/times when I'm just laying down and it's quiet. I cried when I ordered a Coke the other day. I cry when people offer dinner (we've had some yummy chicken and dumplings, chicken and noodles and chicken pot pie that friends and family have brought for us and we got stuffed shells tonight!). I feel weird accepting meals when I'm fine to do it myself, but then again, I am not fine. I just lost my third child. My precious baby that died inside of me and that I couldn't save.
I couldn't save them. And that makes me feel so incredibly powerless. And depressed.
The journey - Days 1 & 2
I want to document what has happened over the last few days so that my pain-killer induced brain can remember. I'm sorry that this goes in and out of tense and that it seems cold. My body has taken to shut-down for now.
On Thursday, November 6 2008, I waited nearly 2 hours after my schedule appointment time before I was able to see my OB. He was on call and had to deliver babies. I was battling with a nasty nasty head cold that was settling into my chest and wrecking havoc on my head, nose and throat. Dr. S looks at my ears, nose and throat, schedules a throat culture to rule out strep and gets out his trusty Doppler machine to find the baby's heartbeat. He tries and can't find it. Goes and gets another one, one that is older but can pick up more and still can't find it. My heart is RACING and I'm literally shaking with panic and fear. He tells me to try to remain calm, that my uterus is tilted towards my back and that everything is okay. He orders an emergency ultrasound for the next morning. Until then, we wait. I am 13 weeks pregnant now. I need to hear a heartbeat.
I headed downstairs and use the indoor walk-through to the main hospital to the lab. They do a throat culture and ask me to wait for the results. She tells me it should only take 10 - 15 minutes. So I wait, and I try to call Caleb because I am running SUPER late and I know he's panicking, too. No answer. After having waited nearly 30 minutes, the receptionist calls me up and tells me that the doctor never wrote an order for a strep test. Just a throat culture...which could take up to 4 days to get the results back from. I go home, nearly 4 hours after my appointment was originally supposed to start. I go home to find my husband trying to rake up our leaves in the pitch black of the evening because I had begged him to before our leave pick up day. I sob in his sweatshirt and he tells me that he loves me and that there is no need to panic yet.
On Friday, November 7, 2008, is one year to the day that my grandmother dies. She is heavy on my heart lately. I go to work and act as if nothing is wrong. I am emotionally and physically a mess, but hide it from my students. They ask me if I have swallowed a frog and they giggle when I squeak as I read "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" to them. I leave at gym time, while another wonderful teacher takes my students. She, besides my boss, is the only one that knows that we are having possible issues.
I go to the hospital and wait my turn. Caleb arrives and we hold hands, waiting and praying. We are called back very soon after arriving and get the ultrasound done. The room is silent and very dark. I can see, out of the corner of my eye, the ultrasound screen. I see our baby, not moving and no heartbeat flickering. I see the technician measuring the baby and I see 8 weeks 6 days on the screen. My heart now jumps into my throat. My body is at 13 weeks gestation. The baby is not. This only means that the baby has died. My third baby has DIED. I then see the bright red of the placenta pulsing on the screen as the thermal imaging is turned on. The baby has no color, other than the ashen grey color that is normal for an ultrasound picture of things with no heat. I know now what I was dreading. The tech asks me to use the bathroom while she goes and calls the doctor.
Caleb and I both know what has happened. They don't call the doctor for a healthy baby. She comes back and asks us to quickly go back to the doctor's office (in an adjoining building). We head up there, in silence, knowing. Dreading. Holding back tears. We go to the receptionist at the doctor's office and she, without words, moves us to an exam room. The doctor comes in, and says, "Amanda, I'm so terribly sorry." The tears are brimming in our eyes, both Caleb and I, but neither of us cry. I bite the inside of my cheek until I bleed. He does an exam and his eyes tell me that I am close to starting this hellish ride on my own. The doctor tells me that surgery is scheduled tomorrow (Saturday?!) at 10 am, that we have to be at the hospital at 8 and that he really doesn't want me to go into this by myself..that the pain and mess will be unbearable. Having done a natural miscarriage, I understand and quickly agree. He does an exam and says nothing, but his eyes tell me that I'm close to starting to miscarry. We go back into his office and he tells me everything we've heard before. This time, though, he apologizes with more feeling than before. Asks me how long I need off of work and what pain-killers I may need. He gives me a smile and tells us not to hesitate to call if I begin cramping and bleeding that day. Caleb calls his boss and tells her what is going on. He goes and gets the scripts for Vicodin, Motrin 800, antibiotic for the next day and picks up lunch before heading home in tears. I go back to work and lose it on the way over. I dry the tears and go in to tell my boss. She keeps telling me how sorry she is and how strong I am. I bite my cheeks again as I go to gather lesson plans and things to do while in the hospital. I tear-up as I tell my close-friend and colleague that we have lost the baby. My little red-headed student asks me why I had to go to the doctor and if I had to get a shot. I tell her yes I will have to get shots and she tells me that Dora band-aids make it all better.
I go home and sob uncontrollably with my husband until we are both weary with pain and anguish. My parents cry with us over the phone, as do his. My sisters come, drop off food and take the dog. My in-laws call later in the evening and take us out to Olive Garden for late dinner. I cry in between conversations, and in bed. My husband cries along with me. My heart breaks and I want to die.
On Thursday, November 6 2008, I waited nearly 2 hours after my schedule appointment time before I was able to see my OB. He was on call and had to deliver babies. I was battling with a nasty nasty head cold that was settling into my chest and wrecking havoc on my head, nose and throat. Dr. S looks at my ears, nose and throat, schedules a throat culture to rule out strep and gets out his trusty Doppler machine to find the baby's heartbeat. He tries and can't find it. Goes and gets another one, one that is older but can pick up more and still can't find it. My heart is RACING and I'm literally shaking with panic and fear. He tells me to try to remain calm, that my uterus is tilted towards my back and that everything is okay. He orders an emergency ultrasound for the next morning. Until then, we wait. I am 13 weeks pregnant now. I need to hear a heartbeat.
I headed downstairs and use the indoor walk-through to the main hospital to the lab. They do a throat culture and ask me to wait for the results. She tells me it should only take 10 - 15 minutes. So I wait, and I try to call Caleb because I am running SUPER late and I know he's panicking, too. No answer. After having waited nearly 30 minutes, the receptionist calls me up and tells me that the doctor never wrote an order for a strep test. Just a throat culture...which could take up to 4 days to get the results back from. I go home, nearly 4 hours after my appointment was originally supposed to start. I go home to find my husband trying to rake up our leaves in the pitch black of the evening because I had begged him to before our leave pick up day. I sob in his sweatshirt and he tells me that he loves me and that there is no need to panic yet.
On Friday, November 7, 2008, is one year to the day that my grandmother dies. She is heavy on my heart lately. I go to work and act as if nothing is wrong. I am emotionally and physically a mess, but hide it from my students. They ask me if I have swallowed a frog and they giggle when I squeak as I read "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" to them. I leave at gym time, while another wonderful teacher takes my students. She, besides my boss, is the only one that knows that we are having possible issues.
I go to the hospital and wait my turn. Caleb arrives and we hold hands, waiting and praying. We are called back very soon after arriving and get the ultrasound done. The room is silent and very dark. I can see, out of the corner of my eye, the ultrasound screen. I see our baby, not moving and no heartbeat flickering. I see the technician measuring the baby and I see 8 weeks 6 days on the screen. My heart now jumps into my throat. My body is at 13 weeks gestation. The baby is not. This only means that the baby has died. My third baby has DIED. I then see the bright red of the placenta pulsing on the screen as the thermal imaging is turned on. The baby has no color, other than the ashen grey color that is normal for an ultrasound picture of things with no heat. I know now what I was dreading. The tech asks me to use the bathroom while she goes and calls the doctor.
Caleb and I both know what has happened. They don't call the doctor for a healthy baby. She comes back and asks us to quickly go back to the doctor's office (in an adjoining building). We head up there, in silence, knowing. Dreading. Holding back tears. We go to the receptionist at the doctor's office and she, without words, moves us to an exam room. The doctor comes in, and says, "Amanda, I'm so terribly sorry." The tears are brimming in our eyes, both Caleb and I, but neither of us cry. I bite the inside of my cheek until I bleed. He does an exam and his eyes tell me that I am close to starting this hellish ride on my own. The doctor tells me that surgery is scheduled tomorrow (Saturday?!) at 10 am, that we have to be at the hospital at 8 and that he really doesn't want me to go into this by myself..that the pain and mess will be unbearable. Having done a natural miscarriage, I understand and quickly agree. He does an exam and says nothing, but his eyes tell me that I'm close to starting to miscarry. We go back into his office and he tells me everything we've heard before. This time, though, he apologizes with more feeling than before. Asks me how long I need off of work and what pain-killers I may need. He gives me a smile and tells us not to hesitate to call if I begin cramping and bleeding that day. Caleb calls his boss and tells her what is going on. He goes and gets the scripts for Vicodin, Motrin 800, antibiotic for the next day and picks up lunch before heading home in tears. I go back to work and lose it on the way over. I dry the tears and go in to tell my boss. She keeps telling me how sorry she is and how strong I am. I bite my cheeks again as I go to gather lesson plans and things to do while in the hospital. I tear-up as I tell my close-friend and colleague that we have lost the baby. My little red-headed student asks me why I had to go to the doctor and if I had to get a shot. I tell her yes I will have to get shots and she tells me that Dora band-aids make it all better.
I go home and sob uncontrollably with my husband until we are both weary with pain and anguish. My parents cry with us over the phone, as do his. My sisters come, drop off food and take the dog. My in-laws call later in the evening and take us out to Olive Garden for late dinner. I cry in between conversations, and in bed. My husband cries along with me. My heart breaks and I want to die.
My body
My body feels disconnected from my emotions, from my thoughts and feelings.
Again,I feel too normal to have just carried around my unborn dead child in my womb for nearly 4 weeks before we knew.
They are loved. The tears we spilt this week, and will continue to spill are tears of love and heartache for our children. Not knowing if we had boys or girls kills me. Not knowing why we are losing our babies kills me. Would knowing change anything? Fix anything? Make time go backwards? No. But answers will help me know what to do and how to change.
DAMN IT, WHY? Why must my babies be in Heaven and not here in my arms? Why must my nieces, nephew go without cousins? Why must my parents not know what it's like to be grandparents? Why must my in-laws have their grandchildren taken away? Why must my sisters not know what it's like to be an aunt? Why must my sister-in-laws and brother-in-laws not know what it's like to be an aunt/uncle or have it taken away from them?
GOD, WHY?
Tears stream down my cheeks right now, I can't find a tissue and I don't care. I wish I could convey to others that my heart is breaking constantly, that my body is completely out of sync and that my life is literally falling apart. If it wasn't for the love and support of my husband, our families and dear friends, I don't know how I could do this.
I honestly don't know HOW I'm doing this right now. By the love and grace of God, I suppose.
One of the books I borrowed from Jen says not to blame yourself or your husband, doctor or even God. There's nothing that can change this and not even answers at this point. And what if there are answers? It doesn't change the fact that I have three babies in Heaven.
I am a mother. A mom to three beautiful babies who are in Heaven, along with Ellen, my grandmother and two grandfathers, my husband's grandmother, and so many others who have gone up to Heaven.
Please watch over our babies. They are so very special to us.
Again,I feel too normal to have just carried around my unborn dead child in my womb for nearly 4 weeks before we knew.
- Too normal to have had an urgent-almost emergency D&C because I was thisclose to miscarrying on my own and my doctor knows me well enough to know that I couldn't do it on my own.
- Too normal to have lost my third precious red-headed baby.
- Too normal to have had "major surgery" on a Saturday morning when I should have been in bed, watching cartoons with my husband and going to a mandatory training with my fellow employees.
- Too normal to be tired after shopping. After showering, after doing laundry, after crying.
- Too normal to have people bring me dinner. And yet, if they hadn't, I'm pretty sure we wouldn't have eaten for this entire week.
- Too normal, too young to have had to say goodbye to my three children.
- Too normal to have a husband in tears asking why we couldn't meet our babies first, to name them, hold them, love them.
They are loved. The tears we spilt this week, and will continue to spill are tears of love and heartache for our children. Not knowing if we had boys or girls kills me. Not knowing why we are losing our babies kills me. Would knowing change anything? Fix anything? Make time go backwards? No. But answers will help me know what to do and how to change.
DAMN IT, WHY? Why must my babies be in Heaven and not here in my arms? Why must my nieces, nephew go without cousins? Why must my parents not know what it's like to be grandparents? Why must my in-laws have their grandchildren taken away? Why must my sisters not know what it's like to be an aunt? Why must my sister-in-laws and brother-in-laws not know what it's like to be an aunt/uncle or have it taken away from them?
GOD, WHY?
Tears stream down my cheeks right now, I can't find a tissue and I don't care. I wish I could convey to others that my heart is breaking constantly, that my body is completely out of sync and that my life is literally falling apart. If it wasn't for the love and support of my husband, our families and dear friends, I don't know how I could do this.
I honestly don't know HOW I'm doing this right now. By the love and grace of God, I suppose.
One of the books I borrowed from Jen says not to blame yourself or your husband, doctor or even God. There's nothing that can change this and not even answers at this point. And what if there are answers? It doesn't change the fact that I have three babies in Heaven.
I am a mother. A mom to three beautiful babies who are in Heaven, along with Ellen, my grandmother and two grandfathers, my husband's grandmother, and so many others who have gone up to Heaven.
Please watch over our babies. They are so very special to us.
Tears and depression
I woke up this morning at 6am, as I do every morning that I work, to the sound of my radio. We listen to SAU's The Message, which used to be The Vibe and I really don't understand why they changed it, but I digress. And I don't work today, but I wanted to get up to get my body back to my schedule. I fell back asleep after Caleb kissed me goodbye and I didn't wake up again until 9:45.
I woke up this morning and snuggled next to my husband as I listened to two beautiful Christian songs that reflected so much what I have been feeling lately. I promised myself to remember them.....but I have forgotten. The only line I remember from one of the songs was either "words as we wander" or "whispers as we wander" or something along those lines. The other song made me cry, but I can't remember ANYTHING of that song. And I asked Caleb if he had heard it, and he had, so I wasn't just dreaming.
I cried today, sobbed over something that shouldn't need tears shed over it. And once I started, I couldn't stop crying. Caleb held me for a bit until he had to go back to work (he was home on his lunch). I stopped soon after he left because crying alone in my dark house makes me feel even more depressed and alone and hurt.
I looked online for nearly 1 and a half hours for an ornament for our babies. I've decided that I want an ornament for each baby. Each baby is special and needs his/her own ornament.
I think I have found the one I want. It's simple and yet, pulls at me every time I look at them.
I forgot to bookmark the page.
I'm really doing well today, aren't I?
I woke up this morning and snuggled next to my husband as I listened to two beautiful Christian songs that reflected so much what I have been feeling lately. I promised myself to remember them.....but I have forgotten. The only line I remember from one of the songs was either "words as we wander" or "whispers as we wander" or something along those lines. The other song made me cry, but I can't remember ANYTHING of that song. And I asked Caleb if he had heard it, and he had, so I wasn't just dreaming.
I cried today, sobbed over something that shouldn't need tears shed over it. And once I started, I couldn't stop crying. Caleb held me for a bit until he had to go back to work (he was home on his lunch). I stopped soon after he left because crying alone in my dark house makes me feel even more depressed and alone and hurt.
I looked online for nearly 1 and a half hours for an ornament for our babies. I've decided that I want an ornament for each baby. Each baby is special and needs his/her own ornament.
I think I have found the one I want. It's simple and yet, pulls at me every time I look at them.
I forgot to bookmark the page.
I'm really doing well today, aren't I?
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
The needs or wants....
I have cried and sobbed over the past how-ever-many-days-since my surgery on Saturday that I feel too normal. That losing a baby, my third precious red-headed miracle shouldn't be this painless. This regular, mundane pace of life. This is TOO normal.
I retract all statements.
I have started cramping much like I did when I miscarried naturally during my second pregnancy. And I've started bleeding. Too much information? Maybe. I haven't bled since Saturday night and now it's all too real again.
I.am.a.mom. I am the mother of three precious, beautiful red-headed angels who are watching over Mommy and Daddy every day. They are up there, in Heaven with God and they are loved.
But dear God, why does my heart and body ache so much?
I want to find three ornaments for my precious children to hang on the tree this year. I want to purchase a necklace from this website that I can remember that has jewlery for miscarriages. The one I want is 45 dollars, after adding two more charms so that I have three charms.
They are wants that are becoming needs. Need to prove to others that this hurts. That this wasn't for the better, whether I lost the babies early on or during birth, the heart still hurts. My body hurts. My husband and families grieve. My heart breaks. My eyes burn with tears.
The wants are becoming needs to prove to myself that I am allowed to hurt. Allowed to grieve. Allowed to be in pain. Allowed to cry. Allowed....
The wants are becoming needs. Needs for answers. Need for peace. Need for strength. Need to feel His arms around me.
I am a mother. I dreamt that my last child was a girl. And I whole-heartedly believe this. But there is no way to know. And I'm not sure I'm okay with it. Or any of it.
I don't want to do this anymore, I said to my husband as he held my hand as I was wheeled to surgery.
I know baby. I don't want this to happen anymore, either.
Then make it stop. Make the world stop. Please, make it end.
I would, if I could honey.
Me, too.
I retract all statements.
I have started cramping much like I did when I miscarried naturally during my second pregnancy. And I've started bleeding. Too much information? Maybe. I haven't bled since Saturday night and now it's all too real again.
I.am.a.mom. I am the mother of three precious, beautiful red-headed angels who are watching over Mommy and Daddy every day. They are up there, in Heaven with God and they are loved.
But dear God, why does my heart and body ache so much?
I want to find three ornaments for my precious children to hang on the tree this year. I want to purchase a necklace from this website that I can remember that has jewlery for miscarriages. The one I want is 45 dollars, after adding two more charms so that I have three charms.
They are wants that are becoming needs. Need to prove to others that this hurts. That this wasn't for the better, whether I lost the babies early on or during birth, the heart still hurts. My body hurts. My husband and families grieve. My heart breaks. My eyes burn with tears.
The wants are becoming needs to prove to myself that I am allowed to hurt. Allowed to grieve. Allowed to be in pain. Allowed to cry. Allowed....
The wants are becoming needs. Needs for answers. Need for peace. Need for strength. Need to feel His arms around me.
I am a mother. I dreamt that my last child was a girl. And I whole-heartedly believe this. But there is no way to know. And I'm not sure I'm okay with it. Or any of it.
I don't want to do this anymore, I said to my husband as he held my hand as I was wheeled to surgery.
I know baby. I don't want this to happen anymore, either.
Then make it stop. Make the world stop. Please, make it end.
I would, if I could honey.
Me, too.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Friday, November 7, 2008
We went for our second heartbeat check yesterday and my doctor couldn't find it with the doppler.
"Please don't panic. Your uterus is tilted and everything will be fine"
We went today for an ultrasound and it wasn't fine.
Our baby died sometime between 8 and 9 weeks. Once again, my body tricked me into thinking that I was still pregnant as of yesterday at 13 weeks.
I go for an emergency-type D&C tomorrow morning because if I go through this by myself, it would be extremely painful and excruiatingly messy.
I've done nothing but cry since 11:30 today.
God, help me. Help us.
"Please don't panic. Your uterus is tilted and everything will be fine"
We went today for an ultrasound and it wasn't fine.
Our baby died sometime between 8 and 9 weeks. Once again, my body tricked me into thinking that I was still pregnant as of yesterday at 13 weeks.
I go for an emergency-type D&C tomorrow morning because if I go through this by myself, it would be extremely painful and excruiatingly messy.
I've done nothing but cry since 11:30 today.
God, help me. Help us.
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