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.
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