Nothingness

At first the bleeding was spots of brown. That's not abnormal. While this never happened while I was pregnant with Eva, I did know several mothers that bled brown and knew from their experiences that it was a release of old trapped period blood, which is disgusting, but not dangerous. But, when it was paired with the increasing sinking feeling in my stomach that accompanied this knowledge that something was wrong, it was just more clues from the universe that I would lose this baby, that maybe it was never mine to have in the first place. Just some tragic cosmic error.

For a few days, I found myself holding my urine. I would need to pee and put it off for sometimes an hour or more out of the complete terror of what would be revealed with each subsequent wipe. It was a horrible state of anxiety to live in.

During these few days, I suddenly started having friends email or text or call me telling me they just had a hunch I was pregnant. They wanted to know if their hunches were accurate. What was I supposed to say? I was only 8 weeks along, well before I would have wanted to make this news public information anyway and here I am on the brink of losing the baby. Was I supposed to say yes? Was I to lie and say no and jinx myself in the off chance I wasn't going to lose this baby? If I said no, would fate shift and cause me to miscarry something I wasn't supposed to lose?  I will never ask someone if they are pregnant regardless of what my hunch or intuition tells me because of having this experience. I know they meant no harm, their curiosity was peaked by one thing or another, and they wanted to be in the know. I have done this in the past, but I won't put anyone else in this position. In the end, I told the truth. I said I was pregnant, but didn't know how long I would be. How were these friends meant to respond? "Congrats"? Hardly.

After about 3 days of this brown blood, the anxiety of what would happen and when was eased. Red. Just a streak within the brown, but it was bright red. This wasn't old period blood. This was new blood. A few hours later into the evening I started cramping.

I warned Matt that I thought I was losing the baby. He told me to go lie down, probably for a dual purpose. He wanted me and that possibility out of sight and out of mind and he also was desperate to believe I was overreacting. But he knew deep down I wouldn't have cried wolf about something like that. It terrified him.

I texted my mom, my sister and best friend. My exact text was, "I am losing the baby. I am not overreacting. I don't want to talk about it right now. I will call the doctor first thing in the morning". And I put the phone down to charge for the night and I cried myself to sleep.

I did call the doctor in the morning. I was still holding out some hope that they'd tell me it was normal and to come in for an exam but that they weren't concerned. That's not what they said. They sent me straight to the hospital to Maternity Triage. My friend came and watched Eva, gave me a hug and sent me on my way to meet Matt at the hospital.

We waited forever. Lots of babies being born that day.

Finally, we were brought back to an exam room and the doctor arrived and started the ultrasound. I didn't bother surveying the energy in the room. My body wasn't lying to me. It was in a low-grade state of labor. Matt held out nervous hope though. I could tell by the strength with which he held my hand as he focused on that ultrasound screen, willing it to show him a healthy child. At one point he mumbled something like, "I see it", but the doctor grimaced and the exam was over quickly. It was there, but it's tiny heart no longer beat.

Matt and I collapsed into a grief I simply can't describe and hope none of you have to know. All I really remember clearly was holding Matt's face still so he would hold my eye contact so I could tell him through sobs that I was sorry I couldn't save it. So so sorry.

The doctor left us alone for an hour. We cried for half of that and then just stared at each other with a mutual acknowledgement of how hollowed out we felt suddenly. Then I was taken to radiology for thorough ultrasound so that one more person could tell me our November baby was gone.  At the ultrasound I had before this, they told me the baby was measuring 6 weeks, 1 day. Now, a week later, it measured 6 weeks, 3 days.  2 days after I saw that precious heartbeat, it stopped.

I was given 3 options:
1. Get a DNC, which is a procedure where they "take" the miscarriage from you
2. Take a medication to speed up the process, which could actually make the cramping worse.
3. Go home and let it all happen naturally, which they estimated would take 3 to 7 days.

Not everyone would have gone the route I did, and that's perfectly fine. I chose not to have the DNC because I didn't want to regret it in the future. If I had the DNC and miscarried again, would I wonder if something had been scraped too much during that procedure? Probably. So it wasn't for me. I wasn't about to take some medication to make me lose my child faster and in a more painful way. No thanks, I think I'll pass. I am someone that needed to see my father's body when he died in order to make the whole event feel grounded and real. Some people view it as morbid and that's also perfectly fine. I needed to go home and grieve this child as I lost it. I didn't want it to happen faster or harder or easier or with the help of some other human being. If I had to lose this baby, I was going to do it on my own. I was going to mother it the only way I given a chance to. So I went home.

After holding Eva so tightly upon arriving home that she thought she was in trouble, I crawled into bed. I sobbed for days. The cramps ebbed and flowed. I was in that low-grade state of labor for a few days. It was basically the worst period of my life. The bleeding obviously increased over the next few days. I had to go everyday to get bloodwork done so they could monitor that my body was returning to its full un-pregnant self and that none of the tissue was left behind. I will spare you the details, but I was not home when I actually "lost the baby". I was at one of these bloodwork appointments. The nurse had to knock on the bathroom door to make sure I was okay because of the sobbing sounds she must have overheard. That was not a good day.

I spent several days in bed and my mom was up to watch Eva.  I was determined to give myself the time to grieve before I stepped back into the world. I had a lot of time with my thoughts. The transition that occurred in my heart in just one short week was tragic. Going from the purest joy of endless possibility that comes with the promise of developing new life to being sent home from the hospital to await it's impending loss is an emptiness I can only describe as hollow. I am still heartbroken. Nothing and no one can make it right.

Nothing ever will.