Loss

December 8. Every single wipe since learning I am pregnant I look at the tissue and feel relief each time there is no blood (probably the most frequent topic on forums). I pee at work today and have the tiniest amount of blood on the tissue. I KNOW this doesn't *necessarily* mean anything bad but I can't lie, I am a little scared.

Chris calls the clinic for me. They ask if the blood is brown or red. He forgets I have told him "red." They say keep your appointment for tomorrow, do not have sex, and this doesn't mean something is wrong.

December 9. The saddest day of my life. Blood on tissue with morning pee and at ultrasound Baby hasn't grown. And the nurse doesn't even have to say-I can see on the screen there is no heartbeat.

I cry. The nurse is talking to me but I don't hear. I stare at the screen until she turns off the machine. She touches my hand.

The Dr. meets with us. He says (in better words) this could've been worse. And I know this. I know "chromosomal issues" may not present until well into pregnancy at which point parents are forced to make a difficult decision. And I know sometimes it isn't even a choice-that some conditions render zero chance of survival. And some women need to go out of state to have the procedure. And I know there are horrible instances where the baby is so developed it feels pain and its heart needs to be stopped before the pregnancy is terminated. Perhaps this was God's way of saving us from that.

I had told my mom and sister about the blood. I text them: I lost the baby.

Those words. I can't believe my fingers can even type them. I look at them on my screen for a long time. I know by pressing send I am breaking hearts. I feel responsible for the pain I am about to cause. This crushes my soul as much as learning the news myself. If it were possible to spare them this heartache I would gladly shoulder the load and bear their sorrow on top of my own.

My sister gave birth to premature triplets. For a few brief moments she held them, saw their faces, heard their cries. When I eventually talk with my mom she is crying. Hard. "I am crying for you," she says between breaths. "For your pain." She lost her little boy at 6 months to Cystic Fibrosis. I say, in comparison, their losses are different, harder. They do not accept this and are heartbroken now I, too, know the loss of a child.

The holiday season which is to be filled with love and joy and hope turns into one of sadness and loss.

And this is why I want to share my experience. From start to finish. It is at times very raw, very detailed.  But if it brings peace to even one girl that has suffered a loss then this sadness of reliving my story is worthwhile.

Running through my mind over and over are thoughts I can not think without crumbling let alone allow to cross my lips as words. "Yes," I say to friends and family, "we will try again" but what I don't say are the hopes and wishes and dreams I had for *this* child. For *this* baby whose tiny heart beat inside me just a week ago.

The clinic sends me home with cytotec (vaginal inserts) to soften and open the cervix.  I am to take one when I get home, two tonight before bed, and two in the morning. Chris administers the medicine for me. Sobbing uncontrollably, he puts the medicine inside me that will induce what was to be our child. And while I understand the baby is already gone, this act, perhaps even only symbolically, seems one I am taking against my baby. Which I know logically is not true. But this first insert is the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. I cry now as I type this, remembering.

They tell me to expect bleeding and cramping and give me a Vicodin prescription and a container to preserve any tissue I might pass. I am so concerned I will lose tissue in the toilet that I go to the bathroom (number one and two) in a small bucket in the tub. Chris is with me each time so I never feel I may see something upsetting while I am alone. I don't bleed or cramp or pass any tissue. 

I read online about miscarriages. I see a thought about loss and forget me not flowers that moves me.

December 10. D&E. I wear one of my favorite outfits; feeling so incredibly helpless I decide it is one of the only ways I can show respect for my baby. I draw a forget me not flower on my hand, where nobody else will see but I will know.

They know mine is a textbook case of "loss due to chromosomal abnormality" but will to test the tissue to confirm. When I arrive I explain how I hadn't bled or cramped or passed tissue and I ask if that is good or bad or irrelevant. Dr. says, "Irrelevant but it might make the procedure more uncomfortable."

The procedure, which the PA tells me will be "uncomfortable, but not the worst pain you've ever felt," is without a doubt the worst pain I have ever felt. And I have been told I have a high threshold for pain but who knows. I had taken two Vicodin, as directed, beforehand which put my mind in a calm place but didn't seem to provide any relief from pain. The Dr. says it will feel like a cramp. And I don't blame him for this description but this is no cramp. It feels like a broom handle pressing firmly into my insides. He tells me to count to ten and I do, quickly. It is over but then he needs to do it a second time. I look at my flower. The procedure is quick but it is *excrutiating.* I say when results are in please-I can't, don't tell me the gender.

I bleed very heavily that first day and wear massive industrial-strength maxi pads (it's like these are created for miscarriages-who else would wears these!?). The clinic said wait a few days after the procedure to use tampons but I don't use them at all through this process. Knowing "solid matter" needs to come out I just like the idea of pads better. In addition to the super thick pads I have a ton of wipes with me. At all given times-bathroom at home, at work, in my bag to ultrasounds (whether bloody or not). It was important to me to leave the bathroom, the Dr office, the wherever, feeling as fresh as I can. It helps physically mentally and emptionally. I spend a lot of time in the work bathroom bathroom changing pads and liners-if you have autoflush potties drape a piece of toilet paper over the sensor to disable the motion flusher.

The lining that is passed is ring-like and solid yet gelatinous. I show Chris. The days of bleeding and cramping may turn into weeks and every time I see the blood I think "my dead baby" which I know is fucked up and makes me sick to even type those words but I can't help it. Just, emotionally I very much want to heal but every few hours that I am in the bathroom my heart which maybe has mended a tiny bit is again broken to pieces. Other times I feel, if I allow it, "every end has a new beginning." I know this is natural, this back and forth of mourning v. dawn of a new day, I just am looking forward to and working towards having the latter moments outweigh the former. And it will come, in time.

Chris and I have a strong relationship and we communicate well. If I feel I cry too much or want to talk about things yet again-he supports. Unconditionally. And I can't ask for anything more. We have cried, hugged, even laughed together the last few days and I know and take comfort in the fact he is such a great partner. That said, he is a bit more separated from things. And we have discussed this because I want to be where he is, emotionally, though I think it won't happen for me like it did for him (not so soon at least). We both immediately acknowledge that perhaps this horrible event saved us from having to make a difficult decision a month or so down the road (e.g. tests show chromosomal issues, do we terminate). But, I dig deeper. Agreed, if baby wasn't healthy this is best. But why couldn't baby have just been healthy? And I know there is no answer for this. But I think this is where my pain stems from and where his mind doesn't even go. Baby wasn't healthy, his analysis stops there. Not that he doesn't understand or sympathize with MY analysis, he does, just he doesn't feel it. It doesn't make me feel alone emotionally but I know and recognize he is a little further along in the "dawn of a new day" whereas I am sometimes still lagging behind in the mourning.

This week is my birthday and our office holiday party. For weeks I have been *so excited* to share my wonderful news with my coworkers at the holiday party. Given how special that night was to be and knowing what it was to hold but now will not, I cancel. It is too hard.

The clinic checks me bi-weekly. I search relentlessly for anyone online who has my specs (8 weeks pregnant, D&E, elevated HCG, waiting for period) and endlessly compare my hcg levels to others'. Everyone else's seems to drop much, much faster than mine and it is so so difficult to be patient. I email myself poignant statements of encouragement and read them when I need a boost.

December 17. Ultrasound shows more lining to be shed. Hcg levels were 33,000 at time of loss and are still elevated.

Christmas. Linus: "Lights please." So losing the baby I wonder "why God" and I am so sad and so disappointed but never angry and don't "blame God" or anything like that. So the spirit of Christmas and the joy and love and hope that comes with it for one that is spiritual (me) is in my heart but the things I'd normally do to celebrate it I just am not up for....at least not initially. Right after we got the news I cancelled the Xmas activities (parties, shows, events) we'd happily lined up. I could feel love in my heart but I just couldn't get myself to smile or celebrate or outwardly feel "joyous." Then though, as the days go on time works its magic and I began to feel more like my old self. Sagittarius, an eternal optimist! The clouds part though there are still stray showers of sadness.

One feeling that I had not expected: jealousy. Not envy. A nuanced difference to some but a world of difference to me. Envy: Gee I like what they have and I am happy they are happy and I am going to work hard so I can have it too! Jealousy: I want what they have and I'd take it if I could even though I know it's mean and will cause them pain. Jealousy is not an emotion I am familiar with. If you are the same you understand when I say if I want something I make it happen (and I don't mean just dumb material things I mean out of life in general). This-being pregnant, having/losing the life inside me-I had zero control over. And I am jealous of my pregnant friends. I am ashamed and disappointed I but I not being too hard on myself about it because I am aware and recognize and work through it and I don't think any feelings are "unnatural" after a loss. 

Some women who experience a loss seem awfully upset when they feel people don't respond in "the right way" or "say the wrong thing." I don't experience this at all. Maybe because the only people that know are people that care about me and whatever they say I understand comes from the heart. I know their love and support is behind it all. What I AM sensitive to however is other pregnant women or women going through fertility treatments:  complaining. I can't. take. the whining. Granted, they don't know I am experiencing a loss but people can say some really dumb and uninformed things and because I haven't shared my story with them I sometimes just have to pull away from their negativity.

December 30. Ultrasound still shows a little lining left to still be shed. Hcg levels are 967.

Having sex the first time after the procedure I am nervous it will hurt but it is ok. We wait over two weeks because I'd read online infections are possible so why risk it.

The tissue results are in. I say I changed my mind and would like to know the gender of my baby. My initial response to not know was because it was still too soon and too raw. And I feared "knowing" would make my recovery harder. But the more I thought about it the more selfish that seemed. My baby deserved his/her mother to know everything possible about its little life. They are not able to get a reading of the tissue (40% chance they would not get a reading) but they still say they are certain my loss was chromosomal in nature. Lining had been strong and healthy but embryo ceased to develop. Sadly, because the only dna they found was my own, they were not able to determine gender. Maybe it was meant to be. Maybe God spared me a degree of heartache.  All the hopes and dreams I had-spared me from assigning them a little girl's face or a little boy's name and the pain that comes with it.  

January 13. Ultrasound shows lining still left to shed but also what could be a follicle (indicates ovulation). PA says to expect my period but calls later to retract as my hcg is 162.

I read online some girls take a pregnancy test during this time and hope for negative because that signals levels are down and the body is returning to pre-pregnancy state. But really for me what's the point? I bring in my pee stick and say "Let's get started!?" Since the clinic is monitoring me I have to wait until their labs shows what they want so why put myself through that. And I should say here: it is hard to be patient but (and maybe this is where faith comes in?) I remind myself I don't have the power to dictate how quickly things move. I try to look at it more as anticipation for good to come than as an exercise in patience. And I remind myself this is all for a reason. And I remind myself to try not to wish my life away wanting things to move faster because there are still parts of every day worthy of appreciation.

January 27. I think I get my period the night before. Despite my insistance, Dr. says my lining is still too thick, it is not my period. Bloodwork results later that day confirm he is right-hcg 11.

The crib we ordered is delivered. It arrives with a tiny yellow ribbon tied onto it. I let my Chris stay with the men as they assemble it because I don't want to be there when they ask, and I know they will ask. And they do. "When is she due?" The experience is heartbreaking; my little baby, who was intended to lay within this very crib, to coo and cry and sleep and wonder in amazement at the world above and dream sweet dreams of a wonderful life ahead, will never be. Chris tells me, and I know, this crib signifies hope, it signifies future. I remind myself what my friend said on the day of our loss: This is not the end.

February 5. I pass more lining in the shower (clots, the clinic calls them). I call Chris in. This one is different than the large clot I passed following the procudure. It is a bit smaller than the size of my palm and very solid in nature, not gelatinous, and has a small string connected. For a moment I wonder if this is the baby? But I know, and Chris and my mom and my sister remind me, one: that was the purpose of the procedure and two: the clinic would know/I'd have had issues if the baby was still inside me. I will note here there is a website for mothers to, out of honor and in memorial, post pictures of their babies that have been passed at home. For what it's worth, what I held in my hand did not look like pictures I saw on the site. I experience some residual bleeding through the next day then it stops for good.

I bleed for nearly 8.5 weeks which is the longer side of normal. Aside from the day of the procedure and the clots and the time I thought I had my period the blood is only pantyliner amounts and always brown like the end of a period. Twice it had a mucus consistency and I thought may be ovulation but each time my exam proved otherwise. Some girls bleed for a day after loss/procedure, some for several weeks; some girls start their period within 30 days after loss/procedure, some don't for several months.

February 10. At today's appointment ultrasound shows lining is thinned and I have a large folicle. PA gives me a prescription. She says she expects today's bloodwork to confirm my levels are down but if they are NOT I fill the Rx and take the medicine which will produce a period, otherwise, I should expect a period naturally any day now. Bloodwork confirms hcg is 0. The Dr. told me, and I had seen this at some point online, it takes about the amount of time for your body to return to normal as weeks you were pregnant. Given I was 8 weeks at the time of my loss, this proved true.

For a few short weeks I had the privilege of growing a life inside me. I had been so *unrestrained* with my happiness during the pregnancy. So trusting of my body and of life and of goodness and of what was to come. I just allowed it to completely envelope me. Time heals. And it has been doing its job. I am an eternal optimist and, while I still shed tears-sometimes for me sometimes for the baby, I haven't gotten lost in the sadness. 

Through all this we have had tremendous support and I can honestly say what a difference that has made. You don't really know how many friends and family have suffered a loss until you experience one yourself. Then they reach out-to provide love and support in the time of grief but also to provide hope and encouragement for the future. If you do not have someone to talk with please look online-there are countless websites and forums where girls are going through the same thing. Even if you don't want to create an account or share your story, just read. You are not alone.

"Somewhere there is a field of lovely forget me nots, delicate blooms for the lives lost too soon, echoing, 'forget me not.'"