My mom had died a little over a year ago, when I was eight months pregnant for her first grandchild so I had cried a lot since then, but this was different. My sweet daughter was 15 months old now and I was 12 weeks pregnant. It was a surprise how easy it was to get pregnant this time, unlike the agonizing struggle it was the first time.
Something wasn’t right, and I could feel it in my bones. I told my husband how I felt, and that I was scared for the baby I was carrying. I asked him to stay home with me, begged in fact, to no avail. He insisted everything was fine...
I composed myself and watched him walk out the door. I was on my own as always. I called my obstetrician and was instructed to rest and keep her updated if there were any changes in my condition.
Later that morning I began to have spots of bleeding, nothing substantial so I continued to take it easy, hoping, and praying, for the best. I fell in love with this child the moment I knew he or she existed inside me, and I didn’t want to lose my baby.
It’s my job to keep them safe while they grow and develop, I thought.
How could I rest with a toddler to care for? I couldn’t lift her. Not up to the changing station, not into her highchair, not anywhere. I was paralyzed with fear all...day... long. I suffered bouts of sobbing amidst queries from my little girl about what was wrong.
He finally got home, late as usual, with no call, no contact throughout the day. That’s how it was, complete oblivion to what might be going on at home – with me. He said that morning, “everything is fine,” that I was “worrying for nothing,” so that’s how it was, period. He was the one who dictated reality...
We talked about what to have for supper and I began to bleed, heavily. My uncle lived nearby so I called him and he came over immediately. He and my husband helped me get into his truck while my aunt stayed behind to care for my daughter. I remember the blinking of his four-way-flashers on the dashboard as my uncle sped the 22 miles to the hospital in the dark.
I also remember the sensation of feeling of being drained, emptied, from the top of my body to the very bottom, and not willingly. I had worked in the medical field all of my adult life, but I had never heard anything about what the body goes through during an abrupt miscarriage.
After a full-term birth there is a kind of shock to a woman’s system. Some women report having the shakes, an uncontrollable full body shaking that can go on for as long as a few hours. Some say they feel feverish, going from chills to sweating. But this, this was not that. This was not full term and most definitely not normal.
A pre-born baby had died inside of me, and everything in my body was desperately trying to hold on to that life while the life sustaining fluids were making a dramatic exit from the womb...my womb, carrying with them my baby. I would never even know the babies’ sex, never get to name him or her.
At the hospital the staff quietly spoke to my husband and then a gentle nurse came to my bedside and asked me what she could do to make me comfortable until the doctor arrived. I just cried and asked if I had lost my baby. She said she couldn’t answer that because she didn’t know for sure. She held my hand for a while.
When my doctor arrived he said that after reviewing my chart and considering all the bleeding it was probable that the pregnancy was over. I certainly didn’t feel pregnant anymore either, but actually giving up and accepting his conclusion was heart wrenching. He said I should have a D & C to make sure there would not be any infection...
From carrying death inside me all day, or more? Is that what he meant? If I did what he said that would be the end of it for sure.
He put me under for the procedure so there would be no pain – at least physically. Just some soreness afterward that would last for a few days he said. By the time I was discharged in the wee hours of the morning there was another shift on duty. None of them knew what I had been through except by the reading of my chart. I looked for the nurse from when I first got there, but she was gone. It was just another day.
