We giggled and smiled as we walked in…this would be the first time we saw our baby. I had gone in for a visit already, my levels were great. They were high and where they should be. I was sick, suffering greatly with morning sickness. I had strong food aversions. This was a healthy pregnancy, and we were about to see the baby we had wanted for so long.
I was anxious with anticipation, knowing that at 10 weeks we would see our baby swimming around and doing backflips. Knowing that we would leave with smiles and text our loved ones with the good news and frame the image of our first ultrasound…
We went inside, the nurse called us back, and we entered the ultrasound room. We were far enough along that we could do a regular ultrasound. She squeezed the cold gel onto my belly and we prepared to see our child. The one we had talked about for months. The moment that I saw the ultrasound on the screen, I could tell something wasn’t what it should be. There should be a baby….it should be moving. Instead it was void of movement. I vividly remember looking over at Aaron and saying, “I think something is wrong.”…
I wanted to brace him for what was to come. Even though I had never been in this situation, I know what a healthy 10 week pregnancy looks like on an ultrasound…and this wasn’t it. I wanted to take the blow for him. I needed him to know, before the doctor told us, something wasn’t right. I wanted to make this go away. I didn’t want to face this. I didn’t want to experience this. I didn't want him to experience this…especially with his first child.
Right after I said those words the ultrasound tech asked how far along we were. 10 weeks. We were 10 weeks, and I was certain we should be able to see our baby. I knew there should be a heartbeat. She opted to do a vaginal ultrasound, in hopes that maybe we were off on the date. I knew we weren’t. I knew when we conceived. The room was silent as the vaginal ultrasound confirmed what I already knew.
I’m not one that shows my inner feelings, so I pushed them deep inside me. As the doctor came in and gave us the news that we had figured out from the ultrasound, I smiled. It’s okay, I said….we’ll just try again. It’s not a big deal. I smiled at Aaron, assuring him I was okay. It was okay. Everything was okay.
But it wasn’t. I was crumbling inside. I was smiling through the grief that was tearing me apart.
I held myself together as we walked to the car. I held his hand. His constance assurance that he was beside me because I felt the earth caving in around me. Just make it to the car I kept saying to myself. Our baby was gone. The child we longed for. The baby we had planned for. We had names. We had nursery themes. We had a pregnancy announcement ready for the world. That baby was gone.
When we got to the car I melted. Every bit of pain I felt while in the office came gushing out. Our plans were shattered. I had never felt the emotions that I now felt. And the worst part was to come….our family was anxiously awaiting our texts…we had to relive it again and again and again. With every text we sent, we replayed the pain of the news we had just received.
We were no longer expecting.
Aaron held me as we cried. It was one of the most intimate moments of our 6 years together….both of us feeling a loss you can’t describe unless you’ve been there.
The next two days were a blur, but we had to pull ourselves together for Thanksgiving. If not for our other two children, we would have skipped the day and pretended it didn’t happen. How can you be thankful when you’ve just lost a child? We put on our happy faces though, we ate turkey and played games with the family. Our other children had no idea of our pregnancy or our loss…we had planned to tell them on Thanksgiving Day. Another blow that we were having to absorb.
The next few weeks for me are a blur.
I have never dealt with depression. Ever. Aaron has, and he’s the only thing that pulled me out of this dark alley I was headed into. I slept for days. Only waking when he would bring the kiddos home from school. I was a walking zombie. I went through the motions of howework as he carried the weight of dinner, sports practices, and bedtime routines. I was just a body…with no emotion other than sadness. I work a business that relies on my constant social media presence….and I was ready to let it crumble. I was drowning. But I didn’t want anyone to know. I smiled through the grief. We were fine. I was fine. Everything was great.
Except it wasn’t.
In fact, we were about to embark on a 3 month journey that we never would have expected.
We waited until the first week of December to insert the pill that would kickstart our miscarriage. See, our baby had stopped growing, but my body hadn't realized it. It was a missed miscarriage. Everything was normal…and yet our child had stopped growing. So, we needed to force my body into a miscarriage. I’ll never forget this day. Our miscarriage started around 11 AM. It was horrible. It was everything I assumed it would be….and the contractions lasted for a full 24 hours. Aaron gave me Advil, made sure my heating pad was working, and kept something on tv to distract me, he cooked dinner, he did homework, he carried the weight once again for me…I don’t know how women make it through this without a partner like I have.
When it was over, I wanted to put it behind me. Yet, I still found myself in this dark place .Having been here before, Aaron forced me to get up. He did it so kindly and gently that I didn’t realize what he was doing. Let’s go for a walk…he’d say. Just to get me out of the bed and into the sunshine. Let's go eat…just to get me to put on real clothes and out of the house…
But to everyone else…I was great. I was smiling through the grief.
Then came the days I dreaded. Aaron had to go back to work. I spent my nights with my mother or my grandmother….I couldn’t be alone with my thoughts. I needed constant distraction. Of course, the only person that knew this was Aaron… well and them. But they gave me my space. I don’t like to talk about things, especially tough things. I’m an avoider. They allowed me to avoid this in conversation and I am forever thankful.
Christmas came and went, and though I tried to take in those moments, I was constantly distracted with the thoughts of what might have been. I really don’t remember much as I was just simply going through the motions.
Things did start looking up around January. It was a new year…time for new things to happen. Our lives were starting to come back together…everything was starting to get better when…I hemorrhaged on my way to Houston for a meeting. It will probably forever hold the top spot on the scariest moments of my life. I’ve never imagined the way my life would end, but it certainly wouldn't be in a Target restroom in the Woodlands…yet it seemed that might be the way I went out.I ended up in Herman Memorial ER all alone….this is when we found out that I had in fact not passed all the tissue during my miscarriage that I should have. Thus causing the hemorrhaging.
During this time, Aaron was facing his own personal battle.
While at work he had his first ever panic attack. He had been so strong for me that he had failed to process all of this himself. Grief manifests itself in people in all sorts of ways. Unfortunately because Aaron had been taking care of me, he had been on autopilot for himself. It eventually all caught up to him one day on the oil rig….this just goes to show that the human body can only handle so much. We have to do better about taking care of ourselves.
Just when we thought life was leveling out we had to head back to the doctor to see what was going on and what our next steps were. We were prescribed another round of pills. Let’s see if my body would do what it should this time….
Another full day of cramping and bleeding…
When we went back for our ultrasound, we found out that we would in fact need a D&C. I was nervous, I had read all the horror stories of what could happen. What if things went wrong and I had to have an emergency hysterectomy? What if we could never conceive again? So many what ifs….
And yet, that was the only option we were left with.
On a Monday morning in February they wheeled me back for my procedure. I lost a lot of blood…but all tissue was removed….we could now heal.
I write this now in March….Four long months later as tears stream down my face. Why did this happen to us when babies are born to so many that don't deserve them?
I don’t have that answer, and I doubt I ever will.
I do know now that the sun does in fact shine again. That better days are ahead of us. That we are stronger now than we were before.
I still smile through the grief, but my smile is genuine. I am finally back to myself again. When I laugh it’s a real life. I finally feel like dressing up again and going out with my fiancé. I am seeing the positives things that surround us.
We will have our chance again. Though we don’t know when.
I promised myself when I had healed I would share our story.
In those moments of our miscarriage I felt so alone. I realized quickly that many women have walked this journey before….but no one really speaks about it. So, I write this for all those out there that have suffered alone. Those that have gone through this multiple times and you don’t want others to know. I write this for those that will go through this and you need the reassurance that the sun will in fact shine on you again.
I hope that our story leaves you feeling a little less alone.