I had a miscarriage.
We had just found out that we were pregnant over Thanksgiving, and were deciding how and when to share the good news with everyone. I had my second doc appointment scheduled for the 5th of January. Before Christmas, I had gone in and heard the faint heartbeat of the baby...the doc said it was beating strongly for that week of gestation. When I went in for my second appointment at 9 weeks, the ultrasound tech was acting strangely and not saying a word. Now, you know this is not my first rodeo, and I could see for myself that something was amiss...but I was too afraid to ask. She shortly called the doctor in and after the doctor checked the ultrasound, he gave me the news that there was no heartbeat.
I was in a state of shock.
They walked me into the doctor's consultation room, and he began his explanation as to what was happening, but I didn't hear a word of what he said. I just sat numb and stared at him. Tears began welling up in my eyes when he repeated that there was no heartbeat, and I guess because I remained unresponsive, two nurses came and walked me into a side room where I could cry as needed and regain composure before hearing the explanation again. Strangely enough, I didn't have many tears...I think I was still in shock or disbelief. They did ask me if I wanted to check the ultrasound again...I said no. I already knew what the doctor had told me was true...I just couldn't process it. A little while later, the doctor came in and reexplained to me the possible reasons for miscarriage, the options for after care, and what to expect in the next few days.
My mind went back into a blank state, but I was finally able to understand what needed to be done. The d and c was scheduled, I texted both Jeff and my mom, called in to work to tell them I was not coming back in, and took the bus home.
When I got home, I went straight to bed. I didn't want to talk to anyone or see anyone or think...just needed to get lost in sleep. I probably slept for about three hours...when I woke up, it was dinner time. I still didn't want to talk to anyone, but knew I couldn't just disappear forever...so I came out and joined the family for dinner. Not much was said through dinner other than general conversation, and I was thankful for that.
I had not yet processed the loss.
I had not had a chance to grieve.
I couldn't talk to anyone about it because I would just burst into tears and be completely overwhelmed by the grief...and I just couldn't let that happen.
I had to keep it together.
The loss was such a personal and internal experience for me. I have never felt such a conflict of emotions. I knew I needed to let myself grieve to overcome the loss, but I didn't want to talk to anyone about it - I didn't want anyone to feel sorry for me or pity me give me the "aww, poor Rosa"-look - I just wanted to be alone. I didn't know how to grieve. I didn't know how to ask anyone...I didn't want anyone to see me cry.
So...I turned to the internet. I read and cried and cried and read...it was one of the longest nights of my life.
I didn't think the darkness would end...but as I lay there next to my littlest, hearing her breathe and grunt and reach out with her little hand looking for me in the darkness, a peace came over me and I smiled. I took her hand and she let out a sigh of contentment and fell silently into sleep again.
This loss reminded me what a miracle each of my children are...that they were conceived, developed in the womb, and were able to be born into this world without incident...incredible. So much could have happened that might have ended in this type of loss...so many women before me have experienced this same loss (and much more devastating losses than mine)...
I am thankful for my miracles.
In all my reading on miscarriage across the internet, this particular picture and quote stuck with me. I linked the picture to the website I got it from...
Maybe it can help others as well. It is a beautiful image to think that my tiny baby that left this world too early would open its eyes and the first thing it would see would be the face of Jesus.
Physically, I am recovering well; and mentally, I am getting well.
So, now that all of this is out there, and I have made it clear that I am very uncomfortable sharing this kind of information, I request that you please don't ask me about what happened or tell me how sorry you feel for me or give me pitying glances...but if you are compelled to do so, please forgive me if my response is rude or cold or a burst of tears because I will never forget what happened, but I want to put it behind me.
Writing is my closure. Thanks for reading.
