I'm seriously overwhelmed with the amount of support I've received since the "official" reveal of this blog on Tuesday, October 15th, Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day... I wish I could even begin to tell you the number of texts, comments, messages, precious cards, and notes I received and how touched I was that people were so affirming and loving. I'm not gonna lie to you, dear reader, I was incredibly nervous to reveal this blog. I went back and forth for awhile trying to decide if I was ready for our little corner of the world wide web to be made known to the general public (aside from those who had accidentally stumbled upon it). In the end, it was my hubby's encouragement that settled my reluctance. Our conversation came down to the simple fact that we always wanted our story to be shared in order to encourage other families with similar stories... How will anyone ever find our story if we don't let them know it's here? And so there you have it... Thanks to the many who were so supportive. YOU have encouraged me greatly!
Here is the next part of Sweet Pea's story...
We want back to doctor for what we thought was to be our 8 week appointment on January 25th, 2013. I was a bundle of nerves, but in a way also relieved because I kept thinking one way or another we will have an answer as to what is going on... And we did in fact get an answer...
The receptionist excitedly greeted us and let us know we would get a picture of our little baby today. We smiled half-heartedly at her. Sitting in the waiting room was miserable. We finally got called back to the ultrasound room. As the technician began completing the ultrasound, we knew IMMEDIATELY something was wrong. She didn't say a word to us... Not one peep... This was completely different from our previous experience with the ultrasound where the technician talked to us the whole time and described everything on the screen... We didn't have the heart to ask the much dreaded question... She printed off a bunch of pictures, but didn't give them to us and showed us to an examination room.
Kevin and I sat in silence for a moment. Eventually we both kept asking the question "do you think it was bad?" .... This next part still boils my blood when I think about it... The audacity of the nurse to do what she did was unacceptable on so many levels. She waltzed in to the room, congratulated us on our pregnancy, handed us the obligatory 'congratulations you're going to be parents' bag of goodies, and proceeded to talk shop with us about what to expect in the months to come. She ended with giving us the ultrasound pictures... She actually gave us the ultrasound pictures of a dying baby... I still have them... The pictures of my dying Sweet Pea.
After she left, we were so relieved. We thought this is phenomenal! It was just our imagination and everything is great! Our Sweet Pea is developing exactly as he/she should be... Nothing to worry about it... And then the doctor came in...
She began the conversation with "your midwife is delivering at the hospital so I'll be working with you today." She then informed us that she actually no longer practices obstetrics - only gynecology. We thought... awesome... Because we are in fact here for a gynecological visit... Oh wait... No we aren't... She then proceeded to tell us that the baby is not measuring as far along as expected and that the ultrasound technician had trouble finding a heartbeat. She informed us that she wanted to have a look herself and a second opinion so we were to go immediately to the maternal fetal specialists next door.
Numb... That was all I could feel at that point... Why would the nurse come in and give us the bag of goodies? Why would she tell us everything was fine and give us pictures? Why would she do this if my baby had no life left?
We were ushered to another waiting room where we sat numbly holding our goodie bag... We didn't speak... We couldn't. When we finally got called back for ultrasound #2 of the day, the worst was confirmed. The technician confirmed the baby had not been growing and she had extreme trouble finding a heartbeat. She found what she thought might have been a tiny, frail blip, but she wasn't entirely sure. Our world crashed around us. It was in that moment that I lost hold of the tiny bit of control that I had. I sobbed. I didn't even know what to ask, what our options were, what do we do next. Kevin held me and I sobbed. The pain was unlike anything I had ever known. I couldn't breath. I couldn't think. It felt like a tidal wave crashing over me and all I could do was sink - there was no fighting it. At least not at that moment.
Eventually they told us that we could either allow the miscarriage to occur naturally, we could take a medicine to speed up the process, or if my body refused to let go of the pregnancy as was the current case I would need to have a D&C. Of course we saw them on a Friday, so they told us to take the weekend to think about it, but to not wait too long...
We decided to move forward with a D&C.
As I was thinking through and writing about our journey and Sweet Pea's story, it's almost funny how many times I would think "that was the worst part". As I wrote 2 weeks in Limbo, I thought that was definitely the worst part. As I prepared myself to write this portion, I thought no when that nurse came in and told us everything was fine, that was the worst part. And then again I thought no when they couldn't find a heartbeat and the tidal wave crashed over me that was definitely the worst part. Even now I'm not entirely sure what was the worst part. I suppose they were all the worst part. Nothing about this journey was easy. Nothing.
I don't know what words to say to help you, sweet reader, get through the worst parts. I wish I did. All I can say is that if I were with you I would hold you and we could sob together, much like my amazing husband did for me. And I can promise that stories and journeys cannot entirely be made up of worst parts. Much like limbo, they have a place, but they too must come to an end.
Love,
Jess
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