On Wednesday I sat down and wrote an excellent story that I was excited to share here with the world. It was the story of how I told everyone I knew that I was pregnant. It was full of pinterest inspired announcements that allowed my creative and artisic spirit to go free and crazy as I told every single person we knew in a different way. The blog was full of cakes, and video's, funny conversations, silly crafts and cards, and t-shirts. All it needed at the end was a picture of my little muffin from the ultrasound I was having the next day.
The ultrasound that gave us the shocking and completely unexpected news that our baby had died.
Today I tell that story. Because although it is heartbreakingly sad, I want to remember it. And I want all my friends and family to know that God has changed our life plans for the moment and that it hurts.
I left work on Thursday morning giggling with my 27 6th and 7th graders about getting to see my baby! They were super pumped for me and wanted to know if I was going to find out if it was a boy or a girl. After I told them that my baby didn't have those parts yet, they groaned and squirmed but continued to laugh and wished me well. I was excited.
Arron left work too and met me at the hospital for our ultrasound. I laid on the table as the technician struggled to find our little baby, asking us what I thought were routine questions about how far along I was, when my due date was, if I was sure of the date of my last period. At the end she said these two sentences. "Your baby is only measuring at 7.5 weeks. I'm sorry, but there is no heartbeat."
We were stunned. She left us for a moment so I could get dressed. I burst into tears and sobbed into my husbands strong arms. Then we sat together in stony, shocked, silence. The wonderfully kind ultrasound technician called my doctor and they quickly arranged a meeting with an OBGYN in the emergency department.
We went directly to the emergency department to meet the amazing doctor who would walk us through one of the most shocking and depressing days of our marriage. She was fantastic. She clearly taught us about our options, explained the statistics (1 in 4 pregnancies result in a miscarriage), made sure numerous times that I knew that this was not my fault, and used just enough humour to make us feel comfortable and at ease. My favourite quote was when she looked at Arron and said, "Is this the first pregnancy you are responsible for?"
It was made clear that despite the path we chose, it needed to happen at the hospital because of my anemia (low iron), as well as the fact that I was further along in my pregnancy than most miscarriages are.
Arron and I went home, cried, laid on our bed in silence holding each other and decided to call our families before making a decision.
Those were hard phone calls. It was a very sad, quiet, night in our home filled with very little sleep. I spent a good two hours awake thinking about the dead baby I was carrying. They had no idea how long ago the baby had died. It could have died 4 weeks earlier at 7.5 weeks, or it could have just not been developing properly and died the day before. The thought of it being 4 weeks ago and I didn't notice was disturbing. I thought a lot about how disappointed everyone was. Not necessarily in me, but just that this baby caused so much excitement and hope from everyone we know. I thought about how the previous night I had been awake thinking about my baby and how I was going to ever get outside to exercise with it in the middle of a Cariboo winter. I thought about the baby bump pictures I had just sent my girlfriends the day before. I thought about how in the morning I was going to go to a hospital and my baby was going to get taken.out.of.me.
Morning came, we woke up and quietly got ready to go to the hospital. As soon as we arrived at the emergency department and said the word, 'miscarriage' we were ushered in with kindness, gentleness, and comfort. Every single nurse we had that day was amazing. I can write a whole blog about the nurses at the Cariboo Memorial Hospital. They were kind, gentle, educated, sympathetic, and it seemed to me that every single one of them had a miscarriage at some point. I remember different nurses saying phrases like, "It has happened to almost all of us." "When I had my miscarriage I was the same age as you." "When I went through this I was 12 weeks along too." "Don't worry, I got pregnant right away after mine." It was incredibly comforting to not just know the statistics I had been told but to SEE them in the people around me that were helping Arron and I through it.
Physically the hardest part of my day was getting the IV inserted. The antibiotics they pumped into me hurt a lot, and the medication they used to sedate me for the procedure was the only time I cried alone without Arron by my side. But the nurse held my hand and talked me through it calmly. I also cried because I knew what was going to happen next.
Waking up from the sedation was the absolute worst part of my day. I've never been particularly good coming out of anesthesia, but coming out of it this time, and remembering why, set me over the edge into the largest, uncontrolled crying and sobbing fit that I ever can remember having. I was un-calmable and the nurses called Arron into the post-operating room to help out. I remember them asking if I wanted any drugs to help me calm down. I didn't. I wanted to be sad. I wanted to remember and experience the sadness I was feeling. I forced myself to calm down. And I was given one more blessing. My post-op nurse was the kind and wonderful mother of one of my students. She held my hands, prayed for me right there, spoke gently, and helped me remain calm, but let me cry as I felt rushes of blood that had been meant for my baby leave my body.
I recovered with Arron by my side. He helped me dress, helped me walk, helped me drink. He bought me popsicles (which is what we always got at home as kids when we were sick), sat beside me the rest of the day at home, and let me physically and emotionally lean on him all day. He is my rock. And although I know he is equally sad and disappointed, he is showing me love, kindness, gentleness, strength, and honour. He holds me when I need to cry, is physically beside me almost all day long, makes sure we eat and drink, and lets me and my desires lead what we do all day. Sometimes we sit and watch tv for hours, sometimes we nap, sometimes we organize the house and keep busy, sometimes we eat trays of rice krispy squares, sometimes I trick him into watching the original Kevin Bacon Footloose. (We got all the way to the warehouse dance scene before he questioned what we were watching.) I am so thankful that this is the man that is going to be beside me though life. This has been the first low spot in our marriage and I know there will be more, but if this is any indication of how we will work together though it, I feel incredibly blessed and lucky beyond measure to have Arron with me through it.
We have been surrounded by the love and care and prayer of our family and friends the past few days. Although we don't live near anyone in our family, the phone calls, texts, and messages keep coming from Bella Coola, Kamloops, Ontario, and across BC. I am incredibly thankful for text messages. Although they can be impersonal, they make discussing this and talking about it so much easier. Thank you to our parents for calling and texting throughout the day. To my girlfriends (Tiersa, Hayley, Karmyn, Christy, Jacci) for all their messages of support and love. To Bobby who rushed over right away with rice krispies and a care package. To Elya for more rice krispies (you can never have to many right?) and for coming over and crying with me. To Jeremy and Carina for bringing us dinner and coming at 7:30am the next day to make us breakfast and help with our garage sale. To my sisters who have been praying non stop and are sad with me. And to the cousins, aunts, and uncles who mourn with us and have sent messages of grief and encouragement.
We are quite sad and disappointed. I'm full of thoughts and questions that may never get answered. But we have been surprisingly 'ok'. I thought I would be in more pain physically and emotionally and quite unstable. But we are pushing through and looking forward with strength, hope, and plans for the future.
How to Care for a Friend After a Miscarriage or Stillbirth
