My Mrscarriage...

You should know that this is a post of the past. However, I believe it is important to not forget or erase your history, less you forget why you are who you are today & why you are as you are & not be inspired to improve.

I tend to hide away, the cancerous hermit crab that I am. I have noticed the tendency about myself to hide away during the months of September into October leading up, until December's Christmas charm can console me out.
But this year has been a particularly difficult time in which to climb back out:

"I will explain because you are dear friends that even in absence are present when you read what I share. So i feel that even if we aren't sharing in close proximity, there is still an emotional bond that will tie us-like gifts held together until we see each other and unwrap in the joy and excitement of being able to hold hands and whisper secrets in person.
As I have said, I was to be and did get married in August. I really hope to load up photos to narrate the occasion sometime soon, it was really a lovely, lovely moment in my life.
Then there was our honeymoon cruise around Alaska--even more photos to share what words can't capture.
Then, in the entire month of October I was always moving.
I don't remember what happened to September. I might have photos to remind me though...
In October we prepared to move into a new apartment.
Then I spent three weeks moving my sister to NY for college (photos), and moving the rest of myself and belongings to home (not so many photos. Except for the cute trip to disneyland.).

Then changes started to really happen.
I hadn't been paying attention to my body and by now, the last weekend of October, I began to really freak out. Four pregnancy tests later confirmed what my tormented emotional state already knew what was happening.

And yes, I am the type of person to take four tests. Two months into this marriage and I'm pregnant.
So for those of us that suck at math, it was sometime in late September, and no, I don't really remember because we're that kind of married couple. Oh yes.
At least I know who the dad is. And what a wonderful guy he is.
He saw me so emotionally upset and panicked that he let down his walls of manly reserve and confessed that, yes, even he was a bit afraid, however--huge key word there--he was so excited to have me be pregnant. And he consoled and comforted me everyday about things and life.
He went with me to our preacher when I needed to reach out to someone who wouldn't judge that we were so quick!
He went with me to find books and to shop for food and he even wanted to start eating healthy too.
He didn't mind that I was too tired to do dishes some days because it took me TWO hours alone to move a dresser into our bedroom.
Growing something takes away every ounce of energy. No wonder God rested for a full day.

Now, here we are, in the beginning of November planning out our insurance, my nurse-midwife, and who we are going to tell. We have a few friends, otherwise it will be a secret-from our family and all others. As long as I eat exactly when I'm hungry, I have no symptoms. Oh, and I really can't be hugged too tightly as apparently your boobs get wicked sore... I want to tell all my bridesmaids, and was able to do so save for two, one was my sister in NY and another was traveling and this sort of news has to be said in person. We were going to surprise everyone at Christmas! We were making ideas and thinkings of cute "World's Best Grandma" type of gifts with a picture of our baby for our family's Christmas presents.
We started telling our close friends on Friday, with a trip down to Portland.
We celebrate another friend's birthday, share our surprise secret with friends and by Tuesday night have told almost everyone I want-save one friend.

(If you continue reading, I'll tell you right now-it isn't a very happy ending. And I'm still trying to get things to return to being happy)

It was on Tuesday that I start having pains, not unlike womanly-time cramps, and start spotting.
I'm not concerned-my book tells me that this can be a common occurrence for many pregnant women.
Wednesday morning I have more energy than ever and aim to move around a lot of furniture. In the late afternoon, I start spotting bright red. I know from my book that I'm to call my nurse-midiwfe immediately.
But here's the problem--we only knew I was pregnant for two whole weeks. We had to take time for insurance to kick in and for me to find a hospital, doctor/midwife I would feel most comfortable with. Reading bios and narrowing down a search takes time and a firm commitment. I'm not good with commitment, I was still getting used to the idea I was going to be responsible for another person for the rest of my life!
But I called the hospital I felt most drawn too.
I talked with the nurse-midwife on call who told me to come in the very next morning. They didn't care that I hadn't been in yet or that my insurance might not be inplace just yet. They only cared about me and my baby. I had an instant emotional bond with these people.

For this whole week, my husband had Army training and could not miss any time or else he would be dropped from receiving a certificate that equates promotion points. So he was unable to go with me to my appt. The only other housewife I knew who could go with me was my dear friend who is near-terrified of having children. And she had a cold at the time. But she bucked up and took me to the Nurse-Midwife clinic.

That morning in the shower, I knew what was happening. My body was already naturally taking care of something it deemed would not survive. And I knew this. That is when I cried. I didn't want a baby to begin with, I didn't want to be pregnant for a few years. But I did not want to not have a choice about the matter. It was my mishap that I got pregnant to begin with, why was it not my responsibility to decide? I had decided to begin bonding with the idea of a baby growing inside me just as my body chose to not do the same. Why put me through that emotional turmoil?

At the clinic, the on-call nurse-midwife was amazing. She was the emotional support I needed at that moment. And my friend is grounded and level headed and was able to look me in the eye and let me joke if I needed.

At first there was a manual exam. If that's what it's called. She wanted to be sure the baby wasn't growing in the fallopian tubes. Next she proceeded with two types of handheld sonogram type of device on my belly-one to hear if there's a heartbeat and the second, to hear if there is any type of movement at all in my uterus. Even though you for sure are able to hear a heartbeat at 10weeks, she and I hoped. However on both occasions we only heard my heartbeat, a slow and rhythmic pulse rushing life throughout only me. She determined I was roughly 9 weeks, the Thursday before Thanksgiving. My sister-in-laws' birthday.

She then determined I needed an ultra sound-to make sure things where alright, considering.
There was a lot of blood and she knew that I knew what was happening, even though it hadn't been spoken.
For an ultrasound, they wanted my bladder full so they could see my uterus as best they could--they don't tell you that halfway through this looking they need you to pee it all out, "and then some". We had an hour to eat lunch and for me to guzzle liquids. I could only manage a little bit of sandwich and pudding cup. Hospitals always seem to have the best pudding cups.
The ultrasound technician was comical. She talked and joked with us when I initiated it and this internal exam was not as uncomfortable as the earlier one, but it was longer and it did hurt at one point. Apparently most women's left fallopian tube is more sensitive to being prodded. She then told me that Nurse-midwives are notorious for not allowing the technicians to discuss results. At all. I was fine with that-who wants to have someone who is not their doctor try to explain something that isn't entirely their primary profession anyway? And I came for the emotional bonds that midwives provide, if there was to be bad news spoken, it was for her to tell me, not the technician.
Back to the clinic we went, and upon arrival it was as if everyone had an air of sorrow when they spoke to me. It was in no way offensive or felt oppressive, but as if they were all privately sharing in an unfortunate experience that happens. It was comforting to have people be sad, because I did not want to be so at that moment.

The nurse-midwife came in and sat with me to confirm that I was having a miscarriage. A Blighted Ovum.
If there was ever one type of miscarriage to have, I think that this one might be the less despairing. It means that the egg was fertilized, but the chromosomes were bad and so no baby grew. But what does grow is the sac that houses the potential baby. They don't know why it does, but it made my body convinced I was pregnant and had us all fooled. I was pregnant, but there was no baby. Cruel? Maybe. A miscarriage in itself is a cruel process, it doesn't really matter the type. But there I was, experiencing the first stage of a natural miscarriage and I was also a whole bra-cup size bigger. "One crisis at a time"-Dwight Schurte.

My nurse-midwife told me that I was going to have to pass something that would be sort of a grey-balloon. She said it could be painful and she could prescribe something for me if I wanted it. At that point in time, I was having a little bit of pain, but nothing I couldn't handle. She said there was to be a lot of blood & pain, but if there was "this much" then it was too much and I needed to go to the ER. Terrific.
My friend took me home and waited until my husband came home. He came home as soon as he could, out of love and concern and it was very hard on him to have me tell him what was happening. He did cry. It was completely a heartbreaking experience because my husband does not cry-I'm the crier in this marriage. We went to bed sad and woke up the same. Friday came and went and he came home just as quick to be with me.
On Saturday he went out for a surprise: flowers, popsicles, fudgesicles, christmas cookies to bake, and lego Harry Potter. My husband is amazing. By Saturday afternoon, midol, ib profen and a heating pad were not working to keep the pain from having me hunch over or stop talking in the middle of a conversation. I was having what I consider to be the beginning of contractions--I guess that would be the best way to describe it.

Now, I have had corrective bone surgery on my feet, until now, that was the worst type of pain I have ever felt. Contractions took my breath away and made me tear up. Mainly because they didn't stop. It is a wave of intense pain that you can feel coming upon you, causing you to cringe and hold your breath as it hits you and then relax and breath as it passes-allowing only a few moments in between each hit. It's torture to not have a break. I called my nurse-midwife and she called in a prescription of Vicodin--which I'm convinced did little to take the edge off. For my foot surgeries, I got Oxycodine & Percocet. That's right, I deal with the hard street dust, but she couldn't prescribe a narcotic unless I went to the ER. And she said that she would not want me to have to go through this experience in a place like that.

So from roughly 5pm Saturday until 4am Sunday I sat and read in bed while squeezing my husband's hand with each contraction. He tried to stay a wake with me as best he could, but I had my book of Christian romance to read through to take my mind off of things and I knew he was there if I needed him. He did his best to make sure I was taken care of as best he could. Niether one of us knew what to expect, so we did our best as things progressed. Vicodin is to be taken every 4-6hrs, but I could feel the full force of my pain about every 3 1/2 hours. Finally by 4am I was able to sleep until 11am. I awoke with a start of pain, intense pain like I have never known. Understand, I have never even had womanly cramps either! I was very lucky to be able to just be nauseous for one full day and be done with everything within four days. This was miserable for me to experience. I aimed to take a bath to try to have hot water relieve my symptoms, but nothing worked.

When I have a child, I will probably not take any type of pain medicine, but as of now, I was suffering for nothing. There was no reward at the end of this, no joy to soften the experience of pain. My nurse-midwife had conversed with me and my husband three times already that day and said I seemed to be near the end. I had to stop talking about every minute or so because I would have about 5-7 seconds of excruciating pain when I could do nothing but groan and mumble to wish it would just stop. My poor husband had to hear all of this through the closed bathroom door. I couldn't think as to what my neighbors were wondering what was happening if they could hear me through the walls.

I had to use the bathroom so I got out and on the toilet and then got stuck. The pain was so much that I could not stand up. This scared me to the point of calling my husband in--my husband of only three months was now getting to experience me stuck stark naked on the pot, doubled over in pain. I was really hoping to have kept this experience from happening until 50 years from now. At least I'm sure he loves me because he told me it was a relief to be able to be next to me, rather than hear me in pain through a closed door and not be able to try and comfort me. What a guy, right? I love him so.

Sitting there, my body just wanted to push, it felt better when i could brace myself and push-funny how the body just knows how it's meant to work. It had been almost three hours and my nurse-midwife told me it was fine to take 6-8 ib profen and then go ahead with another two Vicodin-that the end was going to be really soon and she would call in about a half hour to see how I was doing. To actually have a professional person care about me enough like she did on the phone was so wonderful. It gave me strength knowing that she knew it was horrible, but that as soon as things passed, the pain would be gone. Then, not ten minutes after talking with her and taking all that medicine, it passed, and the pain was gone--instantly. I could not tell you then or now how much it hurt. At that moment, I couldn't even remember hurting. Now I do, but my body has no echo of the pain-unlike the joints in my thumbs ache sometimes from being fractured, the pain of that 24 hours is non-existant.

I did however scare my husband with tremendous shaking and my lips turning purple-he said. He helped me off of the pot and into clothes and put me to nest on the couch with a heating pad, electric blanket and almost every available blanket in the house and sat with me until I stopped shaking and I looked somewhat normal again. He also Googled "blood-loss", as to what to do for me, and him with all his Army training! All they really do, he said later, is enforce the idea of a tourniquet until a real medic can get to you, and that he didn't know how to apply a tourniquet to my cervix. He was such a trooper and has been concerned with me ever since.

This was difficult for the both of us to deal with. We didn't want to go out anywhere, I hated my husband having to leave and go to work and he hated having get up and leave after such a horrible weekend. We only wanted to be together and not see anyone. But we did have to go out for Thanksgiving, and we stayed with he Uncle's family for a weekend and it was very therapeutic...for mostly him. I know he still worries about me. He knows from what I tell him and what he can sense about me that I still am not back to normal at all.

This all happened within a weekend.
It was terrifying and I felt all alone because I had no idea what my body was doing. I still don't. They said there were to be some bleeding afterwards, but they didn't specify. It's been almost three weeks and I really don't think I have much blood left in me. There are very large blood clots which are now just getting to be irritating and gross. The whole process doesn't have an end in sight--it would be more bearable with an end in sight. I don't feel attractive anymore because, left's face it, we don't put on our best outfits and do up our hair when we're on our periods. I don't have energy because I know I'm not taking care of myself. But with only one car, I can't drive out to go see friends during the work week, I haven't gotten over to the mini-gym in our apt., and I don't eat much or very well because I don't have the initiation to do so. I feel sad, and have been for weeks now and I know that the books say after a miscarriage your body will go through all the changes as if you actually had a baby-hormone swings and all. But I am thinking that if there actually was a baby, I'd have something to be happy about every so often. But I don't. I am by myself, in this experience and know nothing about it and feeling lonely has never been something I've sought out."

So now I have to think of ways to be happy. Of things to be happy about. And to motivate myself to be happy about said things. I know I at least owe it to my husband if I can't motivate myself to do it for me. To carve myself out of this experience that has pushed me so far into hiding--it's by far easier to turn down all those holiday invites and stay in bed.