It has taken me a while to sit down and be able to write this. I don't know why because writing is usually my release, my therapy, but somehow writing about this solidifies the fact that it's real. Even now I'm having a difficult time forming the words in my head.
There's no easy way to write it, or say it for that matter, and although it's been a week it's still hard to grasp. We went from total elation and tremendous joy to devastation -- and now there's emptiness. Last week, I lost our baby. I had a miscarriage that started after a traffic accident and completed itself last weekend. "Spontaneous Abortion" is the medical term and it's what the ER doctor kept calling it - but that term makes my skin crawl. The last thing you want to hear when you're coping with the loss of a pregnancy, under NO fault of your own, is that word. The word "abortion" is synonymous with teenage girls who aren't careful when they have sex and rush out after missing their period to get rid of an unwanted pregnancy. This wasn't an unwanted pregnancy -- this child was loved even before it was conceived. This child had parents who cried with joy when they found out the news. This child had parents who planned for this time in their lives carefully. This child was no accident, it was the result of two people who love each other so deeply that they wanted to share their love with a person they created together.
I found out the news on Halloween of all days, and it was a day that Patrick was on duty. Actually, I had taken my first test the day before, but with my immense impatience I threw the test away after only seeing the Control line -- even though the test wasn't finished yet. 20 minutes later, in the trash, there was a 2nd line. I didn't want to let Patrick in on the possibility and decided to pick up another test on the way home from work the next day. So, there I was, alone on Halloween staring at the big fat positive on the test in front of me with tears of happiness streaming down my cheeks.
I ran out and got another brand of test to make sure the news was absolutely certain before I told Patrick. I knew he wanted to be surprised, and I had the plan concocted in my brain of how I was going to tell him and I didn't want to ruin it. The digital test I bought said "Not Pregnant" and I about fell on the floor. I panicked and spent the rest of the night wondering which one was right. The next morning, before work, I took 2 more tests and both said I was pregnant. Just for good measure, I took another test that night before meeting Patrick for dinner, and again it was positive. I only had once chance in my life to tell him I was pregnant for the first time and I didn't want to mess it up by being wrong.
I told him we were pregnant by getting him some presents as "motivation" for the advancement test he was taking two days later. The first was a box of POPtarts. The second was SugarBABIES and SugarDADDIES. The third was "Hop on POP" by Dr. Seuss. The fourth was an "I love my Daddy" bib rolled up with 3 of the tests inside. He had it at the candy, but knew for sure at the book. We both sat there in Cheeseburger in Paradise and cried and giggled like school kids. We had done it and we knew the next nine months would be agony as we waited to meet the little person we created.
However, the agony of impatience would soon turn into the agony of physical and emotional pain, as a week later I was rear ended on my way to work. I instantly thought of the baby and what could happen. I was told at the ER that I was too early to montior and if something is going to happen "it's going to happen". The very next day, I started spotting and ended up back in the ER. They called it a "Threatened Miscarriage" that night, but they had seen the gestational sac and sent me home to rest. The days dragged as we wondered what was happening with this little life inside as I kept spotting from Tuesday until Saturday. We kept hope that this was only a fluke and the pregnancy would last and I would be big and fat in July. On that Saturday, less than 2 weeks after I found out I was pregnant, I was bleeding and cramping and ended back in the ER, where it was confirmed through tests and ultrasounds that I had, in fact, lost the baby.
The pain is tremendous. I thought at first that I would be able to brush this off and get back to life, but it's proving to be more difficult than I imagined. I can't go a few hours without thinking about how I should be having morning sickness and eating for two right now, but instead I sit here empty. We are both empty. Phsyically and emotionally.
Life will go on as it always does. The world does not stop turning because we are grief-stricken (a fact we both know all too well in our lives). We pick up and move on, but a part of us will forever be empty because of this loss.
