After the official diagnosis of my Blighted Ovum in July, my
doctor informed me that eventually my body would expel the pregnancy on its
own. However, she suggested that maybe I undergo a D&C, a procedure to
remove the pregnancy. This was an awfully big decision to make in a room filled
with pictures of babies. I told her that I would talk to my husband later that
night and call her office in the morning. I had a lot to consider.
True to form, I made a list of pros and cons. Pros to
letting my body take care of things on its own: no invasive procedure, no
anesthesia, no visit to the hospital. Cons to going the au natural route: it
could take one to two weeks for my body to take care of things on its own, and
even if it did, the chances of things being “left behind” were greater. Umm…no,
thanks. I didn’t want to play the waiting game as to when my body would expel
pregnancy #3. I also didn’t think it would be healthy for me to grieve the loss
of this pregnancy now and then have to go through the grieving process again
when my body “decided” it was time.
Mike was easy to convince. While he didn’t want to see me go
through an invasive procedure (we did our research before making a decision),
he also didn’t want to see me in pain for who knows how long. We made the
decision and I called my doctor the next morning. My D&C procedure was schedule
for Thursday, July 14, 2011 at Covenant Hospital, the same hospital I delivered
our miracle baby and miscarried baby #2.
The few days in between our fateful diagnosis and my
procedure were a nightmare, to say the very least. Not only was I dealing with
the loss of my second pregnancy in less than six months, but I was also dealing
with the fact that there was no baby there in the first place. I was in limbo
in my mourning. Plenty of people were telling me that it should be fairly easy
to grieve because there was never a baby, but my heart was breaking. As I’ve
said before, this was still a loss for my family, and the second loss in less
than six months. I didn’t even know where to begin with my grieving…
My husband was much more emotionally involved in this loss
than the first. He was incredibly supportive and tended to my needs even if
that meant sitting with me for hours while I cried and dreamed about what could
have been. I was nowhere near finished grieving when I went to the hospital
that Thursday afternoon.
I won’t go into the details that surround my procedure as my
husband and I experienced some very personal things that day, but will tell you
that it was pure emotional hell. I was walking into the hospital with all of
the makings of a baby but no baby, and walking out without any of those things.
While I am good about putting on a brave face, there was no
being brave in the days and weeks that followed this loss. I always tried to
sound positive and upbeat when speaking to someone on the phone but would
immediately fall apart as soon as I hung up. I didn’t go anywhere for weeks. I
spent most of my time sitting in the same spot on the couch staring into space.
To say that I was depressed was putting it nicely. I was
SEVERELY depressed. I really think that there is a permanent butt print in my
couch from my backside. I would attend to Harper’s needs throughout the day but
I always ended up in the same spot when I was finished. Thankfully, I was so
good about putting on that brave face that Harper never suspected a thing. But
when Mike got home, I would retreat to bed and sleep for hours.
I might still be sitting there if it weren’t for my husband
and my grandmother. They both told me on a daily basis that I needed to get my
ass off that couch and start enjoying life again (Their EXACT words!!). One
day, I had a small epiphany, not unlike my first one with baby #2. God did have
a plan for us and, while I couldn’t see it yet, someday I would know why He led
us down this road.
When I finally decided to roll myself from the imprint left
in my couch, I realized that summer had almost completely passed me by. I
started doing things again: having a tea party with my daughter, sitting in the
kiddie pool splish-splashing around, going on dates with my husband, generally
enjoying life altogether. It didn’t hurt that August was quickly approaching
and that meant the beginning of my school year, a time of the year that my
brain was on overload with everything I needed to plan and organize, and not
thinking about the losses of the past months.
While I will never forget my experience that hot July, I had
accepted it and moved forward (not on, but forward, see previous posts). Our
summer drew to a close with Mike coaching football, Harper returning to daycare
and all of her friends, and my school year beginning with a brand new set of
students. Life was good.
Even with life returning to normal and becoming ridiculously
busy, I started to think again about our missed opportunities at more children
and the plan God had for us. Maybe He saw that my husband and I were struggling
in our marriage before baby#2 and again in between baby#2 and baby#3 and
decided that we needed something to bring us closer together. Maybe He decided
that I needed to be able to see my self-worth through the face of adversity.
Maybe He wanted to make me a more attentive and better mother. Maybe He just
wanted to draw me closer to Him. These are things that I will never know but
have seen as a result of the losses of babies #2 and #3. Mike and I have never
been closer and more in tune with each other’s feelings; I realize that I have
a purpose in life and do mean something to people, strengthening my ever
dwindling self- esteem; I am thankful each day for the beautiful blonde miracle
that runs around here and spend more time with her now; and I have a renewed
sense of Faith.
I was now a mother of three: one blonde-haired, blue-eyed miracle and two guardian angels.
Just as I did with the loss of baby#2, I started thinking
about my Grandfather. I remembered what a wonderful man he was and how excited
he would get when he walked into a room filled with children. I again imagined
him in heaven with my precious babies (I still count baby#3 as a “baby”). I
could guarantee with unmistakable certainty that he was in all his glory with
his great-grandchildren and watching down on us, most likely throwing a wink in
my direction. I would blow him a kiss each night and tell him to take care of
my angels as he took care of me.
I think that’s enough for tonight. Thank you again for
reading and stay tuned for the greatest and most heartbreaking news of my young
life.
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