Nightmare on Atwood Street…

That cold, January day we were faced with a road we had traveled twice before in the last year (two more times than anyone should have to go through) and were now about to travel for the third time: the loss of Baby#4. If you have been following our story, you know that our first loss happened in February 2011 at five weeks, our second (a blighted ovum) at 11 weeks in July 2011, and our third and most recent loss in January 2012 at almost 13 weeks. We were literally reliving our nightmare AGAIN. Think about the worst day of your life, and then think about reliving it three times in less than a year. That’s exactly the place we were at on January 10, 2012.

After the ultrasound that confirmed our worst fears, our doctor allowed us to sit in her office to process the information we had been given (it didn’t hurt that her office housed an enormous fish tank that kept Harper occupied while we wrapped our heads around this news).  She came in a little while later to discuss our options with us. We knew we had two options at this point: another D&C or let nature run its course. Because we were just shy of the end of our first trimester, our doctor recommended the D&C. We were in agreement and scheduled one for the next day. She also informed us that because we had now experienced the loss of three babies, she wanted to send us to a fertility specialist and run some tests. On top of all of that, she wanted to send the tissue from my D&C to Michigan State to have some further tests ran on the baby. Is your head spinning yet? Mine was…

We left the doctor’s office in a trance. My eyes were swollen and bloodshot, I was on the verge of losing it again, and Mike was trying to keep his emotions in check so he could get us safely home (I can’t imagine how difficult that was for him). I collapsed into the seat of my trusty ride and immediately lost my composure. For the remainder of the 45 minute ride, I followed a pattern: sob uncontrollably, gain my composure long enough to get out a two-three word sentence, repeat. Poor Harper…I couldn’t imagine what she was going through: her mom was a hysterical mess and her dad wasn’t saying a word. This poor little girl…she had no idea what was going on but was trapped in that car with us until we got home.

I made one phone call on the way home. I called my parents. It seemed like the most natural thing to do. I knew it wouldn’t be an easy phone call to make, but I thought I could get through it. My dad picked up with a cheerful “Hello?” and I lost it again. Through my sobs, he made out the jist of the reason for my phone call. I have to digress here for a minute. My dad is that man who remains pretty calm in a crisis and usually is able to say just the right thing to make me feel better. I think I threw him a curveball that fateful January day because he met my message with, “Let me get your mom. She’ll know what to say.” As I think back on his reaction, I chuckle a little. Anyway, I gave both of my parents the rundown and hung up the phone. I wasn’t about to make any more phone calls regarding this topic for at least two weeks…..that was, by far, the most difficult call to make. Anyone else that needed to be informed was done so via text message. Thank God for modern technology! I couldn’t make the necessary phone calls but all parties that needed to be involved could be done so through a mass text message, saving me the tears associated with speaking to someone.

The rest of that night is mostly a blur. I do, however, remember two defining moments. The first was shortly after we arrived home. I wanted to get out of my work clothes and into something more comfortable so I went upstairs to do so. I forgot, however, that I had purchased a few outfits in hopes that Baby#4 was a boy, and had them hanging in my closet. Hysterical sobbing episode #1…check. When I regained my composure, I grabbed the tiny little outfits and made my way to my front porch (where I was storing Baby#4’s belongings). As soon as I opened the door to the front porch, I saw it staring at me: the blanket I had surprised Mike with on Christmas Day. I literally collapsed in the doorway. Hysterical sobbing episode#2…check.

Mike took care of the few reminders of Baby#4 and helped me to the couch (remember that Sam-shaped imprint from Babies #2 and #3? Yeah, it was about to get EVEN bigger….). From what I have been told, I spent the remainder of the night sitting in that very spot staring into space. Mike ordered us dinner and made me eat (I’m pretty sure I took four bites and it took me an hour to take those four). He also helped me to bed and held me all night. He was literally my Godsend.

I didn’t sleep a wink that night and literally moved from place to place the next day in a complete daze. I won’t go into the details regarding my second D&C in less than six months, as it was incredibly emotional and all too familiar for my husband and I. I experienced some complications following my procedure and spent the better part of the weekend either laying completely flat or standing, not doing much of anything at all.

I returned to work on Monday. Notice how there isn’t much to read in between my story of the operation and my returning to work?! That’s because there isn’t much to tell….I spent most of the time not really saying anything to anyone nor did I begin my grieving. I was in a really weird place, kind of in limbo with my feelings. However, I returned to work on Monday only to be met with the world’s most supportive staff. My boss was phenomenal and checked in on me often; my teaching team had spent my time out supporting a substitute teacher and never complaining about it; and my students, well they put smiles on my face in my time of greatest need.

I spent the better part of the next few weeks walking around in a bit of a trance…not really sure where I should be with my healing and not really sure how to get to that place.

Stay tuned for my next entry about grieving our most recent loss and the groundbreaking idea that finally helped me begin to move on…Thanks for reading!