Today marks one week since we learned that we lost our second baby.
…the baby we we thought for sure was our rainbow baby.
Tomorrow I’ll be one week post-op.
…the second time in which our baby’s remains were scraped from inside my uterus.
How are we feeling?
Emotionally – Justin and I are absolutely devastated. Crushed, and feeling helpless. To be honest, I still don’t fully believe this is all real. The days are long, and mostly foggy. I caught myself a couple of times last week, unsure of what day it was. Physically, my body went through a lot of changes in a short, one-week-span, and I might be playing catch-up for a while. My boobs went from so sore, to hard as rocks, to totally normal. My cramps began in my back, and then moved to my belly, where they remain, but now intermittently in my back again. Some cramps have had me doubled over in pain, tears uncontrollably streaming from my face. Most of that is letting up, but we’re nowhere close to being out of the woods yet. My whole body feels physically weak, uncomfortable, and sore all over, much like I am getting over the flu. I was/am extremely constipated (sorry, TMI, but this is my blog and I’m being real AF), likely a side effect from the pain meds. I have a nasty “battle wound” – a purpley-yellow bruise still on my arm from the IV. All in all, I spent the majority of the week medicating around-the-clock, trying to distract myself with TV, and sleeping.
Justin was able to work from home on Thursday and Friday, which I was extremely grateful for. It was killing me that he had to work through such a tough time, but we made it a point in the evenings to talk and let out our feelings. One thing Justin brought to my attention was – We are both SO thankful that I did not have to endure the Cytotec medication, as I did the first time. For him, that was one of the most challenging parts of our first miscarriage – seeing me in debilitating pain and unable to move, and there wasn’t a darn thing he could do about it.
When we learned we were again, miscarrying, all three of us in that room knew that a D&C was my only option. In fact, when I said NO WAY to Cytotec, my new doctor said “Good. I don’t believe in that.” because it seldom works. “You typically have to be less than 5 weeks and have already begun bleeding on your own for Cytotec to fully work.” Rather than draw it out any longer, she scheduled my surgery for the very next morning, at 7:30 AM, the very first time slot available. I was so, so thankful for that.
Once more, I was astounded by her care on Thursday around 5:00 PM, when my doctor personally called to check on me! She assured me again that nothing I did caused our loss, and that she does not see anything physically wrong with me which would prevent me from carrying to-term. “We just have to figure out what’s happening at that 6-week mark.” While we did not have the outcome we ultimately wanted with this pregnancy, the level of care we received was much, much better this time around. If you’re reading this, THANK YOU DR. LEMASTERS!
I have a post-op appointment on the 17th, to ensure that the D&C was successful. In the meantime, we are awaiting the results (estimated 3-6 weeks) of the tissue testing to find out if our loss was chromosomal. Likely regardless of the outcome, we will both see my OB for basic genetic testing, via blood samples from each of us. If we still don’t have any answers, the next step would be to see a fertility specialist (While getting pregnant is not our issue, fertility specialists do much more than that!).
Moving forward, we realize that every subsequent pregnancy we have (God willing) will be riddled with SO MUCH FEAR. I hate that the question, “What pregnancy is this for you?” will never be answered without tears. I hate that we will never have those warm and fuzzy “OMG-I’M-SO-HAPPY” feelings that our friends have had, because for us, the only feelings we can equate with pregnancy are LOSS.
On our way out of the hospital on Monday, my mom and I saw a flyer in the hospital elevator for a Walk To Remember event. Since I was being pushed out in a wheelchair, I had my mom snap a quick photo so I could read the details later. The event was being held at a cemetery near our home on Sunday, October 7th, for all those affected by miscarriage, stillbirth, and infant loss. There would be a gathering around an angel statue, and a butterfly release at the end. It sounded lovely.
We ended up going to the memorial with some friends of ours who experienced a loss last year. They announced the names of our loved ones and rang a bell for each, and we placed paper butterflies in planters around the angel statue. As a group, we walked around the pond in the middle of the cemetery, then gathered back at the angel statue for the live butterfly release. I tried to hold back the really ugly cries while in public, but I have a feeling I’ll be making several more visits to the angel statue. It was too crowded to get a good photo, but I’ll be sure to upload one soon.
Our first miscarriage wasn’t the end of our journey for a baby.
Our second miscarriage isn’t the end of our journey for a baby.
We will do whatever it takes to see our dreams come true, and in the meantime, we’ll hold on like hell to each other.