It's long and graphic.
Just a disclaimer for those with weak stomachs, this is going to be a graphic and somewhat disturbing post.
When I learned that I lost this last pregnancy, March 31st, we had time to prepare. With the other three we thought everything was fine until I found blood. At that point I felt panic and sadness, fear and anger, everything I could possibly feel while my body worked to expel the bad pregnancy.
This time I had two weeks to prepare myself mentally for the fact that I lost this baby. I was angry with myself, because we told many people when we had a heartbeat. We were finally past the hurtle that escaped us for so long.
When that heart stopped, I was . . .. angry. Angry that I let myself hope this one would be different. And why wouldn’t it be? I was working with two endocrinologists, a team of nurses, I was on medication to prevent pregnancy loss, I had weekly blood work and ultrasounds, so how could anything go wrong?
When I started this last clomid cycle, I was hopeless. I almost didn’t do it. Sex had become work, not something fun to do. It was fit into our schedule and forced. I hate fertile people for that. They don’t know what it’s like to have to work for something that comes so easily to them.
And then there are the people that think ‘maybe you shouldn’t be going to a fertility expert, maybe it’s gods way of telling you that you shouldn’t have children.”
Well fuck that.
If god had any part of it, would assholes like Hitler have been born? Would bad people be in this world? There is the argument that it’s the devil that makes those people be, so why (in that rational) don’t people blame the devil?
All in all it’s best to keep religion out of it I suppose.
Yesterday morning, about 2 am or so, labor intensified. I was talking to Brian and suddenly I typed something like ‘brb emency.’
I was in my favorite sweats and I felt suddenly wet. I checked it out and my hand came out covered in blood, thick bright red blood. I exhaled and tried to not panic.
I ran to the bathroom, blood pouring from me, and I harvested what I could. I found a placental sac as well as an egg yolk. I sighed, relief. Was that it? Because I was so calm and I expected it, was that all?
I cleaned up and came back down, freaking out a little, my most recent child, I thought, expelled into saline.
It took me a moment to relax; my mind focused on my body not what I was talking about as I tried to think of other things.
About four, or so, in the morning I felt more pain as we said our goodnights.
Coming up to bed then I felt it, I felt more vicious cramping as Labor progressed again.
This time it crippled me. I couldn’t walk I could hardly talk and I was so insanely hot. I wanted a shower to make sure I was rid of all the blood on my skin, but my body had other plans for me.
The only thing I could do was kneel on the floor of the bathroom and breathe. I called for Lou, praying he could hear me. I yelled for what seemed like forever until I heard him stir in our room.
I told him I was in pain, in labor and I needed help. By now it was about 5:30 in the morning, each passing moment more intense. I thought to myself how much worse could it get? Wasn’t it over?
Then I got hot, I felt warm. I felt insanely hot. My fever spiked, my whole body working on something. I was unable to be comfortable, any position I took hurt, my knees hurt from kneeling, as I wasn’t able to sit, I would get dizzy, laying didn’t help either.
Finally around 6:30 or so I could rest a little, the pain meds doing some help. I got a little sleep then crawled back to the bathroom, every time I stood I felt like I would pass out. I was still bleeding heavily, to my knowledge I already passed the baby, even though I never saw the fetus, I had a small placenta and yolk.
Worry crossed my mind, I was having all the symptoms of blood loss, I worried that I should go to the ER. I didn’t want to go, but I worried. Lou worried too. I remember being on the floor of the bathroom panting as I told him we should go. But I couldn’t walk. I didn’t have the strength to.
I went on like this for several hours, finally getting some rest about 8, waking at least every two hours so I could take more pain medication.
One of my midwives told me once, get the pain under control and don’t let it up. It’s easier keeping it under control then fighting to manage it again.
So I slept, woke, pushed, slept, took pills and slept some more.
I finally felt well enough to tell Lou to go to work, I felt horrible as he has missed so much work because of all this, because of the pregnancy, because of me, and I felt bad.
So he got showered and shaved, dressed for work and I went to the bathroom. As soon as I sat I heard a loud plop. I stood up immediately and looked, there was something large and red and thick.
I stood there for what seemed like forever; in reality it was probably only a moment or two. I looked at the mass and fought with myself. Then my hand dove into the water and I fished out as most as I could.
It felt heavy, thick, solid.
I looked for a moment and there he was. The little boy I saw on the screen about a week ago. His little eyes, his arms, his legs. And I smiled.
Here in my hand was something I loved so much and I just saw it. Lou saw it and shock crept over his face. Then I said what we were thinking.
“I was right, it was twins. Fraternal twins.”
Then as I lowered his little body and the placenta into the saline, as I cried.
I had mourned one baby. I was prepared for one. Now. . . I saw two.
How do you deal with that? With all those ultrasounds, all those tests, all those looks. We didn’t know?
How could we not know? When in my heart my body told me two, I believed the medical professionals.
I took them in today, their last home in a glad Tupperware container. I talked to the PA, I told her and she looked, shocked.
I asked her what would happen to them. Where they would go. What would happen to them.
Medical waste.
My babies are medical waste.
They don’t even have the privilege of being incinerated. They are discarded as if not wanted.
I read something that the Japanese do when mourning the loss of a child. They place a pinwheel at a shrine (or place of worship) to signify the loss.
I’m going to place two pinwheels at my grandfathers’ grave this weekend.
I’m sad. I miss them, I feel so empty. I’m coming up on my next due date, June 5th. At least November will be a ways off. May brings my second miscarriage then July and September due dates, October my third miscarriage, November my due date and December my due date.
At least March, June, and August should be worry free. . . . so I hope.
When I learned that I lost this last pregnancy, March 31st, we had time to prepare. With the other three we thought everything was fine until I found blood. At that point I felt panic and sadness, fear and anger, everything I could possibly feel while my body worked to expel the bad pregnancy.
This time I had two weeks to prepare myself mentally for the fact that I lost this baby. I was angry with myself, because we told many people when we had a heartbeat. We were finally past the hurtle that escaped us for so long.
When that heart stopped, I was . . .. angry. Angry that I let myself hope this one would be different. And why wouldn’t it be? I was working with two endocrinologists, a team of nurses, I was on medication to prevent pregnancy loss, I had weekly blood work and ultrasounds, so how could anything go wrong?
When I started this last clomid cycle, I was hopeless. I almost didn’t do it. Sex had become work, not something fun to do. It was fit into our schedule and forced. I hate fertile people for that. They don’t know what it’s like to have to work for something that comes so easily to them.
And then there are the people that think ‘maybe you shouldn’t be going to a fertility expert, maybe it’s gods way of telling you that you shouldn’t have children.”
Well fuck that.
If god had any part of it, would assholes like Hitler have been born? Would bad people be in this world? There is the argument that it’s the devil that makes those people be, so why (in that rational) don’t people blame the devil?
All in all it’s best to keep religion out of it I suppose.
Yesterday morning, about 2 am or so, labor intensified. I was talking to Brian and suddenly I typed something like ‘brb emency.’
I was in my favorite sweats and I felt suddenly wet. I checked it out and my hand came out covered in blood, thick bright red blood. I exhaled and tried to not panic.
I ran to the bathroom, blood pouring from me, and I harvested what I could. I found a placental sac as well as an egg yolk. I sighed, relief. Was that it? Because I was so calm and I expected it, was that all?
I cleaned up and came back down, freaking out a little, my most recent child, I thought, expelled into saline.
It took me a moment to relax; my mind focused on my body not what I was talking about as I tried to think of other things.
About four, or so, in the morning I felt more pain as we said our goodnights.
Coming up to bed then I felt it, I felt more vicious cramping as Labor progressed again.
This time it crippled me. I couldn’t walk I could hardly talk and I was so insanely hot. I wanted a shower to make sure I was rid of all the blood on my skin, but my body had other plans for me.
The only thing I could do was kneel on the floor of the bathroom and breathe. I called for Lou, praying he could hear me. I yelled for what seemed like forever until I heard him stir in our room.
I told him I was in pain, in labor and I needed help. By now it was about 5:30 in the morning, each passing moment more intense. I thought to myself how much worse could it get? Wasn’t it over?
Then I got hot, I felt warm. I felt insanely hot. My fever spiked, my whole body working on something. I was unable to be comfortable, any position I took hurt, my knees hurt from kneeling, as I wasn’t able to sit, I would get dizzy, laying didn’t help either.
Finally around 6:30 or so I could rest a little, the pain meds doing some help. I got a little sleep then crawled back to the bathroom, every time I stood I felt like I would pass out. I was still bleeding heavily, to my knowledge I already passed the baby, even though I never saw the fetus, I had a small placenta and yolk.
Worry crossed my mind, I was having all the symptoms of blood loss, I worried that I should go to the ER. I didn’t want to go, but I worried. Lou worried too. I remember being on the floor of the bathroom panting as I told him we should go. But I couldn’t walk. I didn’t have the strength to.
I went on like this for several hours, finally getting some rest about 8, waking at least every two hours so I could take more pain medication.
One of my midwives told me once, get the pain under control and don’t let it up. It’s easier keeping it under control then fighting to manage it again.
So I slept, woke, pushed, slept, took pills and slept some more.
I finally felt well enough to tell Lou to go to work, I felt horrible as he has missed so much work because of all this, because of the pregnancy, because of me, and I felt bad.
So he got showered and shaved, dressed for work and I went to the bathroom. As soon as I sat I heard a loud plop. I stood up immediately and looked, there was something large and red and thick.
I stood there for what seemed like forever; in reality it was probably only a moment or two. I looked at the mass and fought with myself. Then my hand dove into the water and I fished out as most as I could.
It felt heavy, thick, solid.
I looked for a moment and there he was. The little boy I saw on the screen about a week ago. His little eyes, his arms, his legs. And I smiled.
Here in my hand was something I loved so much and I just saw it. Lou saw it and shock crept over his face. Then I said what we were thinking.
“I was right, it was twins. Fraternal twins.”
Then as I lowered his little body and the placenta into the saline, as I cried.
I had mourned one baby. I was prepared for one. Now. . . I saw two.
How do you deal with that? With all those ultrasounds, all those tests, all those looks. We didn’t know?
How could we not know? When in my heart my body told me two, I believed the medical professionals.
I took them in today, their last home in a glad Tupperware container. I talked to the PA, I told her and she looked, shocked.
I asked her what would happen to them. Where they would go. What would happen to them.
Medical waste.
My babies are medical waste.
They don’t even have the privilege of being incinerated. They are discarded as if not wanted.
I read something that the Japanese do when mourning the loss of a child. They place a pinwheel at a shrine (or place of worship) to signify the loss.
I’m going to place two pinwheels at my grandfathers’ grave this weekend.
I’m sad. I miss them, I feel so empty. I’m coming up on my next due date, June 5th. At least November will be a ways off. May brings my second miscarriage then July and September due dates, October my third miscarriage, November my due date and December my due date.
At least March, June, and August should be worry free. . . . so I hope.