I haven't been in here in so long
But i need to tell my story. The one that started in June of last year. I woke up one morning and it hit me like a ton of bricks. "I'm pregnant." It was 10 days before my period was due so Dan brushed me off a little. ("It's just your stomach [I have irritable bowel and ulcerative colitis] acting up. Your boobs look the same.") But I knew. I got myself knocked up.
I started peeing on the stick at day 7. I knew it was still too soon but I couldn't help it. I had already cut myself down from a pack a day to three cigarettes (and was working on those last three). Finally, it was day 11....but just barely. It was 2 in the morning and I couldn't sleep so I said fuck it and went to pee. The only words I could manage was "holy fucking shit". I started screaming for Dan, even though he was long since asleep. He too said "holy shit" and we hugged. He was elated...me, not so much.
Honestly,for the 12 weeks I carried the little troll baby (nicknamed in love), I wasn't sure about the whole thing. I knew an abortion would destroy my relationship. Eventually, somewhere around week 10, after the little one had already died, I realized I wanted to do this. I was terrified of it (would i be a good mother? how was I going to go back to school and do something meaningful with my life? how are we going to afford this?) but my heart was finally ready. We were going to be parents; anyway, we had already told our families and were planning on telling everyone else on Monday, August 13th.
We went to Florida to see Dan's grandparents the first week of August. I started to spot on the 6th, but it was light and dark-colored. Called the OB just in case and they told me not to worry too much, as I barely needed a pantyliner. We started to drive back up on the 10th, so we could be back on the island on the 11th for my grandmother's 91st birthday. As soon as we got to mommy's house, I had to pee. And it was nothing but bright red blood on the tissue. And I knew it was over.
I told my mom and the look on her face said it all. Of course,she tried to cover it and tell me to get an appointment with the OB asap but we both knew. Dan knew I was bleeding but I didn't dare tell him how bad. This was his baby more than it was mine. He's the one with the natural instincts, not me. He's the one who was born to be a parent. When he finally got it out of me, I did the same thing my mom did a few hours earlier. Told him it's pretty rare to miscarry at 12 weeks and that maybe it was because things had gotten a little too rough the night before. (Poor guy was taking it so easy in bed to not hurt the fetus). But I knew it was bullshit.
We had brunch on the 11th for Babci's birthday. I was going through a pantyliner every few hours with bright red blood. Period blood, almost. We get back to Rochester late on the 12th. We had taken my car with the puppy (to stay with my mom while we were in Florida) and left Dan's car and the cats at his parent's house. So we went there first to get them and the car. I had Geri with me. As I drove down South Ave, past Highland Hospital, "Temporary Home" by Carrie Underwood came on the radio. To this day, i still don't know how I didn't crash my car. I sobbed and sobbed all the way home because I really did know. It really was over.
We got home and I went to make a bagel. Cramped so hard I almost passed out (at least I had the sense to throw the knife in the sink first). That got Dan's attention real quick. I called the OB and the doctor told me to get to Highland right away. I was panacking the entire time. The first nurse almost got punched for basically calling me a drama queen. There's nothing overly dramatic about hyperventilating because they're insisting on a pelvic from an ED PA and then calling OB down. There's nothing overly dramatic about doing this in the rape/lady problems room in the ED. But the PA was a saint and the rest of the nurses were truly angels. The ED attending came in and did an abdominal ultrasound which was inconclusive; he told me not to worry since I was still too early to get a good view. Finally, OB came down. An attending and a brand new resident. I had to have been her first miscarriage because she had no clue what to say or even how to act. I prayed to every diety I could think of that they just forgot to to turn the sound up on the transvaginal ultrasound, but I knew there was no sound to hear when they turned the monitor away from me. Not out of Dan's sight because I saw his face and it said it all. My fetus, my little troll baby, stopped growing at 8 weeks, one week after my first and last ultrasound.
I really don't remember what was said, other than that there was an emergency upstairs and that they had to go. The attending was so apologetic that I felt as if I needed to kick him out. There was nothing else he could have done for us but there was a mother and her baby in distress. They could be helped. They could be saved. So the attending and the resident walked out, leaving Dan and I there. Me, in a hospital gown with a towel covering my privates. Not like it mattered since there was blood everywhere. Me, screaming for 20 minutes, trying to process it but I couldn't. The only thing I could hear and focus on was the OB attending saying "I'm sorry, but there's no heartbeat"
By now, it was almost 3am on Monday the 13th. Dan helped me to get up, go to the bathroom and wash up. Since the room was the lady parts room, there was a very nice bathroom and shower (assumingly for rape survivors). But the last thing I wanted was to stay in that hospital for another minute. I got dressed and waited for Pam to come in. Pam must have been sent straight from one of the dieties I was begging to. She somehow managed to get me to laugh during the worst moment of my life She was warm and funny and loving and amazing. I will always be in her debt.
By the time we got home and had finished telling our parents (my mom works nights, so she was at work; Dan's parents were in Europe prior to a cruise so they were up too), it was 4:30. The ED kindly wrote me a Xanax script so we went to the only 24 hour pharmacy; anyway, I needed pads. I never use them and even if I did, I needed the extra heavy duty ones. Painful irony is when the pad feels just as thick as a diaper. I stayed up until 7 to call out from work and finally passed out.
I woke up around 1pm. It felt like a terrible nightmare until I felt the diaper/pad. So I cried. Then I walked over to the little bit of baby clothes we had bought and sobbed. Those little socks still kill me. We went out, desperate to do anything to forget. At least I did, because i can't tell you anything that we did that day. Except that we didn't get to tell the world that we were bringing another person into it.
Of course, my OB was notified. I had a regular appointment scheduled on Tuesday, so I went in. I woke up at 6am in contractions. At first they weren't so bad, but by 2:30, when I had the D&C, I needed 4mg of Dilaudid for the pain (plus the 1.5mg of Ativan for the seizure I was about to have). OB's office to across the street to the hospital for a final ultrasound. Although the receptionist was cruel (suggesting I wait in the maternity floor waiting room while having a miscarriage), the tech was a doll. She turned off all the monitors except for hers and was kind when we really needed it. Back to the OB's office, who looked at me and couldn't figure out why they didn't send me to the ED for pain meds. ED to same day surgery for a D&C. And just like that, I wasn't pregnant anymore.
I haven't been since. I had a molar pregnancy, meaning there wasn't enough of my DNA and too much of Dan's. The body goes into overdrive trying to save a pregnancy that can't be saved. All these months later, there's still a risk that the placenta could regrow, so I have to have blood work done. At first it was every week, then every other and now once a month. Instead of bringing my baby home today, I went to have my labs done to make sure my placenta didn't grow back. Because that can turn into cancer. (You know, just to make sure there's a good amount of frosting on this shit cake)
It's been a long journey just to even be able to type all of this. I've relived it in my head a million times but to say it outloud (so to speak) is something I didn't think I'd ever be able to do. The first week was spent in a Xanax haze. Hell, most of the end of 2012 was. But I owe it to my little troll fetus, who should be laying right next to me for his/her first night home, to tell our story. Because it is our story. And because where ever you are, I love you. Always.
“I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart)I am never without it"
-e.e. cummings
I started peeing on the stick at day 7. I knew it was still too soon but I couldn't help it. I had already cut myself down from a pack a day to three cigarettes (and was working on those last three). Finally, it was day 11....but just barely. It was 2 in the morning and I couldn't sleep so I said fuck it and went to pee. The only words I could manage was "holy fucking shit". I started screaming for Dan, even though he was long since asleep. He too said "holy shit" and we hugged. He was elated...me, not so much.
Honestly,for the 12 weeks I carried the little troll baby (nicknamed in love), I wasn't sure about the whole thing. I knew an abortion would destroy my relationship. Eventually, somewhere around week 10, after the little one had already died, I realized I wanted to do this. I was terrified of it (would i be a good mother? how was I going to go back to school and do something meaningful with my life? how are we going to afford this?) but my heart was finally ready. We were going to be parents; anyway, we had already told our families and were planning on telling everyone else on Monday, August 13th.
We went to Florida to see Dan's grandparents the first week of August. I started to spot on the 6th, but it was light and dark-colored. Called the OB just in case and they told me not to worry too much, as I barely needed a pantyliner. We started to drive back up on the 10th, so we could be back on the island on the 11th for my grandmother's 91st birthday. As soon as we got to mommy's house, I had to pee. And it was nothing but bright red blood on the tissue. And I knew it was over.
I told my mom and the look on her face said it all. Of course,she tried to cover it and tell me to get an appointment with the OB asap but we both knew. Dan knew I was bleeding but I didn't dare tell him how bad. This was his baby more than it was mine. He's the one with the natural instincts, not me. He's the one who was born to be a parent. When he finally got it out of me, I did the same thing my mom did a few hours earlier. Told him it's pretty rare to miscarry at 12 weeks and that maybe it was because things had gotten a little too rough the night before. (Poor guy was taking it so easy in bed to not hurt the fetus). But I knew it was bullshit.
We had brunch on the 11th for Babci's birthday. I was going through a pantyliner every few hours with bright red blood. Period blood, almost. We get back to Rochester late on the 12th. We had taken my car with the puppy (to stay with my mom while we were in Florida) and left Dan's car and the cats at his parent's house. So we went there first to get them and the car. I had Geri with me. As I drove down South Ave, past Highland Hospital, "Temporary Home" by Carrie Underwood came on the radio. To this day, i still don't know how I didn't crash my car. I sobbed and sobbed all the way home because I really did know. It really was over.
We got home and I went to make a bagel. Cramped so hard I almost passed out (at least I had the sense to throw the knife in the sink first). That got Dan's attention real quick. I called the OB and the doctor told me to get to Highland right away. I was panacking the entire time. The first nurse almost got punched for basically calling me a drama queen. There's nothing overly dramatic about hyperventilating because they're insisting on a pelvic from an ED PA and then calling OB down. There's nothing overly dramatic about doing this in the rape/lady problems room in the ED. But the PA was a saint and the rest of the nurses were truly angels. The ED attending came in and did an abdominal ultrasound which was inconclusive; he told me not to worry since I was still too early to get a good view. Finally, OB came down. An attending and a brand new resident. I had to have been her first miscarriage because she had no clue what to say or even how to act. I prayed to every diety I could think of that they just forgot to to turn the sound up on the transvaginal ultrasound, but I knew there was no sound to hear when they turned the monitor away from me. Not out of Dan's sight because I saw his face and it said it all. My fetus, my little troll baby, stopped growing at 8 weeks, one week after my first and last ultrasound.
I really don't remember what was said, other than that there was an emergency upstairs and that they had to go. The attending was so apologetic that I felt as if I needed to kick him out. There was nothing else he could have done for us but there was a mother and her baby in distress. They could be helped. They could be saved. So the attending and the resident walked out, leaving Dan and I there. Me, in a hospital gown with a towel covering my privates. Not like it mattered since there was blood everywhere. Me, screaming for 20 minutes, trying to process it but I couldn't. The only thing I could hear and focus on was the OB attending saying "I'm sorry, but there's no heartbeat"
By now, it was almost 3am on Monday the 13th. Dan helped me to get up, go to the bathroom and wash up. Since the room was the lady parts room, there was a very nice bathroom and shower (assumingly for rape survivors). But the last thing I wanted was to stay in that hospital for another minute. I got dressed and waited for Pam to come in. Pam must have been sent straight from one of the dieties I was begging to. She somehow managed to get me to laugh during the worst moment of my life She was warm and funny and loving and amazing. I will always be in her debt.
By the time we got home and had finished telling our parents (my mom works nights, so she was at work; Dan's parents were in Europe prior to a cruise so they were up too), it was 4:30. The ED kindly wrote me a Xanax script so we went to the only 24 hour pharmacy; anyway, I needed pads. I never use them and even if I did, I needed the extra heavy duty ones. Painful irony is when the pad feels just as thick as a diaper. I stayed up until 7 to call out from work and finally passed out.
I woke up around 1pm. It felt like a terrible nightmare until I felt the diaper/pad. So I cried. Then I walked over to the little bit of baby clothes we had bought and sobbed. Those little socks still kill me. We went out, desperate to do anything to forget. At least I did, because i can't tell you anything that we did that day. Except that we didn't get to tell the world that we were bringing another person into it.
Of course, my OB was notified. I had a regular appointment scheduled on Tuesday, so I went in. I woke up at 6am in contractions. At first they weren't so bad, but by 2:30, when I had the D&C, I needed 4mg of Dilaudid for the pain (plus the 1.5mg of Ativan for the seizure I was about to have). OB's office to across the street to the hospital for a final ultrasound. Although the receptionist was cruel (suggesting I wait in the maternity floor waiting room while having a miscarriage), the tech was a doll. She turned off all the monitors except for hers and was kind when we really needed it. Back to the OB's office, who looked at me and couldn't figure out why they didn't send me to the ED for pain meds. ED to same day surgery for a D&C. And just like that, I wasn't pregnant anymore.
I haven't been since. I had a molar pregnancy, meaning there wasn't enough of my DNA and too much of Dan's. The body goes into overdrive trying to save a pregnancy that can't be saved. All these months later, there's still a risk that the placenta could regrow, so I have to have blood work done. At first it was every week, then every other and now once a month. Instead of bringing my baby home today, I went to have my labs done to make sure my placenta didn't grow back. Because that can turn into cancer. (You know, just to make sure there's a good amount of frosting on this shit cake)
It's been a long journey just to even be able to type all of this. I've relived it in my head a million times but to say it outloud (so to speak) is something I didn't think I'd ever be able to do. The first week was spent in a Xanax haze. Hell, most of the end of 2012 was. But I owe it to my little troll fetus, who should be laying right next to me for his/her first night home, to tell our story. Because it is our story. And because where ever you are, I love you. Always.
“I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart)I am never without it"
-e.e. cummings