My last post was in October of 2014. In that time, a world of changes have occurred. We moved to a bigger home. The kids adjusted to school. BabyBoy is now a preschooler, and has made so much progress.
Life has been good, and it left me in a better place to deal with the blow I am coping with now.
Our eldest had asked for either a kitten, a puppy, or a baby for her birthday this year, and the Mister and I delivered an emphatic “NO!” to all three.
Joke was on us, we found out the day after her birthday that I was pregnant with our fourth child. We were terrified, but after a couple of hours, we began to talk about it, and we grew excited. I was looking forward to this being a happy, healthy pregnancy. I bought prenatal vitamins. Iron. Was eating well and only having periodic nausea.
48 hours later on the 19th, everything began to unravel. My life became a routine of heading to the hospital every 48 hours for bloodwork and scans. It was a yo-yo of “We think you’re having an ectopic pregnancy”, “Oh everything seems fine! Congratulations!”
I will not go into all the numbers, the findings…the rollercoaster, as I have come to call it. But on April 29th, after a promising rally, came the drop that broke my heart. I miscarried my baby at 7 weeks and a couple days. The rainbow I had seen after dinner the night before had not been a sign of hope…it was a goodbye.
And since then, the ride has not stopped. With other losses…I didn’t know the joy of motherhood (and the frustration), I didn’t see anything on a screen.
This has hit me hard and left me desperately treading water in a wide open sea. People said “At least you were early”, and “Be thankful for the children you have”. I want to punch everyone who says that to me in the face. If you’ve said it to me, I’ve wanted to punch you. Please don’t take it personal. I understand you don’t know what to say. Hell, I don’t know what to say.
I need to be honest, and please know that I’m not saying anything against anyone. Everyone has been so wonderful, caring and supportive. I need to make that clear.
And yet despite all of that, I don’t think I’ve ever felt more alone in my life. I know I did nothing wrong, and yet guilt kills me. I had drank wine the night before I found out I was pregnant. I had this wonderful little life in me, I got to see that on the screen…and I couldn’t protect him. I couldn’t nurture him, and all the love in the world couldn’t save him, keep him with me. My sheer force of will was not enough, and I feel like I have utterly failed my child. I have my good days. Mother’s Day was a good day. The sun finally came out. I named him. I had a name to attach to my agony. Dominic Charles.
I wrote him letters, I cried so many tears that I ran out of them and sat there sobbing without my cheeks getting wet. He wasn’t planned, but I wanted him, loved him with all my heart the moment I saw those two lines. To see the fetal pole (the baby, for those not familiar with the term), and no heartbeat…please beat. Please flicker. I begged in my head, prayed with all my heart.
Nobody warned me about the aftermath. My previous miscarriage was different. Everything was taken from my body. This one, I opted to let my body take over. Nobody told me that the thought of flushing the toilet would cripple me with guilt, nobody prepared me to deal with the sight of baby clothes, newborns, diaper commercials. Going past the hospital makes my throat ache from the lump that forms. No one prepared me for the anger I feel at knowing that I should have been holding a beautiful new baby in my arms this Christmas, knowing the joys and pains of motherhood, and looking forward to having another join the ride of life…and having it all taken away. I feel robbed. I feel cheated. I loved him so much, why wasn’t that enough? But if love could keep all our babies here, there’d be no grieving mothers.
No. I’m not dealing. I have days where I am okay. And I have days like today where opening a packet of information and resources for perinatal loss brought the pain back as harsh and as hard as it was the day I knew it was all over. A part of me is still struggling. Maybe to some it was as simple as “Merry was pregnant and now she isn’t anymore”.
To me, to my heart, it isn’t that simple. It will never be that simple. I had two lines. I watched my baby start to form. The sac, the fetal pole…I watched it all happen, and I am so angry, heartbroken, and sad because I couldn’t save him. Don’t tell me I can have another. Don’t tell me he was ‘defective’ or ‘chromosomal defects are the leading cause of miscarriage’ or ‘maybe it didn’t plant right in the womb’. I know all of this and none of it matters to me, none of it comforts me or helps me justify things, because no matter what, he was my child, and I’ve lost him. You don’t have to know what to say. Trust me, nothing will ease the pain. Just ask me what I need. A hug.