As I sit here, thinking of how to go through this, tears begin to well up in my eyes. It's something that I never thought about being open with, considering how fresh the wounds are, and how hurt and devastated I am. I feel like these types of things are always hushed, and should be kept private, and in a way, are something some women should be ashamed of admitting. But I decided it's time to break the social norm. It's not doing anyone, especially me, any good keeping it inside my heart, letting it fester like an infected wound. It's time to allow the healing to begin, and let my heart be open to love and hope.
I had a miscarriage.
I was 1 week late, and grabbed a test at the grocery store. I was hesitant to do so, seeing as how I had very little faith that this test would be any different from the rest. Phil was out golfing with a friend, and I was heading to the farmers market with a friend. I figured I could take a little disappointment before heading to get some goods at the market.
The test was positive. This was on June 27, 2015.
Phil and I both cried. It had finally happened. 2 years of what started becoming a chore, and we finally had what we wanted. We started planning on how to tell our families. Started thinking out our visits for the year, and getting everything set up for our baby. Even the names we wanted were set aside. The following Monday we went to the doctor and confirmed the pregnancy. We couldn't hold it in anymore. I called Carol, and Phil called his parents. We were all so excited. We then started planning how to tell our siblings. We decided on letters to our siblings from"aunt and uncle university". We got to witness their excitement both in person and via FaceTime. Things were set in motion. We even had our announcement for the world ready to go.
Then we had our first ultrasound.
My doctor located the gestational sac, which was awesome! I had butterflies the whole time. I couldn't wait to see our little blueberry. But we couldn't see anything. When my doctor told me he couldn't locate the fetus, that's when the panic set in. He told me there is a small possibility it could be a blighted ovum, where the egg is fertilized, but no fetus forms and is expelled via miscarriage, but he said I was measuring at early 6 weeks pregnant rather that 7, so it was probably too early. So we scheduled a second ultrasound.
This is when I started coping with the idea of loss.
I didn't have any tears. I just started thinking realistically. What if this was a miscarriage? Is it really that uncommon to have one? What would everyone think? Should I be scared? I just prayed that whatever was meant to happen would take place, but I wanted my blueberry so bad.
Phil wanted to be optimistic, where I wanted to be realistic. I read about pregnancy and miscarriage, and that is is common. This, strangely, brought a little comfort. That if it happened, I wasn't alone. I knew a few people who have had them, but they weren't open about it. I didn't know how I wanted to be. Did I want to hide myself from the world? Did I want to shout it from atop a mountain?
The second ultrasound came.
Phil and I walked in, holding hands, excited for what we would see that day. We had even researched the Ramzi method to try and guess what gender our blueberry was. We didn't even consider any other possibility.
As the ultrasound began, my heart began to sink. I saw the same blank grey screen that I had witnessed one week earlier. I didn't dare look at Phil's face, I didn't want him to see the disappointment on my face. My doctor then turned the machine off, and explained how I had an empty gestational sac, meaning a blighted ovum. This meant a miscarriage.
He must've sensed my pain, as he began to explain what I was to expect from here. I had been working with this doctor for a while now, and he knew we were trying to conceive. He hugged me and Phil, and gave us his condolences, and left the room.
This is when Phil broke down.
I sat there, not having shed a tear yet, holding my sobbing husband. I told him everything would be ok. We got in the car. I didn't know what else to do other than call Carol. This is when my tears came. It always happens this way with me. Anytime something traumatic happened to me, I was fine up until I had to say the words. I started blubbering. Phil was blubbering on his phone with his mom. We were a blubbering mess.
Carol talked me down, told me to take the next day or two off to grieve, and that it was ok to not be strong. I should be allowed time to grieve with the loss of my blueberry. She told me not to think of reasons why this happened, otherwise I would go insane.
Phil and u both took the rest of the day off. I had stopped crying by the time we got home. Crying had caused my migraine that I now had the pleasure of accompanying me in my grief. I laid down on the couch and pretty much shut myself off. I didn't want to exist. I didn't want to admit what I had lost. I felt like I had been robbed of the opportunity to be a mother. I went to bed at 6:30 that night. I didn't want to talk to anyone. I just wanted to not feel anything.
Then I woke up the next morning.
The pain was still there. But the sting had dulled. I still stayed home from work. I didn't want to have an intermittent breakdown and have to go home. But I felt more chipper than I had the day before. I read mommy blogs and miscarriage forums. I didn't feel alone, or that my pain was only to be understood by myself. I felt hope. Hope that I may not have to go through this again. Hope that I will be able to conceive again. So I charted when I can start trying again. I mentioned it to Phil, who had given me space over the last two days. He mentioned his only fear is that we would experience this same grief again. And I told him, if we did, we were now better equipped to cope with the pain. But he agreed, he wanted to start trying as soon as we were allowed to.
I've always quoted my favorite scripture, over and over during times of trial. This was just another fitting setting
I don't know what mine and Phil's future holds. But I do know this, we will move forward with faith, knowing our little blueberry will one day, be held in our arms.
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