My Miscarriage

I mean, we both lost the baby.

It’s not my burden to solely bare. Matt was there. Through every Earth shattering second of it.

We went in for our ultrasound at what should have been my 9th week.

It was discovered just the week before I had some ovarian cysts and a UTI – all normal of course. I had my first ultrasound and got to see our little chicken strip. Baby was measuring small but of course dates can be off, especially when you stop hormonal birth control and don’t have a good idea of your cycles.

I brought home a picture of our baby Quade, or BBQ as I referred to it.

Pregnancy symptoms were so welcomed. I didn’t mind the bloating, (extra, amplified dizziness), feeling like I was low-key going to vomit all. day. long. I ate crackers. I quit drinking caffeine, I quit taking dangerous meds weeks before I found out. I was going to do this right. I was going be a mom. In ten months, sometime around May 16th I was going to have a warm, wrinkly, sweet smelling baby in my arms.

I bought stuff. I ignored people who said to not do too much. I ignored my doctor to just get through the first trimester. Nothing could go wrong I told myself. Matt and I have been through far too much to have anything go wrong.

In the very, very bottom of my stomach I could feel this twinge of something… I ignored it. Just because miscarriages are super popular in women in my family I was going to beat the odds. I gave up soda for this little nugget – nothing could happen to my baby.

But, it did.

We had our ultrasound and the first thing that felt strange was the tech wouldn’t let me see my baby. I asked if she could see the baby and she said she was seeing what she needed to see and when I asked about a picture, she said she would give it to the nurse because that was procedure. We excitedly made our way upstairs. Blissfully fucking ignorant.

I had all of my medical records printed off, my immunizations, my discharge papers from the ER with the cysts… I had our first ultrasound photo to compare and show our midwife. She came in smiling and shook our hands.

She went through some paperwork and then said it. The words that instantly steal away all the air in my lungs. “There was no heartbeat.”

My first thought was run. My second thought was, I killed our baby. My third thought was, Matt is going to hate me. My last thought was, my body has once again betrayed me and I am carrying a dead embryo inside of me and had been for probably days. I had been sitting up late, dizzy, talking to my dead baby about what I hoped for it’s future.

I had a missed miscarriage she explained. Super common. I could go home and wait for my body to catch up and pass the tissue, I could take Cytotec and miscarry at home with the hope of completely passing everything, or have a D&C. I immediately said I wanted a D&C. I felt like there was an invader inside of me. I felt physically ill. I wanted to get home to punch myself, punish myself somehow for screwing this up.

All of this was happening at warp speed. Matt didn’t have time to process. I don’t remember what he said I just remember screaming, “A D&C is basically an abortion, they just suck everything out and it’s done…”

The next thing I remember we are walking out of the clinic and Matt is holding me up.

We went to Arby’s and ate dinner.

See, the cruelest part is, with a missed miscarriage, your body still thinks you’re pregnant. So despite all of this trauma happening emotionally, I felt nauseous as I hadn’t eaten for at least four hours and bile was creeping up my throat and it was either eat or dry heave.

The next three days are a total blur. By the time I went to bed that night I had convinced myself they were wrong. My baby wasn’t dead. I would get a second opinion.

We went in the next morning and the OB we saw looked me dead in the eyes and said this pregnancy was not viable. She was compassionate too. My analytical mind needed to feel sure before I had my D&C. Less than 24 hours later and I was home from surgery.

It’s been three weeks today since my D&C. I feel so many different things. First, I have made a good start on forgiving myself. There isn’t a damn thing I could have done to save my baby. Second, I am beginning to believe I didn’t let anyone down by losing our baby. Finally, I am grateful to my body. My body knew this pregnancy wasn’t viable and nature did what it was made to do. BBQ wasn’t meant to be born alive. I am thankful my body knew what to do. I wish it didn’t have to be the case, but it is.

I am processing everything one day at a time and am looking very forward to when we can start trying for BBQ2. Because we both know we are going to be pretty fucking cool parents.

To all of you out there who have been through this, we are bonded together in this horrific trauma and I am sorry to all of us mamas whose babies were planted on Earth to bloom in Heaven.

I know my goddaughter Chevelle is taking great care of BBQ.

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My tattoo for BBQ

 

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My locket for BBQ.