T16 – I was doing so well…

Chromosomes are weird.

The whole process of conception is weird. Amazingly weird. So many things have to match up just right – yet, as a young girl I was always told sex = babies. So who knew staying pregnant would be so hard?

I was doing OK – I hadn’t cried for a few days… I hadn’t snuck into the babies closet to bury my face in the baby blankets I have, touching the clothes I have bought, sneaking sniffs of the baby shampoo and lotions I have…

Then we had our appointment to find out the results of our fetal tissue test.

Our baby had Trisomy 16. I remembered a little about it from my lifespan development course – I knew it typically wasn’t a viable chromosomal abnormality. I knew it was a random event. I knew there was nothing I could have done to change it.

We talked clinically. We talked about the steps we could take. The things we could try. It was trite. It was clinical. I appreciated her candor. I left feeling OK.

I stopped at Walgreens and did what I told myself not to do, and go down the baby isle.

It’s over 12 hours later and I’m still just constantly on the brink of crying.

It’s almost 2:00 a.m. and here I am… sitting on the floor of the babies room, in the dark with just the glow of my computer screen, burying my face into the blankets I have bought, unfolding and folding the little clothes, and smelling the damn baby shampoo. I can do all of this in the almost darkness because I have been here before, and I very well may be here again.

I’m typing this because I need people to know about this. There are so many of us, right now, who are crying for our babies we had to give back. My pregnancies may have only been 12 weeks total – they were wanted desperately.

Hug your local grieving mother.

Hug your local grieving father.

Don’t ask them if they need you – because they will tell you they don’t.

I shouldn’t speak for anyone else. So I’ll speak for me.

I’m raw. I’m wounded. My body is out of my control. I’m having hot flashes. I’m hormonal. My body still thinks I’m pregnant.

I need you. We need you. Collectively.




I carried you every second of your life pt. 2

We lost our second pregnancy.

I was totally sure about this one. It was going to be a sticky baby.

Measuring 6w2d (two days behind what I thought I was) with a heart rate of 100 bpm – which is the most beautiful music if you want your pregnancy – we were a bit concerned about the heart rate hovering around 100 so we were advised to go back a week later for a follow up ultrasound.

The week was tense. As the date got closer I felt better. There was no way we were going to lose this baby too. It was my rainbow baby.

I still remember how the ultrasound gel felt on my belly as the tech moved the wand around. She clicked a few pictures and then told me we were going to have to a transvaginal ultrasound to see better so I could go pee and get undressed.

There I sat, naked from the waste down with the little sheet over my lap. The knock on the door came and my midwife walked in – weird – and she cut right to the chase. “We weren’t able to see a heartbeat, I’m so sorry. Can I give you a hug?”

My first thought was… if I stand up to give her a hug my naked bits are going to touch her scrubs (which meant some lucky woman in the hospital was in labor), so I stayed seated and she hugged me.

It felt like the air was sucked out of the room.

She offered to have the tech come back in and do a transvaginal just to confirm, but the reality is I knew it was futile.

I was able to get into see an OB and she tried to get me scheduled for a D&C that day but I had eaten a handful of Sweethearts before I left for the ultrasound so I couldn’t be anesthetized – had to wait until the morning.

It was a quiet ride home.

I took a scorching hot bath. I wanted to feel pain but I couldn’t feel anything. I remember sitting in the tub sobbing and Matt coming in and just looking at me.

What do you do? What do you do when your wife is sitting in the tub with your dead baby inside of her? How do you comfort her?

You don’t. You just don’t.

I didn’t sleep that night. I laid on the couch, watched TV, and played Candy Crush. I literally did not sleep a wink.

I vacillated between sobbing and just wanting to die.

It was finally time to get ready to go to the hospital and I couldn’t wait to be sedated.

It was done. Again.

Everything about this D&C was different for me. The bleeding and clotting was different. The hormone crash was different. I have never felt closer to Matt in my life than I have the last three weeks. I have wanted to be closer to him. To feel him. I feel like when I am touching him is the only time I feel alive.

I work exclusively from home and have the most amazing boss and co-workers. That group of women has become my family. They were the only ones who knew we were pregnant.

I had an unrelated GP appointment scheduled and told my GP about the second loss and she gave the typical apologies and told me about her experiences with pregnancy loss.

She then said something that has slowly but surely made this experience a bit less shitty.

She told me, while my two pregnancies were losses, the spirit of our child is still the same. It just needs the right body. The first two bodies weren’t good enough so it has to wait. She laughed and said when we do have our child, one way or the other, it will be a spirited child because it had to wait so long to find us. Someone else told me, “your baby will find you.”

It will.

One way or the other.