Pregnancy Loss.

Last November, I knew I was pregnant. I finally got to take the test on December 3 and just as we suspected… it was positive! This was planned, hoped for and most definitely wanted. But as soon as I saw pregnant — I did have a panic attack. Four children? That’s a lot. I purged the clothes. I purged the toys. We need a bigger car. Do we need a bigger house? Can we handle four? Those feelings lasted the weekend and by the middle of the next week — we got a bigger car. That seemed to curb my feelings of being unprepared. How many clothes do they really need? Babies don’t play with toys anyway? Maybe 4th times a charm and breastfeeding will come much easier? Is four really any different than three?

I started telling family and friends around Christmas. We’re having a baby! — and I was typically met with “was it planned?” 🙂 I just kept saying it was and we haven’t told the kids and I’m waiting until the doctor appointment to tell them. I spent all of December and the beginning of January… sick. So sick. So tired. Like… get home from work and go straight to bed, tired. Had to eat laying down… sick. But that was normal, at least it was with all my pregnancies. And so when I went to my appointment on January 12th — I was hesitant, but only because I knew you should be. Not because I actually thought anything would be wrong. This is number four, I thought.

Well, 1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage. This is a statistic I had heard but didn’t really consider. What are the chances? Well, apparently 25% percent if we’re being statistical. I laid down for the ultrasound and she asked me how many pregnancies I had had, and I said three and she said hmm. She started doing her thing, and sure enough there was a baby. I’ve had a lot of ultrasounds. For each of my first two pregnancies I had ultrasounds every 10 days and with Eva, every three days. I didn’t notice anything different. She was doing her measurements and the baby was measuring 9wks5days which didn’t match my expected timeline of 10wks2days but only four days off didn’t seem like a problem? I used an online due date calculator and the internet’s not always right.

But then it came time to check the heartbeat. Nothing. She told me to stay still and to hold my breath. Nothing. She tried for what felt like 10 seconds, shut off the machine and said “ok, there’s no heartbeat. I’m sorry, this happens all the time” — and that was it. She told me my baby didn’t have a heartbeat as if I was at McDonald’s and she was telling me they ran out of french fries. “ok, we’re out of fries. I’m sorry, this happens all the time”. I said nothing. She told me to use the bathroom and then sat me in a room all the way at the end of the hall.

The room was bright and cold and on the walls there were Christmas and New Years holiday cards of babies the office helped to reveal, monitor, and deliver. Hundreds of babies staring at me. I texted Sean. No heartbeat. After a few minutes, someone came in to take my vitals, she apologized some, reiterated this happens all the time, and then left. While she was taking my blood pressure I moved to sit on the table, with my back to the babies, and out the window had a view of the cemetery next door. How fitting. Then my eyes shifted next to the cemetery — TJ Maxx and I thought what I wouldn’t give to go shopping there right now. Can I have a redo of this day? Lola needs pants. Am I actually thinking about buying Lola pants right now?

Eventually the doctor came in, said a bunch of stuff that I felt (and actually still feel) was insensitive. You seem upset. I can tell this isn’t the news you want to hear. It’s pretty definitive. If you don’t have spotting now, you’ll probably start to miscarry over the weekend. If you don’t, we’ll have to remove the contents.

Let me tell you, when your baby is deduced to contents — ouch. Since I was visibly upset, she said I could come back in four days to check again. Maybe the dates were wrong. Maybe it was too early for a heartbeat. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. But don’t have too much hope, she said.

So I left. I cried in the elevator. I cried walking to my car. I cried the whole way home. I cried like I have never cried before. And when I got home, had to stop crying to have dinner, and go to basketball practice, and fold the laundry, and pack lunches for the next day, and read bedtime stories. As if my world didn’t just shatter under a fetal doppler.

Nothing happened over the weekend. I laid in bed. I tried not to move. And I didn’t have a miscarriage. And I went in on Monday, alone because of Covid rules, to hear that their findings were still definitive. I begged them to check again, because they weren’t going to. They checked again. But I couldn’t will this to change. I couldn’t hope enough, couldn’t beg enough, couldn’t cry enough, couldn’t stay still enough, couldn’t go back to 9wks5days and do something different enough. What did I do that day? Did I move wrong? Lift something? Did I miss my prenatals? Maybe I didn’t drink enough water? Did I sleep wrong? It didn’t even matter.

I was, in fact, having a miscarriage. It just hadn’t happened yet. So they scheduled a D&C for eight days later. Hospital is busy, I was told. And I walked around for 12 days with a dead baby and no one knew. I slowly started telling the few people I had told about baby #4, that I lost the baby even though that wasn’t really true either. I still had the baby. I saw it! I still felt pregnant! Does my body know? My body has no idea that I’m losing this baby. But I couldn’t stop it. There’s nothing we can do.

On the day of the surgery, I cried in the waiting room. I cried every time Sean talked to me. I cried in bay 13. I cried while the sweet older anesthesiologist told me he was so sorry to be doing this and told me to keeping crying if it helped. I cried anytime someone tried to talk to me. I cried when they asked me if I was spotting yet. No. I cried until they put me under. And then I woke up. And I wasn’t crying. But I also wasn’t pregnant. And then I cried some more in bay 7.

And I know. I have children. I should consider myself lucky and I absolutely do. But, I have children. I know the due date of this baby, so now I know when the milestones should be — when they’re supposed to be. I know the amazing gift a child brings. I know the fun and the joy and the chaos. I know the excitement and the frustration and the fear. I know the firsts, the birthdays, the holidays. I know the bond, the attachment, the love. I don’t just feel like I lost a pregnancy, I feel like I lost a child. A whole, complete, living, breathing child. I feel like we are missing a family member and always will be. And I haven’t been able to cope with that yet.