Today is Sunday, and it's been four days since the world just sort of stopped spinning for us. Thank you, to everyone who has called, sent text messages and emails. I'm not quite at a plcae where I can talk to you, but it brings me comfort when I can hear your messages or read your words of love and hope.
I awakened this morning with more peace than I've had the last four days, and realized I needed to write. I began writing what is going to remain private for this time, but also realized I needed to share some things publicly as well. Through all of the trials of my life, my anchor has always been God's gift to me to be able to put into words the depths of my heart. Even when I'm angry with Him, His gift remains, and it's through that gift that I have found, and hope to continue to find my healing.
Though the nitty gritty details aren't important, I want to share some things. Paul and I went on Wednesday for an ultrasound, to more accurately "date" the baby. I was looking forward to being with Paul as he got to hear for the first time the baby's heartbeat. We were both excited, talking about Michael and Abigail, and how this was a little different but still the same. We passed a "hospital baby shop" and both smiled at the fluffy, tiny blankets for sale there. I told Paul I couldn't find any "Big Brother" or "Big Sister" shirts that I liked for the kids, so I was going to make my own, and joked that I might make enough for our whole "Team" to wear while we were laboring. We got called back, and nervously made our way into the room where in just a few minutes, all of those dreams were shattered.
I saw my baby there on the screen, unmoving. More upsetting than the still baby was the lack of a heartbeat. It only took a few moments for everyone in the room to realize something was wrong. Even when the doctor gave the "official" word, I was already numb. Not again. Not another baby.
More awful than discovering our child had died was this new information that I was still "pregnant." My body is still receiving hormones and did not know that the baby had died. And so, it wasn't letting go. I have spent the last four days not quite grieving, but experiencing something altogether different and unique because I am still pregnant, but not with a living child. I find myself waking up in the middle of the night cradeling a bump and my heart feels like it will explode. I awaken to morning sickness because my body doesn't know I shouldn't be pregnant.
They call this a "missed miscarriage" but I call it hell on earth. I can't imagine a hell that could be worse than being a mother being forced to carry her deceased child inside of her body. My doctor actually told me I could go back to work and carry on with life "as usual" until they were able to schedule my surgery. I have no pain, my body is not sick, and there is physically nothing wrong with me. And yet there is no way I can go to work, go on with life as usual. I explained to someone that this experience is very similiar to watching my mother in law pass away. Even before she was physically gone, she was gone. We all knew death was imminent, but it didn't make it any easier. While I know that my childs spirit has returned to God, I cannot get my mind around the fact that his ltitle body remains.
Tomorrow morning I am having surgery. When it's over, his little body will no longer be inside of mine, and in some ways I feel as though I am somehow betraying him. I'm his mother, I should have protected him. But in another way, I will be glad to get the surgery behind me so that we can begin to grieve and move on. Many firends have offered advice, and as much as I love them, I don't think they realize it's impossible for me to grieve a child I'm still carrying.
Please, continue to call, even if we can't talk. Please email, even if our close friends are the ones responding to you. The day is coming when we'll be able to talk, when we'll be able say, "yes please, let's go to lunch b/c I need to talk."
"From your head down to your toes, you're not much goodness knows. But you're so precious to me, sweet as can be. Baby of mine."
I awakened this morning with more peace than I've had the last four days, and realized I needed to write. I began writing what is going to remain private for this time, but also realized I needed to share some things publicly as well. Through all of the trials of my life, my anchor has always been God's gift to me to be able to put into words the depths of my heart. Even when I'm angry with Him, His gift remains, and it's through that gift that I have found, and hope to continue to find my healing.
Though the nitty gritty details aren't important, I want to share some things. Paul and I went on Wednesday for an ultrasound, to more accurately "date" the baby. I was looking forward to being with Paul as he got to hear for the first time the baby's heartbeat. We were both excited, talking about Michael and Abigail, and how this was a little different but still the same. We passed a "hospital baby shop" and both smiled at the fluffy, tiny blankets for sale there. I told Paul I couldn't find any "Big Brother" or "Big Sister" shirts that I liked for the kids, so I was going to make my own, and joked that I might make enough for our whole "Team" to wear while we were laboring. We got called back, and nervously made our way into the room where in just a few minutes, all of those dreams were shattered.
I saw my baby there on the screen, unmoving. More upsetting than the still baby was the lack of a heartbeat. It only took a few moments for everyone in the room to realize something was wrong. Even when the doctor gave the "official" word, I was already numb. Not again. Not another baby.
More awful than discovering our child had died was this new information that I was still "pregnant." My body is still receiving hormones and did not know that the baby had died. And so, it wasn't letting go. I have spent the last four days not quite grieving, but experiencing something altogether different and unique because I am still pregnant, but not with a living child. I find myself waking up in the middle of the night cradeling a bump and my heart feels like it will explode. I awaken to morning sickness because my body doesn't know I shouldn't be pregnant.
They call this a "missed miscarriage" but I call it hell on earth. I can't imagine a hell that could be worse than being a mother being forced to carry her deceased child inside of her body. My doctor actually told me I could go back to work and carry on with life "as usual" until they were able to schedule my surgery. I have no pain, my body is not sick, and there is physically nothing wrong with me. And yet there is no way I can go to work, go on with life as usual. I explained to someone that this experience is very similiar to watching my mother in law pass away. Even before she was physically gone, she was gone. We all knew death was imminent, but it didn't make it any easier. While I know that my childs spirit has returned to God, I cannot get my mind around the fact that his ltitle body remains.
Tomorrow morning I am having surgery. When it's over, his little body will no longer be inside of mine, and in some ways I feel as though I am somehow betraying him. I'm his mother, I should have protected him. But in another way, I will be glad to get the surgery behind me so that we can begin to grieve and move on. Many firends have offered advice, and as much as I love them, I don't think they realize it's impossible for me to grieve a child I'm still carrying.
Please, continue to call, even if we can't talk. Please email, even if our close friends are the ones responding to you. The day is coming when we'll be able to talk, when we'll be able say, "yes please, let's go to lunch b/c I need to talk."
"From your head down to your toes, you're not much goodness knows. But you're so precious to me, sweet as can be. Baby of mine."
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