Relapse

I seriously considered not writing about this experience.  But in an effort to really make this blog part of my healing process, I think I need to put the ugly in with the good.  This whole story really caught me off guard and I want to write it carefully, because it’s a delicate thing and I don’t want to be offensive.  I learned some lessons though, and that’s what makes it important.  I went to a gender reveal party for someone very close to me, whom I love very much.  I am so thrilled about this little baby coming into the world, and all the joy this baby is bringing.  I’ve gotten to the point in my healing process where I don’t get nervous about these parties anymore; I realize that they may cause me to twinge here and there in remembrance, but I want to take part in the celebrating! I don’t want to be that person that lets their personal issues ruin a party, or be selfish enough to make something joyful all about ME, not about the baby.  I don’t want people to tip toe around me, and I don’t want to be excluded from events.  My dedication to these ideas usually helps me swallow anything difficult and have a sincerely good time! 

For some reason, this time was different and I had a “relapse” if you will, of all the progress I’ve made.  At least that’s how it felt.  The start of the party was really fun and exciting and I was having a good time.  Seeing the decorations about “welcome baby” and such made me think of the baby that I was due with in about 2.5 months from now, and that was hard, but I swallowed that feeling and looked at Jack and thought about how grateful I was, and continued to have a good time.  We started passing around ultrasound pictures and that’s when it started, this feeling of sorrow, spreading from my heart to all my limbs.  It really caught me off guard because it honestly had nothing to do with this beautiful child, and I learned that grief sometimes just has triggers.  Though I had tears behind my eyes, I wouldn’t let them come out.  That would be so selfish and rude.  So I told myself to adjust my attitude and marvel at the wonder that I was in front of me.  So everyone continued to talk about the excitement this baby would bring to the older siblings, to the family, and such.  I wholeheartedly agreed but tried not to talk too much for fear of everything spilling out. 

We all popped in the DVD of the ultrasound and that was my breaking point.  I look on the screen to see this perfect heartbeat- it was like a fairy tale.  How does this really happen?  I push down the bitter feelings that “people take this for granted”- I know that’s a reaction, I know that’s not true.  I felt like a monster- how could watching this amazing heartbeat on an innocent child bring up this poison from inside me?  That’s when I learned again- trigger.  It had nothing to do with the baby, it was just a trigger.  It was a gateway.  When I looked at that ultrasound, my mind was far away.  In my last ultrasound appointment. 

It was the middle of the night, in an emergency room.  I was alone, across the country from my husband.  I was laying on a cold bed, bleeding, having uncaring strangers shoving probes and needles in wherever they so pleased.  They were looking, hunting really, for any sign of life in me.  It was gone.  They only found remnants of what had been there.  I remember trying to watch the screen as they did the ultrasound, praying to see anything.  There was no heart beat.  There was no perfectly formed organs or movement.  That memory smells like a hospital- like latex gloves and bandaids.  I was freezing, I thought the shivering would never stop.  My back was in horrendous pain that didn’t ease up until I took some prescription pain killers hours later.  I felt disgusted with myself for having to change clothes because of the bleeding when I finally got home.  I felt condemned when I told the doctor who came into my makeshift room that this was the third time in a row, and I knew how it was going to go.  I remember him trying to be hopeful saying my HCG was just low, until I told him my previous numbers from home.  He saw how drastically it had dropped and he just shook his head.  My phone stopped working when I tried to call my husband, and ironically enough, my mom who I was visiting was with my younger brother, who had fallen and hit his head and was also in the ER.  He showed up less than an hour after I got there.  I felt so alone.  It was the ultimate feeling of loneliness.  I didn’t know the hospital staff, my mother wasn’t there, my husband wasn’t there, my baby was dead.  It was an awful night in my life.  I talked to God for a long time, and He helped take some of that loneliness away.  Eventually, my mom rushed back to my room, and my phone started working again, and I got to go home.  Things got better, but I had to learn to suppress the pain of that memory if I was ever to have a happy life again!  It was very easy to fall into depression after a third loss in a row, because it felt hopeless and I felt worthless. 

I feel that I’ve done a good job overcoming that, and that’s why I was so shocked to feel this deep pain well up inside me when I watched that video.  It was physical.  It felt like I was having a heart attack.  Kevin wasn’t there with me and I once again felt alone in a room full of people.  Later that night, when Kevin got home from work I asked him if we could just go for a drive, to get some fresh air.  That’s when the tears came.  I was so relived they did because I felt this building pressure inside of me and I didn’t know how to get relief.  I tried to tell him how I felt and what had happened but all that came out was uncontrollable sobbing.  I was so ashamed of myself.  Haven’t I made it past this point yet?  When I could start talking I spoke of my fear and anxiety that this pain will never go away.  I spoke of my fear that even if I make it to the point in a pregnancy where I can have a beautiful ultrasound of my own that I will never be able to relax and feel confident that the baby will live, and be delivered normally and healthily.  I’ve never had a late loss, but in my doctor’s appointments I’ve been forced to accept that possibility, though they assure me they are sure that risk is low.  I have a family member that had two stillborn children; she has blood issues similar to mine.  I know that possibility is there.  Will I ever enjoy being pregnant again?  Will I enjoy feeling that life, or will the anxiety take over?  I’m sure I will always enjoy having a life grow inside me, even if I can just hold onto them for a few short weeks.  But I miss the ignorance I had with my pregnancy with Jack.  Things went perfectly and I didn’t think anything of it, because that’s just how they were supposed to go.  When I found out I was pregnant, it was simple in my mind that I would deliver a baby.  I will never have that again, it will never be that simple.  That’s hard to swallow.  I talked to Kevin about lots of other things relating to losing babies or having babies in the future, and just things in our relationship that have to do with all of it. 

Even though I’m not proud of this “relapse” I had, I realize it is healthy to just let it happen when it needs to.  Let the grief come out, and take that moment, then move on and continue to be happy.  So, to you, new baby that I was blessed to see last night.  I am so thankful that you have a perfect healthy brain, and heart, and organs. You are beautiful and your coming into this world will bring so many joy.  I’m sorry that something so wonderful could take me back to a memory so horrible but I have the hope that someday I will see a miracle in my life as precious as you are.