Ides of March

My mother-in-law just sent a message saying "Beware the Ides of March" (since it's midnight now, so technically the 15th).  It reminded me about the baby we lost in September.

The due date was set for this coming Sunday.  But as it was close enough to March 15th, it was enough to get Tom pretty excited about a possible "Ides of March baby" (he's a huge Roman history nut).  I had promised that if that was in fact the baby's birthday and if it was a girl, we'd name her "Julia" in honor of Julius Caesar (Julius for a boy, though, I wasn't such a fan of).

Strange to think that we would have been welcoming a new little one into the family right about now.

Burial

In my last post, I mentioned how we had been unable to recover any remains of our miscarried baby, which we had been hoping to bury. Well, I guess I just spoke too soon. Today, our poor little lifeless babe arrived...

We wrapped him/her (I'm still hesitant to give the baby a name, or "assign" it a gender. Although it's still something we might do in the future) in a small embroidered handkerchief, wrapped it with a cloth Rosary and a blessed medal, and placed this in a small ceramic container. We buried the baby in my dad's backyard, since we know he'll at least be living in that house for a while (we're still just renting ours).

We also brought over our weeping angel statue (which I loved the first time I spotted it in a catalog, and asked for as a Christmas gift years ago) to use as a grave marker. Tom, me, Sly, and my Dad were all there. We each threw a handful of dirt onto the "casket", the way people do.

It's a nice little spot. I'm glad we were actually able to bury our baby. It helped provide some closure. And it will be good to have that physical reminder of the child we never met - not only for us, but for our other children as well.

And One More

In my post where I talked about finding out we had lost our baby, I mentioned that we were waiting to see whether the miscarriage would complete itself naturally, or whether I'd have to go in for a D&C. Well, on Saturday, my prayers were answered, and my body started finishing things on its own.

That was what I wanted, and I don't think I would change my decision to wait - even if such a thing were possible. But I have to say, it was much more horrible than I ever anticipated.

I have a habit of telling "too much information." I am pretty open about stuff, and don't usually mind talking about things which are pretty personal. But I've come to realize that not everyone wants to hear all the gory details of everything. So I will try to moderate what I'm about to share. But if you are really squeamish, or if you are a male...you may want to skip over the part bound in asterisks.



*******
I had started to notice a tiny bit of blood on Friday, so I hoped it meant the "beginning of the end" was near. Saturday morning, I woke up at 5:30 am in a great amount of pain. I had intense cramps that wouldn't allow me to get back to sleep, or to find any comfortable position at all. I tossed and turned, and moaned for a little while. Tom, the world's heaviest sleeper, actually kinda woke up and asked what was wrong. After explaining, and turning down his offer to help (because what could he really do? I wanted him to get as much sleep as he could), I jumped out of bed and headed for the tub.

I thought the warm water would help me to relax, but the pains were getting worse. At this point, I recognized them for actual contractions. They were coming in waves, every few minutes. I abandoned the tub idea, and tried getting back in the bed. But it were getting more and more painful.

Tom couldn't possibly sleep anymore with me whimpering and turning all around beside him. I had him call the midwives to ask if this was normal. He did, and it was. They told us it could last for hours. My cervix needed to open to allow things out. Ugh. I was dying already.

The contractions continued for two hours, getting more and more excruciating the whole time. By the end, they were so close together that I only had a few seconds' rest between. They were full-out contractions, as painful as with actual full-term labor. Having contractions is the second most mind-numbingly painful thing I have ever experienced in my life. Number one is actually pushing out the baby.

But what made this experience different from my labor with Sly was 1. I didn't have a doula helping me through, 2. Tom wasn't able to assist much (he slept through the beginning, and then had to take care of Sly at the end), and 3. I knew there wouldn't be that sweet reward of a healthy newborn baby at the end, making it all worth it.

I remembered my promise to offer up the pregnancy for couples experiencing infertility. I did try to keep that in mind as I suffered through the contractions. But I don't think I did a very good job.

Finally, at 7:30, I passed a fair amount of water and blood. And just like that, the contractions came to an end. I continued having intense cramps (think: worst possible menstrual cramps you can imagine...unable to sit or stand or do anything comfortably) for another hour or so, and bleeding. But the worst was done.

Tom and I had hoped we could recover some of the baby's remains, for burial. Unfortunately, we never found anything we could discern as such.

*******

The midwives just want me to get a blood test next week, to measure my HCG levels and some other stuff, which will let them know whether things are going back to normal.

It's been an ordeal, and I'm glad that it seems to be almost over.

I have a shoebox where I keep all of Sly's little "mementos" - his first year calendar, his hospital bracelets, baptism candle, etc. I'm starting a folder to save similar items for this baby. It won't have too much: a little note I wrote so I don't forget all the "dates" (conception, death, due date), cards people have given us (congratulating us on the pregnancy, consoling us for the loss), and some print-outs of e-mails people sent.

The midwife originally said to wait until I'd had a full cycle before "trying again" for a baby. But I pushed her on it a little to find out the reasoning. As far as I could tell, that's really just something they tell you, but it's not necessary. And she admitted that if I were to get pregnant right away, it would be fine.

So...we don't plan to do anything to prevent it. We'll see what God has in store for us next.

St. Gerard

St. Gerard Majella is the patron of expectant mothers. When I was pregnant with Sly, we bought a statue of him. We weren't very good about displaying it prominently, or remembering to pray to him. So we had decided that when I should become pregnant again, we'd be better about it.

The day we knew I was pregnant, we pulled out the statue, and placed it on our home altar. We had been asking St. Gerard to intercede for the health of me and the baby in our prayers each night.

Now this might sound bad, but it seems to me something very "Old World Catholic." The day we found out about the miscarriage, Tom became angry with St. Gerard.

We were sitting on the couch that night, feeling sad, trying to come up with the right way to pray for all the things on our minds.
Tom was looking towards our little altar and said dejectedly, "St. Gerard let us down, man."
My eyes immediately went to rest on his statue on the altar, but I saw that it was gone. I noticed that the items had been rearranged. "Oh," I said, "you moved him already. Where'd you put him?".
"In the basement." Tom said with gruff finality.
"....oh..." I stammered. I was afraid to comment further on Tom's attitude.
"He deserved it." was the reply.

The Aftermath of Miscarriage

Yesterday, as I lay on the chair for the ultrasound, I noticed that the technician kept the screen turned away from me. Tom was sitting next to me, holding my hand, and I could see him craning his neck to look at the screen. I don't think the fear fully hit me until the moment when the technician put the wand to my belly, and started trying to find something. I just stared at her face the whole time. I was watching her so intently - trying to discern the tiniest flicker of recognition in her eyes. Something that would give me hope that my baby was alive. But there was nothing at all in her expression. And I knew.

"I'm so so sorry," she finally said, "but there's no heartbeat." I sucked in my breath, inaudibly, to hold back the tears that were threatening to well up. I would not cry in front of strangers. I didn't want to have to walk out of the building with everyone looking at me, knowing.

After another minute of capturing some images, she handed me a towel to wipe off the gel. She went to call the midwife, who she said we'd get to talk to after, and left the two of us alone. Tom was gently rubbing my arm, and he said something to me - I can't even remember what. I turned my face away and refused to answer. I knew I might break at any second, and I didn't want to be a blubbering mess on the phone with the midwife.

Tom pulled me into a hug. I was glad for it, but I wouldn't have initiated it. Not yet. I felt too raw. Tears were in my eyes then, but I wouldn't let them fall. The technician came back to let us know the midwife was ready for me on the phone.

The midwife told me how sorry she was, and started to share with me what the technician had told her about the ultrasound. Based on the size of my baby, it had died at nine weeks. At that point, I was fifteen weeks pregnant. My baby's been dead for six weeks and I didn't even know it.

There are no signs of my body starting to naturally expel the baby, she said. Our options are either to keep waiting, or to get a D&C (I had to look it up online. Not very pretty).

*********
This morning, I looked back at a calendar to get an idea of roughly when it happened. It was probably in the very week that I found out I was pregnant. How I wish I could've known this sooner.

When I had gone to my first appointment with the midwife, where she assured me that all was well and there was no reason to get an ultrasound yet...the baby was already dead. I should've listened to my gut. I had wanted an ultrasound, and she convinced me out of it.

Shortly after that, when we were happily announcing the news to family and friends, the baby was already dead.

If we had only known.

It's not that I wouldn't have told anyone what had happened. I don't really believe that keeping miscarriage a secret is helpful. But I think some things would be easier for us now. We wouldn't have had all that time to anticipate our new child. To plan things out, to imagine how it would be. That's possibly what hurts the most right now. The disappointment and disillusionment of trying to understand that none of those things are going to happen anymore. I don't need the winter maternity clothes like I thought. We won't be a happy family of four in a new home this Spring. I won't be using our new double jogging stroller to take the kids on runs next Summer.

And it wasn't just Tom and me who had already imagined a future with this baby. I think all four grandparents cried when we told them the news. Even my dad, who if you remember didn't act completely thrilled when we announced the pregnancy. He said, "you know...I didn't realize how much I was looking forward to this baby, until you told me the news."

********

Friends have been really supportive. It's interesting how many people have "come out of the woodwork" to share their own experiences with miscarriage, and offer me any help I might need. I appreciate all the e-mails and phone calls. I might print them out to save.

I think right now, I'm handling things much better than I would have expected. When a close friend experienced a miscarriage last month, I really empathized with her situation, and couldn't get it out of my mind for days. I think in some ways that was a blessing for me. I had already gone through some of the grief, in a way, before I knew it had happened to us as well.

There's still the fact, though, that this isn't all over yet. It's a weird feeling to know that the baby is still inside of me, but not alive anymore. We met with the midwives again to discuss our options. We've decided for now to wait a little longer, and see if it will happen naturally. There's always an appeal to me in using the least intervention necessary. And the D&C carries a risk, albeit a very small one, of impairing your future ability to have children. We made another appointment with them for two weeks for now, when we can reconsider what we want to do.

But I've just realized...if things haven't happened by then, it will have been two months since the baby died. I really don't know if I could handle that.

I feel like there may be some physical and emotional pain still in store.

The Worst Possible News

I know not all of you have even had the chance to read my last post. If you haven't yet, maybe you should do that now. Anyways, the ultrasound gave us the very result we most dreaded. We lost the baby. Please continue to pray for us. I will write more when I can.

Urgent Prayers Requested!

I had an appointment with the midwives a bit ago.  Confirming a fear I was suddenly struck with last night, they were unable to find the baby's heartbeat with the Doppler.  My midwife tried valiantly for several minutes, and then called in another one to give it a go.  Both of them just had little frowns on their faces, as they moved the wand around, searching.  I was very quiet the whole time.  Just breathing, trying not to let myself even think about anything.

They scheduled me to go in for an ultrasound later today to see...well, to see if the baby is still alive, to put it simply.  They called it "making sure."

I really wish now that Tom had been there.  We got into a little argument about that earlier in the week.  I hadn't reminded him that the appointment was coming up, and so he hadn't thought to ask off of work soon enough.  I didn't think it was really a big deal.  With Sly, Tom had to miss a lot of the appointments because he had less days off.  I guess I didn't realize that he not only could get off more this time around, but that he had an interest in actually attending every appointment.  He was irritated that he wasn't going to get to come, and I said, "oh, you aren't missing too much.  We just get to hear the heartbeat."

When I first heard Sly's heartbeat on the Doppler, I remember thinking, "that's cool, I guess.  That's my baby's heart."  But it wasn't a tear-inducing moment for me, or anything.  And then they listened to it again at every appointment we went to, so I guess it sort of just became old hat...still a nice little reassurance each time, but nothing too exciting in itself.

But today, lying on the table, all I could do was beg God, "please let them find the heartbeat!"I would have rejoiced to hear it.

Luckily, Tom is able to take off the afternoon to come with me to the ultrasound today.  And my mom is willing to keep watching Sly for me, as long as I need her to.  After I told her what was going on, she immediately went to the internet to find out what the chances are here.  She called back to let me know that there were a lot of women online who didn't have a heartbeat at the doctor's office, but everything was fine.  And some of them were further along than me.

I'm not even sure how I feel right now.  I think part of me is definitely terrified.  But the rest of me is trying to push that emotion under the surface, so I don't spend the next few hours totally worried.  I feel almost paralyzed.  My brain is thinking this all through in a detached and non-committed sort of way...letting myself be aware that there is reason to have hope...letting myself consider what life might be like if the baby didn't make it.  Because it would change my entire life...not just the next few weeks, as I grieved over it.  I do want this baby very badly.  But none of the emotions are making their way to my heart, where I can fully feel them.  I guess I'm preventing them from doing that.  I'll let the feelings come afterward, when I know.