The Blame Game

If you have taken the time to read my previous posts and the following, I thank you. I thank you so much. Please bare with me while I write. I am still grieving and healing. Some days are harder than others. Some days I have a clear head to write and someone days writing is like a punch in the face. Thank you for your support.

To everyone in my life I am the strongest person they have ever met. To me I am the weakest person I know.

The stages of grief are real. I had been in shock since the appointment on September 21st. After I scheduled my D&C procedure I went straight into denial. I think that people go through stages differently. For me the denial stage was believing I was fine and that this wasn’t a big deal. That lasted about 24 hours.

On Wednesday night I found myself in the bath tub sobbing. My husband trying to console me. Then came anger is hit me like a brick wall. I lashed out on my husband. I blamed him for all of this. In my stage of anger I had to make this someone’s fault and he was the closest person to me. I told him how much I resented him. I even told him to leave. I didn’t mean any of that but the demons inside of me poured out of my soul and unleashed themselves in a fit of rage on the person I love most. Words can’t describe how terrible I feel for the things I said to him. We were a team and we were supposed to go through this together. He was hurting too. But I was so broken that I finally had to let me weakness show. I can’t always be strong for everyone. I just wish I knew how to express that to him differently. I wish my doctors didn’t leave me hanging. Sometimes I wish the admitted me into the psych ward because I felt like a lunatic. No one teaches you how to deal with things like this. I wanted to blame everyone I could even though I knew deep down it wasn’t anyone’s fault. I didn’t care. My anger consumed my being.

No one talks about miscarriage, pregnancy loss, or medical termination. You know how when you were little and you read Harry Potter and it became a game between you and your friends to never talk about Voldemort? Yeah that’s what talking about losing a baby is like. Even between medical professionals. I think that’s what fed my anger so much. I spent my whole life believing that you don’t talk about losing a baby. Hell, if you look on my fathers birth certificate my grandmother had a pregnancy before him that she lost. To this day she will still look me dead in the eye and tell me she has never lost a baby. You just don’t talk about it. Which is wrong. How do you cope. When a loved one dies you grieve together and you talk about your feelings, why not a fetus? If I could have talked about it I probably could have saved my husband from the world of hurt I dumped on him. It’s not a dirty thing. It needs to be talked about, especially with those you love.

My husband was the most supportive person through all of this and that’s probably why I didn’t think twice before lashing out, because he understand. The reality is that I craved the love and attention from my family and friends, other than their offers of thoughts and prayers. I also could have done with out the hints of disapproval for OUR decision. It’s so hard not to let other people and circumstances fuel your grief. If I have anything to offer to someone going through it’s to talk about it. Talk to anyone, make your voice heard, find a therapist, tell a stranger, write on a forum. Try to control your stages of grief and don’t let it consume you. Don’t hurt the ones that are trying to support you, I thank god every day that my husband is a saint and stayed by me while I was rotten to him, not everyone can do that. My point is you’re not alone. You can blame people, you can blame you’re self, but it doesn’t help you. It just makes it worse. We as women, even men, need to make this talked about. Husbands, boyfriends, whatever it may be go through this too and it’s important to let them have feelings too.

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The Hardest Phone call….

After the appointment all I could say to my husband was “I need food”. We got in the car and went down the street to Dunkin. We ordered our food and circled back around to the parking lot, where we sat in silence for about 20 minutes. Finally, I looked at him and saw the pain in his face. We had to talk.

“I need to call the doctor and schedule a d&c.”

The words fell out of my mouth like vomit. Did I really just say that? I did. I wasn’t wrong either, it’s what had to be done. I didn’t want it to be my truth, our truth, but it was. I could feel my husbands heart sink to the bottom of the earth. He knew. He looked at me and told me I was right and he would stand by me no matter what. We talked about how this was torture to ourselves and to our son who deserved all of the good the world has to offer.

“Hi, yes can I speak with Dr. K please.”

I was stone faced the entire phone call. My doctor was very hesitant. It hasn’t even been a week since we first got the news, he knew how badly we wanted this baby. He asked me to wait until he talked to the Maternal Fetal Medicine doctor. I agreed. I trusted him, things couldn’t get much worse than they already were and I needed the doctors on my team and to advocate for me and my baby.

I didn’t expect Dr. K to call back within 5 minutes but he did. When the number for my ObGyn popped across my phone screen again so quickly I knew it wasn’t good. I answers the phone and the first thing he asked me was if I was sure that this was what I wanted to do. I replied back, “well is there a chance this baby is going to live?” “Will the test results save my baby?”. He was honest, he always is. No, nothing would change the outcome of this pregnancy. The only thing waiting would do is give me a diagnosis and cause me more pain.

“I just want to make sure you are ok, I am so so sorry you have to go through this. I just want you to know you are making the best decision for yourself and for your healthy child at home. We will get through this together you are not alone.” -Dr. K

If the doctor had it his way I would have went in for a D&C that day so that I didn’t have to go home and sit in misery for the next three days. Unfortunately they couldn’t give me a pre op appointment until Thursday, which meant surgery would be Friday. I began making my phone calls to my family. Everyone was heartbroken. My husband called his boss, who is also his uncle which made things hard, and took the week off.

These next few days would break me. I didn’t know it but they would. Everyone thinks I’m so strong and always leans on me. But, even the strongest of people need to be weak sometimes. For the record, I’m not good at being weak.

September 25, 2018

Yesterday was terrible. I got sent for mandatory blood work and instead of sending my lab work down to the lab my “lovely” doctor, made me come in to the OB office and wait. They forgot I even had to get labs today so here I am surrounded by pregnant women and new moms while I don’t even know the fate of my baby. I popped my headphones into my ear and the music cut off 5 minutes later because of the damn WiFi signal being so weak in the hospital. GOD DAMMIT. I tried to take deep breaths and focus on something else, begging and pleading in my head for my name to be called next. After what seemed like literally 6 hours the nurse called my name.

I thought we would go sit in a corner room and go over the paper work, what tests were being done, costs and whatever else she could offer to ease my anxiety’s. That would have been too perfect. Instead we went to the front desk surrounds by other employees, waiting patients and patients who were coming and going through the office. Everyone knew my business. I cried. Why are they doing this to me. As if this isn’t hard enough. The nurse had me sign a few things and mutter “I hope I checked everything and filled it out correctly”. I had zero energy left in me to fight. I just laughed and in my head prayed she did too. I grabbed the paper and little box that would soon hold my blood to be shipped out to be tested, bowed my head to hide my tears as I walked back through the crowded waiting room to the elevator.

I tried to pep talk myself in the elevator:

Put your damn big girl pants on you fool. No one needs to see you cry or feel pity for you. Get it together, get it done, and cry in the car.

It worked for like 10 minutes. I walked into the lab and saw that the wait was over an hour. I had no energy to sit there quietly and try to stay sane. I walked back upstairs to the doctor and asked if it was alright for me to the other lab location, literally across the street. They wouldn’t let me. I cried. Went back downstairs and sat there holding my breath, my head burrowed in my hands trying to let anyone in the crowded room see me cry. I didn’t need their pity. Finally I was called to the back, eyes bed red the phlebotomists probably thought I was a drug addict because I couldn’t even form a complete sentence and looked like a walked off the street coming off a high. I’ve never done drugs in my life for the record, but I sure as hell looked like it. The blood draw was long only because I had a new girl that was being trained, of course. When it was done I basically ran to my car and called my husband who thought I was dying because of the sounds coming out of my mouth. I couldn’t do this to myself anymore. I didn’t want to go to my appointment. This was pure torture. The unknown was killer. Why am I doing this to myself? To my husband and son? Fuck this. I don’t deserve this. I deserve a healthy baby and a good life. I am destroyed. I finally pulled it together and went to drive to get my son. On the drive home this overwhelming sense of security came over me. Someone, something was telling me tomorrow was going to be a bad day, but I was going to be ok. It sounds awful but from that moment on I was prepared for the worst. I made a few phone calls to verify arrangements with my son tomorrow as I didn’t want to bring him to my appointment because I needed to focus fully on what the doctors were saying. One of the calls was to my grandmother, who would be watching my son in the morning. I told her my gut told me things weren’t going to be ok and I needed to prepare myself. She was pissed. She in turn told me how awful I was for feeling that way and not being hopeful things were going to be good. She didn’t let me explain. I was hopeful, I desperately wanted everything to turn out for the better, but I was just prepared for the worst. How dare she judge me. This was the beginning of the judgement. This is why women suffer silently, this is why loss is misunderstood. It’s bullshit. Family is supposed to support you.

Today is the day I had to meet with the high risk specialist from Maternal Fetal Medicine.

My husband and I dragged ourselves out of bed packed up our son and went to drop him off to my grandmother who barely spoke to us when we arrived. All she had to say was “may god guide you”. That triggered my anxiety. I didn’t even want to go to the appointment. Walking through the doors made me want to vomit. I sat in the waiting room with my husband who held me as I cried and my body shook. A nice ultrasound tech finally came to get us. My fave went pale and I felt like I was going to faint, my husband held me up and and walked into the room. I was strong in the room. My tough side came out. If I should the doctors fear they wouldn’t be truthful I told myself. The tech prepped my belly and started the scare. I swear, not even 20 seconds after she started she asked me how much I knew about the baby’s condition. Shit. I told her I knew to expect the worst and there was fluid around the baby that was bad. That I didn’t know much, but I knew it most likely wasn’t good. Because I was aware of the situation she agreed to put the ultrasound on the TV in the room so we could see what she did. I knew this wasn’t good, no one asks those questions unless things are bad. I work in the medical field as a CNA, I know. BOOM. There it was, the fluid had almost tripled in size in the three days since the last ultrasound. My husband grabbed my hand right. My stomach felt like it was in my throat. The room was pretty silent. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know shit was wrong. She tech took picture after picture and I watched my, what now looked like a blob, baby try to move. The heart rate had decreased too. Not good. The doctor came in shortly after. She tripped around her words. I stopped her.

I don’t mean to interrupt you but I need you to be extremely honest with me. Lay it all out there and please, PLEASE, don’t sugar coat anything. I need you to be extremely real with me, I, WE, can handle it.

She agreed. She told us how significant the fluid was. That it was more than half the size of the baby and now wasn’t only behind the neck, it had extend down the spine and into the legs. The nervous statement should have been there already and it wasn’t. She explained all the possibilities and then our reality. She told us I was most likely in the early stages of miscarrying and I should prepare and then she dropped the bomb.

I am 100% confident in the decision to terminate now, without further testing, if that is what you choose to do.

I knew this was a possibility but I honest to god didn’t expect to hear that it was my best decision. She put an express order on my blood work to try to get it back before I made any decisions but the bottom line was that the only thing the test was going to give me was a diagnosis. If I decided to carry out the pregnancy I became severely high risk and my office wasn’t going to let me go past 16 weeks because at that point the baby would become a threat to me. So I could take the chance and go to the hospital that the MFM doctor worked at 3 times a week to make sure I’m not making myself sick, I could wait to see if my body would complete the job it had already started, or I could terminate. Even if I did go to term with this baby, it was not going to live. There was nothing I could do to save my baby.

The only good news was that this was all just shit luck, that’s literally what the doctor said to me, I asked her to be real and she was. She begged me not to let it scare me from having more children. There’s a 98% chance it will never happen again. Honestly I couldn’t have given a fuck less.

I am so angry.

The Monarch Butterfly

I believe in spirits and energies. I believe they give you signs. I believe in heaven and hell. I believe in the afterlife.

From the moment I thought I was pregnant the biggest, most vibrant Monarch butterfly would flutter by me daily. It was a relief to see because day after day I was told I wasn’t pregnant but I knew that I was, I know my body. The butterfly was a reminder that everything was ok, that I was living and that there was nothing I couldn’t get through. It was a gesture from whoever it may be, I like to think it was my great grandfather, telling me:

“You’re doing great kid”

My great grandfather passed away just short of my 3rd birthday but for some reason I have the most vivid memories of him. I remember going to his house and sitting with my GG and grandmother and bringing him “pizza” made out of leaves from the back yard while they sat in the glider. I remember when he was very ill in the hospital bed positioned in front of the TV in front of the living room. I remember being in the car with my toy stethoscope and doctor bag in my lap because I was going to make Poppop better. The connection is deep and It is real. He has most certainly been my guardian angel my entire life.

If you ask my family what it means when we see a white feather, without hesitation, they would say Pops visiting. He comes to be in two ways, when things are bad and I’m feeling down he drops a feather and when I need hope and guidance he sends me butterflies.

This time he sent me the most beautiful monarch I have ever seen.

I was ecstatic about this pregnancy. My husband and I wanted our son to have a life long friend. To have someone close in age to play with and go in wild adventures with. They were going to conquer the world together. Deep down though, I was terrified. My husband had been away for weeks for work, with short trips home on the weekend, enough to wash his clothes and me to pack him food for the week, sleep and head back to work. How was I going to do this with two babies. Reality hit and I was so scared. I know I would be okay, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t scary. My husband would be back home to help before I know it, it was all unnecessary nerves. I couldn’t shake the feeling though, the lump in my throat. Then, I saw the first butterfly and suddenly I felt free. I could do this, WE could do this.

Hey pop, thank you I needed that. I love you.

Every day after I saw a butterfly. I smiled, I said thank you. It was my guide, I needed it. But, then one day it stopped

I hadn’t seen a butterfly the night before my first OB appointment. I thought it was weird but figured maybe Pop thought I was going to be okay. I knew if I needed him he would come back to me, he always does.

Pop, if you can hear me I need you now. Please.

“Where is your God now?”

After my devastating appointment I spent the weekend going through the stages of grief. I didn’t lose the baby yet. But I did lose the baby I thought I would have. I started denying the possibility that anything could be wrong with my baby. I am healthy. My husband is healthy. We had a prefect one year old at home. It’s impossible for something to be wrong with little bean growing inside me.

I have so much doubt in many of the doctors that work in my OB office. There are 12 doctors who work there so you never know who you will see. When I was pregnant with my son they put me through the ringer over and over. One day I would be told everything was fine and the next day I would be told I had some sort of issue going on. I had no faith in them. They let me go 5 months into my pregnancy with my son severely iron deficient to the point where I could not get out of bed, if I moved I would pass out. They never heard me, it was always brushed off until finally a god send of a nurse pricked my finger and I immediately got an appointment with a hematologists to try to correct a problem that had been wrong for far too long, even before I was pregnancy. They couldn’t even prick my finger to see if I was anemic how the hell could they tell my something is wrong with my new baby?

I wept or sobbed, or honest I don’t even know if there is a way to describe the way my emotions that poured out of my body. I couldn’t function, I felt like I was losing my mind. My emotions crashed around in my brain like waves in a hurricane.

I make door wreaths and go to craft shows with my grandmother occasionally and one of our annual shows was on Saturday. After a night of broken sleep I dragged myself out of bed and half smacked some makeup on my face to hide the bags under my eyes and my red, raw cheeks from the tears that wouldn’t stop coming, it would be easier to pretend I was doing well if I looked ok. I packed up my son, grabbed some Dunkin’ Donuts and made my way over to the show.

I live in a small town, everyone knows my family. I have a HUGE family. Everywhere I go someone knows that I’m “so and so‘s” daughter, granddaughter, niece or whatever it is. This also meant that everyone knew about my newest pregnancy and they were so excited to meet them. What am I supposed to tell them now? I was at the show for about twenty minutes when a family friend greeted us with hugs and a huge congratulations on my pregnancy.

I wanted to scream at her. It’s not her fault she asked. She doesn’t know. I can’t be mad at her I know that. But why! Why did she have to ask, I wasn’t ready! I choked down a sip of my hot chocolate and smiled the biggest smile I could and told her thank you and how excited we were. What a damn lie. I wasn’t excited anymore. I was terrified, sad, and angry. I was holding onto hope so I guess that’s what made it so easy for me to tell people my life was great and that my pregnancy was fantastic. I couldn’t blame people for asking and being happy for me. Why wouldn’t they be, it’s a beautiful thing, to create life. I didn’t expect anyone to understand because I didn’t tell anyone. It wasn’t their fault that they didn’t know and that I wasn’t ready to tell because I didn’t have answers. Why get someone worked up for something that “could” be nothing. The only person I expressed concern to was the reverend from the church. He preformed my wedding ceremony and has known my family for decades. I couldn’t look him in the eye and tell him I was okay. He knew, he saw it in my face and offered to keep me in his prayers, which I appreciated. Maybe his prayers could help in some way. I’m not sure because the only thing I could think of is:

Where is your god now?

What kind of God does this? I lead a good life. I’m not perfect but I try to do good every day. I’m a great mom, why would god punish me and hurt my baby. Did I do something wrong. Was in the cup of coffee I drank to get me through the day with my son because if j didn’t I couldn’t get up and be the best I could be for him. Did I stand in-front of to long? What the hell did I do. I was begging for answers from anywhere, anyone.

September 21st 2018

“God doesn’t give you anything you can’t handle”

 

Let’s back track for a minute. About four weeks ago from this date I had an appointment to confirm a pregnancy that my doctors told me wasn’t possible. I knew it was possible and I fought so hard to prove them wrong. I was 8 weeks later, but for me and my body that meant nothing. I knew how far along I was, six weeks to be exact. After a third blood test to check for quantitive HCG levels, I got the phone call from my doctors office. I then went in for a “viable” pregnancy ultrasound and the doctor, who delivered my first born and I did not have the best relationship with, came in the room and began the scan. This time around he was so pleasant and so reassuring that my little bean was growing appropriately and even saw a heart beat! I was so relieved as my levels did come back a bit low but he didn’t seem to be the least bit concerned. He smiled wide and gave me the due date of April 21, 2019. Awesome! My husbands birthday is the 20th, what a gift that would be. He cleared me to schedule my first OB appointment at the hospital office, but wanted me to wait four weeks to let the baby progress and we could see a more interesting picture on the ultrasound.

I spent the next four weeks telling family. I announced on Facebook. I ran out to the store and bought my son a “Worlds best brother shirt” and made a sign that read:

We thought we were one and done but two is always better than one!

Nothing could stand in my way. I stated searching for baby items and my husband was making plans to build a new room for the newest babe. We talked baby names and how great of a big brother our little boy would be.

My husband work A LOT. He makes sure our son and I are well taken care of and that I don’t have to send him to daycare and spend the first years of his life molding him into a kind and intelligent human being. That being said he opted to work the day of my first OB appointment and I had my mom meet me at the office to help with my son. We were so anxious. We couldn’t wait to see the newest little babe up on the screen wriggling around. We got called in I got my physical and the doctor began the ultrasound. My son, my mother and I watched up on the TV screen as the doctor showed us the baby’s arms and legs and little body that was forming so well. My son waved and clapped at the screen while my mom told him that the picture was his new best friend in mommy’s belly. My heart melted, how perfect was this moment.

My mom and son continued to watch and giggle across the room. I had already been through this appointment with my son. It was fast, check this, check that, due date is this, and send us on our way. The clicks of the ultrasound got louder and time seemed to stop. Something was wrong and I knew it. I could feel the tension radiating off my doctor. She looked and looked. WHAT THE HELL IS SHE LOOKING FOR. I told myself to calm down, I’ve never met with this doctor for an ultrasound maybe she’s just being thorough. Suddenly the ultrasound stopped. She asked me to sit up and her eyes darted from mine to the floor. Her voice stuttered and she began to tell me that my baby had a large amount of fluid in two parts of its body.

I began to panic. My throat felt swollen shut and the hospital gown felt ten sizes too small. My mom heart my sobs and stopped in her tracks. We both kept asking over and over what this meant and the doctor just looked at me and all she had to say was:

I don’t know what it means. I could be wrong, but this could also be really bad

We pleaded with her to tell us more. She wouldn’t. How could she just leave us there. I couldn’t breathe. I was in total shock. I just sat there clawing at my gown begging for a normal breath and for an answer. For the love of god I just need an answer. Most of what the doctor said after was a blur of sobbing and mumbles. The last thing she said to me was “Any questions?….No? Didn’t think so”

She tossed my ultrasound print out on my lap and walked out. How rude is that? How can she just leave me there. My mother helped me get dressed and we were thrown into another room where everyone could here that I had to go meet with a Maternal Fetal Medicine doctor, have a high risk ultrasound, and have the nurses yell across the office that I needed immediate chromosomal testing.

I don’t remember walking to my car. I remember sitting in the front seat sobbing. My mother called my grandmother then we decided to go back to her house. I got in the drivers seat and started backing up and almost T-boned my mom. I don’t even remember putting the car in reverse. I sobbed all over again and my mom got and my car and drove us to her house.

I had to call my husband. How do I tell him? I have no answers for him. Just that something is wrong and that it can be bad. I called. He was heartbroken. How could this happen to us? My emotions were running rampid. A few hours late I told my mom I had to go back to the office. I needed to sit with a doctor who would talk to me. I needed the truth, the rotten cold truth no matter how bad it hurt to here. Luckily one of the best doctors in the practice was on that day. Actually, it is considered is office. The receptionist and nurse insisted I talk with the doctor I had seen early in the day and I refused. I went through hell with my first pregnancy because of this doctors office and I refused to torture myself again. He agreed to talk. We talked for a long time. The good and the bad. The reality was that my ultrasound wasn’t normal. He gave me hope that it could be nothing but the reality that what they were seeing was significant and something was most certainly wrong. He laid out all the things it could be, from a heart defect, to a chromosomal issue that could cause still birth, to it was a mistake and everything is ok. The fact is he couldn’t tell me because he’s not a specialist but he could give me a name, which was “cystic hygroma”.

I called my husband to pick me up because as strong as I thought I was, I wasn’t. I couldn’t even think straight. I needed him. I needed to be safe and me being behind the wheel wasn’t safe. I got an appointee for Maternal Fetal Medicine the following Tuesday. I wanted to vomit. Why so soon? Why so late? My brain couldn’t form a complete thought and didn’t know what it wanted. Every bit of my being was devastated.

And so began the worst time of my life…

The Journey Begins

Thanks for joining me on this crazy ride of life!

I’m 24 years old trying to figure out this thing called life. I have an amazing, crazy family. In my short 24 years of being on this earth I have been through more than most. I want to share my experiences with everyone in hopes that someone needs to hear that they are not alone. I am blessed but it doesn’t mean life isn’t tough.  It’s okay to talk about the bad and it’s wonderul to celebrate the good.

In this blog I will talk about my life, the past present in future. There’s no holding back. I’m laying it all on the line.

If you have questions I am more than willing to answer. If you need to vent I will be your ear. If you need guidance, I will do my best to see you through.

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton