Shit.
If I was being completely honest, that's not the first word that comes to mind. The first word would be F*CK. But seeing that I can count on less than 3 fingers the times I've ever said that word out loud, and during those times my judgement may have been chemically impaired, I feel guilty for even scream-typing that word in censored form.
I've talked about this phenomenon before, and would never be naive enough to think I'm immune, but it really blindsided me this time. But that's the point, isn't it? If we knew the "sad" part was coming it might not be preceded by two "happy"s.
I had a great couple of posts ready for this week, catching up on the last two weeks of my pregnancy. They mentioned all the sweet things Patrick had done for me, little tidbits about development, the fact that Jenny McCarthy and I may be soul sisters, and my venture to working out again........but there's really no use in publishing them now. And if you're not up for reading unexpurgated honesty, skip the rest of this post, because I've got to get real with black and white to get it out of my head.
Thursday afternoon Patrick and I went in for a routine ultrasound and checkup. The very next day would be the 13th week mark, and we were excited to see the baby again. But when the tech put the wand on my belly, the picture on the screen wasn't quite right. We couldn't see or hear a heart beat, and the baby was just laying at the bottom of my uterus, not moving. The tech was oddly quite, and after a couple of questions, ran out the door to get the doctor. I can't quite explain what a sobering experience it is to see your lifeless baby on video, with no prior inkling that anything may be wrong. I received no warning from my body to prepare me for this moment, heard nothing but "everything looks great", up until this moment. This moment that completely stole Patrick and I's happiness. At this moment, you could not have scraped my heart off the floor, because it fell out of my body, melted with sadness, and seeped through the cracks.
After asking a lot of questions and hearing almost nothing but the sound of Charlie Brown's parents saying "Wha whaa waaa", it was determined I need to have a day surgery called a D&C, since the miscarriage was so late. Not only unexpectedly late, but uncommonly late, actually. That was Thursday, and I have to wait until Tuesday to have the procedure done.
Does anyone have any idea how EFFING hard it is to get closure with an impending procedure to end it all hanging over your head for 5 days, when it's already terrifying enough that you have to undergo a procedure, and all the while not be able to get the image of seeing your fetus look like a dead armadillo on the side of the rode???? That's what I see, eyes open, eyes closed.
The denial only existed from the time of the sonogram, until the doctor took a seat in the room to confirm the miscarriage. I'm obviously still dealing with anger. The depression was immediate. It's amazing how much love you can feel for a soul you've never met. And although I'd rather just skip directly to the acceptance part, I know it's okay that I'm only partially there. I also know there have been way worse things to happen to people, and I know God has a plan and everything happens for a reason. But for right now, I'm pissed off that it had to happen to us. Right now, this way, instead of some crack head whore who'd rather have an elective abortion than welcome a life into this world with open arms.
Dammit.
Don't worry, I'm getting closer to accepting this for what it is than it may seem; it's really therapeutic for me to just be able to word vomit this all out. Most of it's too difficult to speak without crying like an idiot, and since I hate doing that I'd rather not. We made it out of the hospital before crying, and we'd like to keep it that way. Both of us would just rather not talk about this with anyone but ourselves. Maybe 5 years from now we'll be ready, but until then, let's just talk like nothing ever happened. The wound is too deep and too fresh to prod in any way. So when you see one of us, please don't say "I'm so sorry" or "How are you feeling" or "I've been there, and don't worry, it gets better". That would be picking a scab that's not ready to be picked.
We know you care. Thank you for the unspoken words.
I've talked about this phenomenon before, and would never be naive enough to think I'm immune, but it really blindsided me this time. But that's the point, isn't it? If we knew the "sad" part was coming it might not be preceded by two "happy"s.
I had a great couple of posts ready for this week, catching up on the last two weeks of my pregnancy. They mentioned all the sweet things Patrick had done for me, little tidbits about development, the fact that Jenny McCarthy and I may be soul sisters, and my venture to working out again........but there's really no use in publishing them now. And if you're not up for reading unexpurgated honesty, skip the rest of this post, because I've got to get real with black and white to get it out of my head.
Thursday afternoon Patrick and I went in for a routine ultrasound and checkup. The very next day would be the 13th week mark, and we were excited to see the baby again. But when the tech put the wand on my belly, the picture on the screen wasn't quite right. We couldn't see or hear a heart beat, and the baby was just laying at the bottom of my uterus, not moving. The tech was oddly quite, and after a couple of questions, ran out the door to get the doctor. I can't quite explain what a sobering experience it is to see your lifeless baby on video, with no prior inkling that anything may be wrong. I received no warning from my body to prepare me for this moment, heard nothing but "everything looks great", up until this moment. This moment that completely stole Patrick and I's happiness. At this moment, you could not have scraped my heart off the floor, because it fell out of my body, melted with sadness, and seeped through the cracks.
After asking a lot of questions and hearing almost nothing but the sound of Charlie Brown's parents saying "Wha whaa waaa", it was determined I need to have a day surgery called a D&C, since the miscarriage was so late. Not only unexpectedly late, but uncommonly late, actually. That was Thursday, and I have to wait until Tuesday to have the procedure done.
Does anyone have any idea how EFFING hard it is to get closure with an impending procedure to end it all hanging over your head for 5 days, when it's already terrifying enough that you have to undergo a procedure, and all the while not be able to get the image of seeing your fetus look like a dead armadillo on the side of the rode???? That's what I see, eyes open, eyes closed.
The denial only existed from the time of the sonogram, until the doctor took a seat in the room to confirm the miscarriage. I'm obviously still dealing with anger. The depression was immediate. It's amazing how much love you can feel for a soul you've never met. And although I'd rather just skip directly to the acceptance part, I know it's okay that I'm only partially there. I also know there have been way worse things to happen to people, and I know God has a plan and everything happens for a reason. But for right now, I'm pissed off that it had to happen to us. Right now, this way, instead of some crack head whore who'd rather have an elective abortion than welcome a life into this world with open arms.
Dammit.
Don't worry, I'm getting closer to accepting this for what it is than it may seem; it's really therapeutic for me to just be able to word vomit this all out. Most of it's too difficult to speak without crying like an idiot, and since I hate doing that I'd rather not. We made it out of the hospital before crying, and we'd like to keep it that way. Both of us would just rather not talk about this with anyone but ourselves. Maybe 5 years from now we'll be ready, but until then, let's just talk like nothing ever happened. The wound is too deep and too fresh to prod in any way. So when you see one of us, please don't say "I'm so sorry" or "How are you feeling" or "I've been there, and don't worry, it gets better". That would be picking a scab that's not ready to be picked.
We know you care. Thank you for the unspoken words.
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