So this is my first blog ever. I have never considered writing one. I read a few from time to time, but it wasn’t something I consciously decided to do until I was in my bathroom the other day thinking maybe I should journal my thoughts and experiences since my induced miscarriage. In all honesty, I just stumbled upon this option to write a blog while I was looking at my Yahoo! updates and avatar. The opportunity presented itself and voila! Here I am.
While I appreciate anyone who reads this, it is mainly a means for me to deal with my grief, confront my thoughts/feelings, and come to terms with the fact that I have three girls, but only see/raise/discipline/play with two every day. If anything, maybe this will serve as a voyeuristic means to see what I have gone through, what my thoughts are, and who I will become as a result. Maybe my story helps someone experiencing the same loss I did; if I can help ease a mind, let someone see my vulnerability as a grieving mother as normal, then great.
It is only fitting that I start from the beginning:
On July 7, 2010 at eighteen weeks and two days, I went to my ultrasound appointment with high hopes of finding out if we were having a boy or a girl. Afterward, we were leaving for Disneyland. Our bags were packed, our kids were excited, and we were excited. I worked half a day, met my husband, Scotland, at the women’s imaging office. While we were in the ultrasound room, everything seemed normal. The tech was talking to us, letting us know what measurements she was taking, and asked if we wanted to know the sex of the baby once she was done. We told her we did want to know and then she became quiet. Abruptly, she got up, helped me clean the ultrasound gel off my stomach, and told us to wait in the room across the hall because she had to show the radiologist the images she took.
This had never happened to us before.
We didn’t know what to think. Scotland thought the worst. I however, from the vantage point of the exam table, did not see arms (and she didn’t mention them) so thought there was a developmental issue with the arms. Scotland told me he saw her measure the arms so my concern was unfounded.
After waiting what seemed like thirty minutes, staring at the wall, asking questions of each other, we were told to go to my OB’s office, and that they had been contacted and were waiting for us to arrive. My heart sunk and my mind began racing with all the implications of what this meant. We rushed out of the office, jumped in our cars, and flew across the street to the office. I was so glad the office was so very close, less time to jump to insane conclusions.
Upon arrival in the waiting room (about two seconds literally), the nurse opened the door and ushered us into an exam room to wait for Dr. Griffin. We just looked at each other, waiting for what Dr. Griffin would say to us, wondering if this was minor (in my eyes), or a major blow. Dr. Griffin walked in the exam room, looked from me to Scotland, and asked what we were told at the imaging office. I told him that we were told to wait while the radiologist was consulted, the tech could not tell us anything. We were told to come to the office, and here we were.
Dr. Griffin proceeds to drop the bomb on us as calmly as he can: “Looks like we have a fetal demise, there was no heartbeat detected.” We were blindsided! I started to cry, as he asks me questions like have I had any bleeding, how have I been feeling, any pains he needs to know about … I told him everything has been going fine, I felt fine, and I swore I felt movement the previous day. He tells me he is referring me to a high-risk OB, to assist in the removal of the baby, but he needs to call him and get some idea of our options for removal so he needs to leave the room.
Once he closed the door, I then proceeded to fall apart. Scotland practically flies out of the chair in front of me, hugs me tight, and we cry together until Dr. Griffin returns. He tells us that his colleague, Dr. Thomas, can see me the following Tuesday which is the day after our scheduled return from Disneyland, the day I was to return to work from vacation. Dr. Griffin tells us the options, Dr. Thomas thought would be appropriate, and I agree to the appointment.
We told Dr. Griffin about our trip; how we were supposed to leave that afternoon, and told him we still wanted to go but were wondering if there would be any reason not to. Thankfully, he said if we wanted to, we should go. We did but that’s a story for another blog post.
With our appointment set, we left the office in our separate cars. I went straight home to make phone calls to my family/work, and Scotland went to his parents’ house to pick up Aubrey and Elli who were anxiously awaiting our trip to begin. Scotland didn’t say a word to them until they got home. So we all gathered in my bedroom, I was sitting on the bed red-faced, tears streaming, and we told Aubrey and Elli what happened. We all cried, hugged, told each person how much we loved them, and appreciated them. We told the girls we were still going to Disneyland, but that when we came back, I had to see a doctor who would help me take the baby out since it went to be with God already.
I called my mother, my father, my brothers, my cousin Jennifer, and my boss to let them know what happened. Scotland called his family as well, sending texts to his friends informing them of our loss. I sent my friends (those in the country) a text about what happened, I couldn’t talk about it anymore, and one text covered a group of people nicely. We double-checked our luggage to make sure we didn’t forget anything, and hit the road.
Our drive to Anaheim was a tearful one with songs, even single sentences or words in songs, opening the flood gates in addition to the thoughts already running through my head. I attempted to sleep since I was at work early that morning and it worked for only a little while, but it helped.