A bad day for us

Yesterday I went in for my ultrasound that I had been anxiously waiting for. The news turned out to be exactly what I feared. The baby had died and Aaron and I would have to go through the most painful experience of our life's. Not just the physical pain of pushing out what was inside, but the pain of dealing with the loss.

At 8:30 Aaron and I arrived at the doctors office. We waited for our name to be called as I guzzled lemon flavored water. I remember the last time I wanted to throw up, the flavoring helps a lot.

We went into the room with the nurse and I told her I'd been spotting for 3 days and Dr. Albrecht's nurse said since there was no pain that it was probably fine and I was being seen by the high risk pregnancy specialists the next day anyway, so we'd just wait. I laid down on the table. The nurse tucked towels into my pants and shirt to keep them clean. She squirted the warm goo on my stomach and started looking for stuff. She pointed out that my ovaries looked great and normal, my bladder was quite full (which I knew all too well) and that she could see the baby very well with the external ultrasound. This I knew in my heart was a huge problem. I knew it. The baby should be an inch and a half, almost 2 inches long and obviously visible by external ultrasound.

The nurse said she needed to get the ultrasound wand from another room and she'd be right back...I also knew each room had it's own "ultrasound dildo" so I again was adding the horrible figures up in my head. "There is something wrong" I said to Aaron. "Each room has everything they need. She's getting the doctor not a tool." Then the nurse returned. She said Dr. Barfort likes to be present for these ultrasounds so they would begin when he was there, then she went into the hallway again. I looked at Aaron, "The doctors have never been present for an ultrasound. Something is wrong." And I started crying.

They returned and I laid back down, got into the gynecological pose, the most uncomfortable position in any place other than my bedroom. The nurse put the "magic wand" in and they looked for my uterus and it's embryonic sack...I saw it, I saw the baby, it was the same size that it was at my 6 week ultrasound, but I was 10 weeks pregnant. Dr. Barfort was fully engaged in the monitor and tapped his pen to the screen where the baby was. The nurse zoomed in on it and they took a measurement of the baby. he told her to place the heart beat monitor over the baby. Just after she lined it up a cardiogram, or whatever its called, came up. I watched a full bar form over the screen from left to right, almost like a profile of the earths layers of rock and dirt. It was completely flat. I clamped my eyes shut and twisted my head away from the monitor as far as I could. I wish I could have turned it farther. I opened my eyes as the doctor and nurse did other measurements. I looked at Aaron squinting at the monitor, he needs glasses but refuses to get them. He was trying to look at the screen that I wanted to be miles and miles away from.

The nurse started pulling the probe out of me. Dr. Barfort drew in a breath to recite those deadly horrible, yet true as north, words in his South African British accent. " I'm sorry but it is very bad news - " I immediately clammed up into a fetal position and sobbed "No. No. No." Aaron snapped out of his chair and held my head and petted me while whispering words to me. Kissing my head and being sweeter than I could have wished he whispered, "it's OK. We'll try again. I love you." and a dozen other hopefully helpful things. Dr. Barfort stroked my arm and shushed me like a crying baby. The nurse left immediately, I don't blame her.

After a few minutes Aaron said that I would have to sit up and get dressed. The doctor needed to talk to us still and I had to be strong right now. I slowly sat up, wiped a few tears and snot away and immaturely said, "That's easy for you to say, you don't have a dead baby inside you!" He instantly looked kilted and said "I'm sorry, this is all you isn't it!" I immediately realized Aaron just lost his baby too. I was so cruel to him in an instant of selfishness. Understandable, but still selfish. I apologized about six times and we hugged and I went into the bathroom and got dressed. While I was in there Dr. Andersen came in. He had been closely working with me since my time in the hospital in my 3rd week. He heard Dr.Barfort talking about me to the surgeon and he wanted to come and give his condolences. He said that I had been doing incredibly well and was a model diabetic in pregnancy and that I was doing so well and he was very very sorry. I had no idea what to say. I just nodded and said "thank you" or, "me too." As did Aaron. We were both in an awkward stage.

Dr. Barfort returned and he started talking about what comes next. I needed to decide if I wanted to pass it naturally or have a D&C. When he told me that I'd have to pick the bits out of my pads and keep them for testing I was horrified. I immediately started sobbing again and said over and over again that I couldn't do that. Aaron held me tighter and I sobbed into his shoulder "I can't pick pieces of our baby out of my underwear." He said, "OK, OK, you don't have to." Dr. Barfort said, "OK, I'll talk to the surgeon and we'll set up a time."

We went and waited in the hall for the surgeon and then went into a room to discuss what would happen now. He took note of what I wanted to do, which at that time was a D&C, directed me to not eat or drink and to ease up on any insulin use. He said we might be able to get in that day around 5 but possibly not till the Monday following the weekend. All I could think of when he said those things was that I had a dead baby inside me and I'd have to leave it there for days. A part of me wanted to cling to it and know that there was still a child in me. The other part of me wanted it out immediately and could only see it as a rotting piece of meat in my abdomen. The surgeon said he would call me once he knew when he could get me into surgery and we left it at that. At least when he left us he didn't say "have a nice day."

The only thing I remember about the drive home is Aaron rubbing my leg and holding my hand. He was a saint. All the words in the world could not soothe me. None of them in any infinite combination. All that he could do for me to make me feel better was to touch me, and he did. I am still grateful. We both sent out text messages telling our family that the pregnancy had ended. We stated that I did not want to talk to anyone about it. And thanked everyone for their thoughts. My phone instantly blew up from everyone texting me how sorry they were and if I wanted to talk they would be there for me. And they were praying for me. Exactly what I did not want. I wanted everyone to leave me the hell alone. Selfish? Maybe. Reasonable? Hell yes. I ignored them all for hours after reading the first one.

When we got home we hugged for a while. We whispered things to each other that I can't remember. I thanked him for being so sweet and he kissed my cheeks and wiped away my tears. It was like a moment in time that could have been so hard on our relationship as a married couple, but it wasn't. It was definitely a moment that made us stronger. Like standing there wound us tighter together like two tree trunks fusing together. We talked about me going to visit with Jessica. I said I needed to go talk to her, he asked if I was sure I wanted to leave, I said I didn't want to leave him, I needed to talk to someone who knows what will happen next. besides he was still up after working his graveyard shift at the navy station and needed to sleep.

When I got to Jessica and Brendan's house the first thing I saw was little Evelynn at the window slapping her hand on the glass ans smiling. She gets so excited when I come over. I came in, Jess said hi, and I picked up Evelynn and pretended to bite her tummy and she laughed. After I put her down Jess gave me a big hug and we sat down to talk. I explained to her basically everything I've already written here and she was in awe that my miscarriage is almost identical to one of hers. She has had three miscarriages. I give her more credit than I ever thought was needed. When I mentioned a D&C she immediately told me about the risk of scarring and how going through it naturally was easier than it sounded. This conversation went on for a couple hours and then we changed it up into less sad things. We had lunch, unpacked her kitchen and just talked like we always do, but with a different kind of closeness now.

I got a call from the surgeon, he said I could come in at 2 and have it done. I talked with him about changing my mind and he was fine with it and put in a message for my Doctor to set up a time for me to come in the next day.

Later when Brendan came home from work he came right over to me and gave me a hug. It was strange, but I knew he knew what I was going through. He and Jessica had done it three times before. It's the only reason I didnt' shove him away and tell him to leave me alone. Had it been anyone else I would not have welcomed any kind of physical touch.

Around 5:00 I was becoming exhausted and was ready to go home. So we said our good byes, evelynn even said bye bye and I went home to Aaron. While I drove home I called my mom and talked about it. It was a pretty short conversation since I didn't want to get into it too much more. Then I went inside and Aaron was just about to wake up after I got home so it was pretty good timing. I made some dinner for him and I and then called Gigi afterward. I only talked to three people. Jessica, My mom, and Gigi. In that order. Those were the only people who had any business talking to me that day. Sister in law with valulable advice, mom for obvious reasons, and my best friend of 15 years. Then Aaron and I went to bed.

It was hard to sleep since all I kept thinking of was that it happened. It wasn't a dream that I would wake up from, or a mistake that I could work hard to fix. I lost my baby. Aaron lost his baby. My moms and dad lost their grandchild. The family lost the new baby. I must remember that I am not the only one going through the loss.