After much internal debate, I've decided to post this into Words. It originates from a journal entry I wrote last night in my livejournal and my reasoning for posting this is simple: I met my best friends on this board, I met my husband on this board. When we have wonderful news to share, we share it here... so too, should we share our bad news - with our closest friends. If I'm going to write honestly, I must write what I know, and at the moment, this is the only thing permeating my mind.
-Flower
*************************************************
Friday, April 12th, 2002
3:48 am - I love you still, my child.
Ten-thirty in the morning of Thursday, April 11, 2002, was to be the first occasion Josh and I would hear the sound of our child’s heartbeat. The nurse, twisting the ultrasound scope uncomfortably in my uterus, outlined the yolk sac and embryo on the ultrasound’s monitor and turned on the Doppler.
Nothing.
She repositioned the scope, and outlined wider areas around the sac.
Still nothing.
After her third attempt showed the heartbeat monitor lying still, I felt a chill run through my body as excitement turned suddenly to dread. This had been the first doctor’s appointment I’d attended without my usual trepidation, as my last visit only one week ago was filled with hope and the revelation of the tiny flickering heartbeat that had been the first sign that the baby was thriving. This visit alone, I was unprepared for the series of questions the nurse began to ask.
“How long did your spotting last?” “Was there any tissue that passed along with the blood?” “Are you sure that Dr. Hill observed a heartbeat last week?”
She called in the man himself, and he wordlessly confirmed her suspicious and sealed our fate when he turned and gazed at me with sympathy in his eyes. I was told to dress and meet him in his office. Gathering my clothes, I found that I couldn’t meet Josh’s eyes. I was overcome with emotions ranging from guilt to utter despair… Finally seated in Dr. Hill’s office, all of my fears were confirmed when I saw the tears in the doctor’s eyes. It wasn’t until after he gave these suspicions words that I realized I’d been holding my breath for quite some time.
The pregnancy was over; it’s ending as abrupt as it’s conception. The tiny flickering heartbeat that had filled me with so much wonder, hope, and joy, had ceased beating. I realized with a profound sadness that Josh never got to see it for himself.
Dr. Hill informed us that in situations where the pregnancy is clearly over but the body hasn’t begun to spontaneously abort, many doctor’s opt to wait for “nature to take it’s course” – which could mean carrying around the remainders of the failed pregnancy for weeks before performing a final surgical procedure to remove any remaining tissue. Dr. Hill isn’t many doctors, however, and scheduled me for the D&C (dilatation and curettage) to remove the remaining fetal and placental tissue, that evening.
Josh and I left the office in a stunned silence. Since we were required to be at the hospital at 3pm for the 6pm procedure, we didn’t want to drive home, and set off to Fox and Janine’s place. I nearly managed to put things out of my mind for a bit as we chatted with our dear, understanding friends and watched the hour draw near. We left their place at 2:30 and met Josh’s mom at 3pm. She drove us the rest of the way to the hospital, and things immediately went underway.
I was prepped for surgery, given some anti-nausea pills and an injection to calm me down. I signed a million consent forms that terrified me when I bothered to read them, spoke to the anesthesiologist and Dr. Hill (who would be performing the surgery personally), and was allowed to see my mother-in-law and husband briefly before going into surgery.
I woke in the recovery room sobbing hysterically while a nurse loomed overhead. The pain was nearly unbearable, both physically and emotionally, and the nurse simultaneously pumped me full of morphine while asking if I wanted to speak to the Chaplain. I declined and cried myself into a fitful sleep. The next time I awoke was from a deeply disturbing dream in which I held a baby in my arms while it was being taken from me piece by piece… I stayed awake after that. The nurse brought me into the discharge room where Josh helped me dress and then they wheeled me out to the car.
Home at last, Josh gave me a sponge bath and we laid in bed, watching a movie, talking, cuddling, crying, and eating Jell-O his grandmother had made for us in preparation for our return. We tired quickly after the long day we’d had, and Josh was soon snoring. I however, have not been so lucky. It’s now quarter to four and I’m still awake, still in pain, both in my mid-section and in my heart. I cannot seem to overcome the feeling of profound bareness where life once stirred.
I am empty inside.
current mood: numb
-Flower
*************************************************
Friday, April 12th, 2002
3:48 am - I love you still, my child.
Ten-thirty in the morning of Thursday, April 11, 2002, was to be the first occasion Josh and I would hear the sound of our child’s heartbeat. The nurse, twisting the ultrasound scope uncomfortably in my uterus, outlined the yolk sac and embryo on the ultrasound’s monitor and turned on the Doppler.
Nothing.
She repositioned the scope, and outlined wider areas around the sac.
Still nothing.
After her third attempt showed the heartbeat monitor lying still, I felt a chill run through my body as excitement turned suddenly to dread. This had been the first doctor’s appointment I’d attended without my usual trepidation, as my last visit only one week ago was filled with hope and the revelation of the tiny flickering heartbeat that had been the first sign that the baby was thriving. This visit alone, I was unprepared for the series of questions the nurse began to ask.
“How long did your spotting last?” “Was there any tissue that passed along with the blood?” “Are you sure that Dr. Hill observed a heartbeat last week?”
She called in the man himself, and he wordlessly confirmed her suspicious and sealed our fate when he turned and gazed at me with sympathy in his eyes. I was told to dress and meet him in his office. Gathering my clothes, I found that I couldn’t meet Josh’s eyes. I was overcome with emotions ranging from guilt to utter despair… Finally seated in Dr. Hill’s office, all of my fears were confirmed when I saw the tears in the doctor’s eyes. It wasn’t until after he gave these suspicions words that I realized I’d been holding my breath for quite some time.
The pregnancy was over; it’s ending as abrupt as it’s conception. The tiny flickering heartbeat that had filled me with so much wonder, hope, and joy, had ceased beating. I realized with a profound sadness that Josh never got to see it for himself.
Dr. Hill informed us that in situations where the pregnancy is clearly over but the body hasn’t begun to spontaneously abort, many doctor’s opt to wait for “nature to take it’s course” – which could mean carrying around the remainders of the failed pregnancy for weeks before performing a final surgical procedure to remove any remaining tissue. Dr. Hill isn’t many doctors, however, and scheduled me for the D&C (dilatation and curettage) to remove the remaining fetal and placental tissue, that evening.
Josh and I left the office in a stunned silence. Since we were required to be at the hospital at 3pm for the 6pm procedure, we didn’t want to drive home, and set off to Fox and Janine’s place. I nearly managed to put things out of my mind for a bit as we chatted with our dear, understanding friends and watched the hour draw near. We left their place at 2:30 and met Josh’s mom at 3pm. She drove us the rest of the way to the hospital, and things immediately went underway.
I was prepped for surgery, given some anti-nausea pills and an injection to calm me down. I signed a million consent forms that terrified me when I bothered to read them, spoke to the anesthesiologist and Dr. Hill (who would be performing the surgery personally), and was allowed to see my mother-in-law and husband briefly before going into surgery.
I woke in the recovery room sobbing hysterically while a nurse loomed overhead. The pain was nearly unbearable, both physically and emotionally, and the nurse simultaneously pumped me full of morphine while asking if I wanted to speak to the Chaplain. I declined and cried myself into a fitful sleep. The next time I awoke was from a deeply disturbing dream in which I held a baby in my arms while it was being taken from me piece by piece… I stayed awake after that. The nurse brought me into the discharge room where Josh helped me dress and then they wheeled me out to the car.
Home at last, Josh gave me a sponge bath and we laid in bed, watching a movie, talking, cuddling, crying, and eating Jell-O his grandmother had made for us in preparation for our return. We tired quickly after the long day we’d had, and Josh was soon snoring. I however, have not been so lucky. It’s now quarter to four and I’m still awake, still in pain, both in my mid-section and in my heart. I cannot seem to overcome the feeling of profound bareness where life once stirred.
I am empty inside.
current mood: numb
