Samantha: 22 Months, Week 2 {The Pain of Miscarriage}

The week leading up to Easter felt like we were just in survival mode after our news of last week.  I went back to school, even though I didn't much feel like being around people, especially kids who had no idea what was going on in my personal life.  It's not like I could just sit behind a closed office door and cry.  I decided to email the parents of my students to let them know what was going on with my miscarriage and left it up to them if they wanted to tell their children or not. Luckily, parents at my school are very kind and generous.  They wanted to do anything they could to help me.  I even had several moms come in first thing Monday morning to see if there was anything they could do for me.  One mom gave me a book called I'll Hold You in Heaven by Jack Hayford, saying that it helped her after she lost her baby many years ago.  So many women came out of the woodwork, parents and fellow teachers alike, sharing their experiences with miscarriage, letting me know that I am not alone and that they know the pain I am experiencing.

Going back to work was very difficult for me.  There were many times that I had to choke back tears.  Tuesday was the hardest day for me, even though I expected Monday to be the worst.  I really missed my baby on Tuesday.  I think what made it even more difficult was that on Tuesday we were supposed to be going to my appointment for the ultrasound and to find out what my official due date would be.  However, of course, I would not be going to this appointment anymore since my baby's heartbeat stopped several weeks earlier.  I couldn't stop thinking about what I was about to face during my surgery on Friday.  I desperately wanted to rewind time and make all this go away, hoping that it was just some bad nightmare.  It felt wrong to continue on with daily life when I felt so empty and heartbroken.   I even had the thought cross my mind that maybe by some freak of nature my baby would still be alive, and I wondered if they'd check the heartbeat again.  I was full of insecurities about myself, my role as a wife and mother, whether I was being consistent and loving enough with Samantha when sometimes I felt like I didn't have enough energy for her.

The one thing that made me feel better was the conversation Ben and I had on Monday night in bed.  We discussed next year and what our plans would be now that we are not expecting a new baby at the end of September.  I had planned to stay home next year to take care of Samantha and the new baby, but now with losing the baby, did all that change?  Ben was wonderful and brought this up with me, expressing that he still wanted me to stay home, stating that I would be happier doing what I want to do instead of feeling forced to go back to work, plus it will give him more time to devote to working and writing his dissertation, with the end goal of finishing graduate school and getting a job someday.  This conversation was so encouraging to me because the thought of going back to teach next year was devastating to me.  If I went back to teaching, I would constantly be thinking the only reason I was there was because I lost my baby, and I don't think I could handle that idea emotionally.  I was so encouraged that Ben supported those plans for me to stay home and saw the value of it, even if I don't have a newborn to take care of right away.  

Despite the sadness that enveloped our hearts throughout the week, we did manage to take some cute pictures of Samantha.  Here is a video of Samantha running around our living room "nakie" as she would say.

We are lucky enough to be blessed by a great church here, and they offered to bring us meals after they found out about our miscarriage.  It was such a blessing to us because we certainly didn't feel like making and cleaning up dinner.  It was nice to be able to just spend time as a family, without having the burden of meal planning.  We did make a trip to the grocery store mid-week for odds and ends, and here are some pictures of Samantha in the shopping cart car.

On Wednesday night Samantha helped us make banana chocolate chip muffins for our small group on Thursday night.  We hadn't met for a few weeks, so we decided we should probably try to meet even though Ben and I weren't really in the mood for company.  When making the muffins, I decided to give her the job of mashing the bananas, and she loved her job.  She took it very seriously and surprisingly did not get any mashed bananas on anything.  After that day, she talked about mashing bananas many days after.  Samantha loves to help in the kitchen, and it's great trying to come up with little jobs like this for her to do.

Thursday afternoon I took a half day off school because of my pre-operation appointment.  We knew these next two days and many weeks after would be terrible, but I had no idea of the pain of miscarriage in every way, physically, emotionally, relationally, and spiritually.  The pre-op appointment was fairly uneventful.  They just asked a lot of questions and filled out a lot of forms.  They also had to take my blood.  Right after this appointment, we were scheduled to see my doctor at the office for him to insert a laminaria to begin opening my cervix in preparation for the surgery.  In the exam room, he asked how we were doing, if we had any questions, and I posed the question of wondering if there was anything to see after the d and c procedure.  He said no, that there wouldn't be anything recognizable this early, and asked if we were okay with the results of the ultrasound, if we had any doubts.  He said if we were second guessing anything, we should do another ultrasound, just to give us peace of mind before we move toward the d and c procedure.  I decided that it would be good for me to have another ultrasound, just to have the loss of life confirmed, to put any doubts at ease.  So, I got redressed and went to another room for the ultrasound.  Claire, the ultrasound tech, is one of the sweetest, most gentle ladies you'll ever meet, and it was great doing another ultrasound with her.  The nurse at the hospital was so indirect, cold, and distant.  It didn't feel like it was a real life that was ended.  However, at my own doctor's office, I felt the life inside my womb was confirmed, she explained a lot about what I was seeing on the ultrasound screen, the size of baby and the lack of blood flow.  She even made a CD of a few pictures for us and that made me so happy.  The hard part of a miscarriage is there is nothing physical to hold on to.  At least now we have some pictures of our little one in my womb.  Seeing those images and having the details explained to me made me feel so much better about proceeding with the insertion of the laminaria and moving towards the surgery the next day.  I then went back in with the doctor for the insertion of the laminaria and that was more painful than I expected.  Emotionally and physically painful.

Later that evening, I was in a state of shock.  I was having some cramping, but was feeling okay physically.  However, later in the evening when using the restroom, the laminaria fell out and I got really worried.  The doctor didn't say anything to us about what to do if that happened.  I was concerned that the surgery would be affected or that things would be delayed.  Ben called the emergency call line for the doctor, explaining what had happened, and the doctor called back pretty quickly.  He said that he had never heard of this happening to anyone before, but that it was okay.  He said that he might just have to dilate me in a different way during the surgery the next day.

Friday morning we got up and spent some time together as a family before Ben's mom got to our house.  She volunteered to come down the day of my surgery and stay the night to help us around the house and with Samantha on Saturday.  It was such a big help to have her here.  I was not allowed to eat anything that morning, so while Ben, Samantha, and Ema were eating lunch, I took the opportunity to spend some quiet time with my Abba Father.  I knew that they were just going to be removing the physical body of my baby in the surgery, that his soul was already in heaven with God, but I was having such a hard time accepting what was going to be happening to me.  I desperately wanted to give birth to my baby and hold him in my arms.  I knew that someday I would be able to hold my baby in heaven.

We got to the hospital around 12:30, checked in, and then had to wait an agonizingly long time in the waiting room.  I leaned my head against Ben's chest and let the tears roll down my cheeks onto his shirt.  I felt like we should be making conversation, but had no words to say.  It was well after 1:00 by the time they called us back.  A nurse took my vitals and told me to undress and put on the hospital gown.  Ben helped me cover up with the stiff, white sheets and blankets on the sterilized hospital bed, and as I sat there I instantly broke down crying, saying that I didn't want to do this.  Ben just embraced me, and we cried together.  

Once we collected ourselves and opened up the door to our room, another nurse came in to finish paperwork and insert my IV.  She talked to us about her son thinking of going to Taylor and some baloney about "going through hard times so that we can see the rainbows later in life."  I was not in a place where I could accept that statement as truth.  It just irritated me and made me wish she would just stop talking to me, trying to make light of the situation I was in.  A few minutes later, the nurse came back in, checking to make sure that it was okay for the anesthesiologist to be a pregnant lady.  They didn't want to be insensitive to my situation.  I told them it was fine since I wouldn't be awake for the surgery anyways, so she came in and introduced herself.  Then, another nurse, in the long progression of nurses I would see during my stay in the hospital, came in and said she would give me something to relax me.  It seemed like it worked instantly.  I felt the white walls of the room spinning and my body getting heavy.  I even said, "Whoa, this works fast."  She took my glasses, I said good-bye to Ben, and we were off wheeling down the creepy hallway, through the doors into the large circular room with many metal instruments and a stiff looking table that I had to scoot myself onto, while the ladies tried to make conversation about my occupation.  I remember them asking me to lay out my right arm and then my left arm, and that's the last thing I remember until after my surgery.

When I awoke I was very disoriented and felt like I couldn't see clearly out of my right eye.  I was in another room now, surrounded by curtains, sitting with yet another nurse, and I remember asking her where I was.  Once I remembered, realizing the surgery was over, I instantly placed my palms over my empty womb, almost feeling the emptiness that now replaced the life that once grew inside.  I had a flashback of a time early in my pregnancy, before I even took a pregnancy test and found out that I was pregnant, where I was laying in bed with my palms over my stomach and could have sworn that I felt a flutter from inside my womb.  This remembrance and the juxtaposition of those two moments of time hurt like the worst pain I have ever felt.

After awhile of trying to make conversation, I was wheeled back into the first room I was in, where I could see Ben.  The nurses were talking to each other, and I overheard one say to the other that they had to give me more medicine to relax me when I came out of my anesthesia because I was crying.  They let me lay there and rest with Ben as he asked me how I was feeling, helped me take some drinks, and filled me in on the report from my doctor.  The doctor said the surgery went well, that the laminaria did its job even though it fell out, so he didn't have to dilate me in any other way.  There was very little bleeding, which is good, and I felt pleased hearing those results from Ben.  At this point, I just wanted the nightmare to be over.  It is normal to bleed after the surgery, particularly in the few days following, but I was not prepared for it emotionally.  Once we got home, several big blood clots passed while going to the bathroom, and I just burst into tears at the loss of our baby and the remembrance of that loss with every spot of blood.  Ben just sat there and held me, being the wonderfully supportive husband that he is.  I would not have been able to do this without him and his great love for me and our family.

I tried to be a part of the family and came downstairs; however, I just sat on the couch in a daze as life continue on around me.  Finally, after dinner, I decided to lay down upstairs because I couldn't handle being around people and just needed the freedom to cry openly.  However, Samantha was having a really hard time with me being upstairs and was crying and calling for me.  I got up so that she would know I was okay.  It's hard to have a boisterous toddler around when you are trying to grieve.  I felt like I had to put on a good face and I pushed myself too hard, trying to act like everything was "normal" when I was feeling anything but normal on the inside.  I felt empty inside, angry at my flat stomach, insecure of being by myself, selfish with Ben's time and presence, and deeply saddened that I was no longer with child.

Saturday morning Samantha was very excited to have Ema still at our house.  She LOVES having visitors and enjoyed playing on Ema's bed.  Ben and I even got the treat of sleeping in while Ema went in and got Samantha out of her bed in the morning, taking her downstairs and playing with her, while Ben and I took the opportunity to get some much needed rest.

Saturday morning after breakfast we decorated Easter eggs.  I wasn't so sure what Samantha would think of it, whether she would like it or not, but she was fascinated and intrigued by the whole process.  She loved dropping the eggs in the colored water, coloring on the eggs with the white crayon, and watching as the eggs turned from pale white to bright pastel.  As Samantha would say, "Happy Easter Eggs!"

After decorating Easter eggs, I went outside and "hid" twelve plastic Easter eggs with several M&Ms in each one.  Then, we had Samantha come outside and go on an Easter egg hunt.  She was so cute walking around our little patio area, finding all her little plastic eggs and placing them in her little basket.  After we were done, she kept asking to do it again.

On Sunday we went to church for the wonderful Easter service our church has.  We were supposed to work in the nursery, but someone covered my place so that I could rest and enjoy the worship service.  Ben, however, did have to work in the nursery, so it was especially difficult being in the service without him.  Having the d and c procedure on Easter weekend was both a blessing and a curse because Easter will now always remind me of the loss of our child.  However, it is impossible to not think about how Jesus conquered death and that our baby is not dead, but living eternally with God in heaven.  That is the life He promises all of us who believe in Him as our Lord and Savior, and even though I can't physically hold, see, and touch my baby, even though I will never know if my baby was a boy or girl, or what he or she would have looked like, I know my baby is alive with God, and what could be better?  Here is a quote from my journal on Easter Sunday, "Thank you for taking care of my baby, knowing and creating his inmost being.  Thank you for the joy of Samantha and the blessing you have given us in her.  Thank you for the simple joy of being a family, decorating Easter eggs, going on an egg hunt, playing outside in the sunshine, and hearing Samantha say, "Happy Easter eggs!'"  I AM BLESSED.