The heartache of losing

I’d taken a pregnancy test and it was positive.  The only two people that knew were my husband and our midwife.  I was having a hard time coming to grips with the fact that I had a 5 year old son, a 4 month old son and I was pregnant.  Already.  SO soon.  How would I handle THREE kids?  With two of them in diapers?  I wasn’t sure.

About the time I’d accepted and started to embrace this pregnancy, it ended.

Colin was about 6 months old, and we were all set to take a family vacation (with my parents, sister, her boyfriend and his daughter).  The hubs and I still hadn’t told anyone.  We’d experienced loss before and we wanted to wait until the end of the first trimester to share the news.

The day before we were going to leave, I started bleeding pretty heavily.  My husband called our midwife and she came right over.  She checked everything, and sent us to the hospital.  Once we arrived, they quickly pulled me back to take my vitals and get me to a room.  When the nurse was asking for information and taking my temperature, I almost passed out.  (SCARIEST THING EVER, by the way, for both my husband and I.)

{Meanwhile, my Mom was watching the kids and ended up taking them to the coast with her for our family vacation.}

After several hours in a room in the ER, it looked like everything had passed.  However, the doctor wanted to keep me overnight just to watch and make sure I didn’t start bleeding again.  (If I started bleeding again, they would do a D&C in the morning.)

They didn’t have any rooms available on a “regular” floor, so they put me up on the Labor & Delivery floor.  I was asked more than once if I was good with that, and I always said yes.  (I mean, what other choice did I have if they couldn’t put me anywhere else?!)  That was probably one of the hardest nights of my life.

• My kids were in a different city.
• I’d just lost a baby.
• Nurses were coming and going (they were AMAZING, but still).
• I kept hearing women giving birth followed by babies crying.
• I was SO SCARED by the thought of a D&C.
• I just wanted to go home and hug my kids.

But my husband made it better.  He was there for me.  He slept with me in the hospital bed so he could hold me – ALL.NIGHT.LONG.

Much later the next day, I was released.  I could have RUN out of that hospital, but they insisted on taking me down in a wheel chair and sitting with me until my husband brought the car up.  I wasn’t allowed to even carry my purse (the hubs had to).

After spending that night at home, we woke up VERY early and drove to the coast to meet my family.  I probably wasn’t supposed to, but I NEEDED to.  And it took a ton of begging before the hubs agreed.  I still wasn’t allowed to lift anything, but I was glad to be with my family.

My family knew I miscarried, but we didn’t talk about it.  I didn’t want to.  I am grateful they respected my decision to focus on the happy stuff.  It made it a smidge easier to grieve.

In the days, weeks and months following that loss, I spent quite a bit of time bawling in the shower.  I could cry at the drop of a hat, and most of the time, my husband didn’t understand the connection.  He would often ask, “What just happened to make you cry?”  He knew WHY I was crying, but I don’t think he understood what was said (or done) to make me cry.

So now, why am I writing this {almost} four years after it happened?  My friend, Alison, recently lost a baby and she encouraged me to share my story.  Before I shared with her, it was something only my husband and I knew the details about.

*My husband read over this to fact-check it for me, but he says I remember more than he does.  I am SURE I am missing some, but this is how I remember it.

**Full Disclosure:  This is me sharing my feelings.  Obviously, all thoughts, opinions and feelings are my own.  I was not compensated in any way for this post.