Bad Memories

When I was a first-time expectant mother, life was full of possibilities. We became pregnant right away, and we were thrilled! I had taken the day off work to have a mental health day with my best friend who was moving to Georgia. When she got to my house, I told her I wasn't feeling well. I decided to take a pregnancy test, and it was positive! I am a worrier, so I called the doctor and had a blood draw just to make sure. Then I called my husband at work, and we promised not to tell anyone else until it was safe. By the time he got home, he had already told his work friends, so we decided to tell our "circle." We knew that some people have miscarriages, but we really didn't know anyone that had happened to. I vividly remember a hailstorm sometime that week, and my husband was outside watching. I told him to be careful, and he quipped, "I am a father now. I can do anything!" We were invincible.

Appointments came and went, and then we had a regular checkup. I hadn't gained any weight and the nurse couldn't find a heartbeat. That happens sometimes, they told us. So we had an ultrasound. When the tech said nothing, we knew it was over. I was supposed to go golfing with my dad. I had plans for lunch. They all stopped. After they moved us to a different room, we heard the doctor talking to a colleague outside the door about how she hated this part of her job. I told my husband we had lost the baby, but he was still being optimistic. When she finally came in, we were really just in shock. After she left, I did the required blood work. My husband, trying to be an optimist still, said, "Well, we weren't sure we could afford daycare, so maybe it will be okay." As we rode the elevator down, it was immensely symbolic. We arrived full of hope and left with sinking emotions. It was all too much. I passed out right there. When we arrived home, I was able to call my family and tell them what was going on. We would wait to see if my body would "take care of things" or if I would need a D&C. The next week was torture as I waited for my surgery. The only two things I really remember from that week are that my medical chart labeled the loss of my child as a spontaneous abortion and waking up from surgery and asking for my husband. The nurse told me I should still be asleep, but I very clearly explained to her that I would do whatever needed to be done to get out of there.

Since it was summer, I had no job to attend. I tried not to hate myself and my body for losing my child. I played mini golf on the Playstation and watched Food Network. I avoided my friends and prayed for time to speed up. My best friend moved away, and life continued. Wal-mart moved its baby section closer to the check out for the ease of parents. I had spent virtually my entire life checking out strollers and bassinets. My sister and I spent hours pouring over the JCPenny catalogues picking out baby items from the time we were small. Now baby paraphernalia made me burst into tears. I quit doing the shopping. If we went together, I made sure I had a plan for a quick escape. I still visited my sister-in-law. She was due with her second child the two weeks before me. I suffered through watching her grow my nephew and prepare for his arrival, a very real-time reminder of what we are missing. I tried to see a movie, Salt, with my husband. Right before the lights went out, I lost it. I had a panic attack. I am not sure I knew what it was at the time, but I felt like every patron in the theatre knew, somehow, that my child had died and I was out watching a movie.

In October, I received an invitation to a ceremony for "all parts from conceptions" from the hospital. We did not attend since I had already planned a trip to Florida, but I felt strangely uncomfortable as I vaguely remembered signing that the hospital could take care of the "remains" and that I wouldn't be there for the burial. It was easier for me to think of the miscarriage as a medical condition rather than a lost child. Avoidance and denial was the name of the game during that stage of the grief cycle.

Then we became pregnant again. I was a nervous wreck. Rather than testing biology again, I was leaning towards adoption, an option we had discussed for several years before even trying to become pregnant. My first doctor, who I really did love despite the whole situation, had switched practices. My new doctor was not willing to do the things my first doctor had discussed such as progesterone, regular heartbeat checks, and early ultrasounds. She said, "There really isn't any point in any of those things until we see if this baby lives." After that appointment, I never set food back into that practice again. I found a new doctor willing to work with and help ease my fears. The waiting room was hell. All of the very pregnant glowing mothers with their entourages in tow, finding out the sex of their child or counting down the days until the birth while holding hands lovingly. My husband and I were cowering in the corner squeezing hands tightly in fear. Blood draws and ultrasounds were a regular torture we endured. I didn't drink a sip of caffeine, I took care of myself in every possible way. I even went so far as to wear a special necklace someone had given me in order to help my body be strong. Seriously. For a month, we knew that our numbers weren't good. They were going up but not doubling. There was nothing to be done except have hope and wait. My doctor told me that things did not look promising but that she had seen all things in her time as a doctor and that nothing was beyond hope. One day we finally got a picture of our baby on the ultrasound! A real printout and everything! A few days later, on a Tuesday, I started bleeding. Since I had appointments about every three days, I had an appointment that afternoon. As I went in for an ultrasound, the necklace I had been wearing for luck fell to the ground and broke. The ultrasound tech wouldn't tell us anything, so we knew the drill. This time, instead of a surgery, I was able to miscarry on my own at home. The amount of pain was quite intense, cramping beyond belief. I imagine it is probably worse when actually giving child birth, but the adrenaline of knowing you are about to meet your child probably dulls some of the pain and allows you to make it through. Miscarriage pain is not only physical, but emotionally and mentally painful. The cramps were bringing me a bundle of joy, they were tearing my world apart again. My child was unceremoniously "passed" at home still in the egg sac and all. I am truly ashamed to say that my baby, my tiny little baby who had just become recognizable on an ultrasound, was flushed down the toilet. It took me ten minutes to write that. And now I am crying in shame. What could I have done? We lived in a town home so there was nowhere to bury him or her. There isn't a "thing" to do when you miscarry. To most people, it isn't even a baby, just tissue, nerves, and lots of blood. Was I supposed to take the "remains" to the hospital to be buried? Should I have contacted a funeral home? I still don't know what options there were. The doctor had sent me on my way, assuring me she would check in and see how I was doing. She never warned me or asked me about what was really going to happen.

I was now a "spontaneous aborter" because I had miscarried twice. What an awful phrase. As if I wasn't suffering enough from my first "spontaneous abortion," I now had a history of it. It was what I did with babies. It made me feel like a teenager sneaking into a shady clinic to meet a scary doctor to hide the evidence of my sins. I felt dirty and ashamed, like I was covered in the blood of my child, a scarlet letter of sorts.

Theses memories are the worst of the worst for me. I know there are more that I have forgotten, but after five years, these memories still remain; painful, raw, and shameful. I don't talk about them in these details. It makes people uncomfortable. I get a lump in my throat, tears in my eyes, and my blood feels thick. Bad memories.

Still Mothers

Tomorrow is the launch of a new group called Still Mothers.

I am very excited to be part of this project for mothers who have no biological living children. There are many facets to the group including a part for grandparents who have lost a grandchild, grieving parents who are trying to conceive, and families like our who have decided to adopt after losing a biological child. Losing a child can be a very isolating experience, so hopefully this is a great way for us all to connect and support one another. We are also on Facebook.

The Head Wound

Not too long ago, my oldest, the one with PTSD, had a meltdown. A really big meltdown where he was beyond reason and needed some space to calm down. At our house, we have practiced moving the whole family to a different area so D can have room to calm down safely - he gets a little like a Tasmanian devil at times. During this meltdown, for whatever reason, I decided that it just wasn't fair to always rearrange the whole family for one kiddo. I was walking D to his room, holding his hand, and he gave a big yank. He bumped his head, not very hard, on the door frame we were walking past. He said something like, "Ow," but that was it. When we got to his room, he sat down and was continuing his fit. At the same time, we both saw a drop of blood fall on the floor. Since neither one of us knew he had really injured himself, we were shocked. Well, blood, surprises, and heightened emotions don't mix well for a kid with PTSD. Immediately, he started hyperventilating. I calmly called for my husband and my friend who were both in the other room. The first priority was to get rid of the blood so D could calm down. Apparently he bonked his head right on the part of the door where the door where the lock is. You know, the only metal part of the door. Fortunately, it was in his hair, so we knew we wouldn't have to get stitches as long as we could get the bleeding stopped. Bringing my son to get stitches would be just as traumatic as the initial injury, so we definitely avoid those when possible. After stopping the bleeding and then calming him down, we were able to discuss the incident. When I asked what he learned from the head wound, he responded, "You should listen to your mom when she says take a break or you can crack your head open." Well, I guess he understood the main point....kind of. What did I learn? Our plan of moving the other people instead of him is probably not "fair," but it is the best plan - stick to the plan!