Warning; this post is extremely graphic, and will contain triggers.
This will be an extremely difficult post to write, and I will be openly talking about what we went through, and what we did, that was right for us.
In sharing this, I hope to help others in this position.
This circumstance is rarely ever talked about, and trying to find answers of the "right thing to do" is extremely difficult.
In the end, we did what seemed like the best decision for us. While it may not have been yours, it wasn't yours to make. If you've never been in this position, you'd never know what making these decisions feels like, and if you have had to make these decisions, then you know how extremely difficult it is to find the right ones.
So, before I go on, I kindly ask that you keep any negative comments, or judgements to yourself, as they are not welcome here.
On Wednesday March 7th, around noon, while having lunch with my family, I suddenly felt intense cramping throughout my belly, and lower back, that literally had me in tears. I was already experiencing intense cramping which had forced me to the hospital a few times already, so I wasn't too concerned.
Later that evening, DH and I cuddled on the couch to watch a movie together, the cramping continued, but something didn't seem right. Around 10pm I went upstairs to use the bathroom, and noticed that I was bleeding a bit. Panic and worry immediately rushed over me. DH asked if I wanted to go to the hospital, but I assured myself that spotting was common during early pregnancy. I told myself that it was most likely nothing, but prayed nonetheless. Shortly after, we went to bed.
Morning came, and Little Miss came running down the hall at 6am looking for some morning snuggles. As soon as my eyes opened I knew something was terribly wrong. I rushed to the bathroom & noticed quite a bit of blood on my liner, and began to tremble. Within seconds the amount of blood I was loosing became evident. I tried to call for DH, but through my tears, it barely was barely a whisper. He heard my sobs and came to me. Showing him the mess of blood was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do.
I cleaned up what I could, still shaking, and sobbing, then sat on the bathroom floor in complete shock.
Around 20 minutes later, I felt another gush, and saw my baby. It was more than I could handle. I started screaming for DH and he was holding me within seconds. It was over. This little life was no more. Pure devastation kicked in. Why wasn't my baby inside me anymore? I tried telling myself that what I was seeing wasn't real, but I knew better than that. Little Miss had followed DH up the stairs, and into the bathroom; I immediately tried to hide the mess, but I wasn't fast enough. Poor DH was in complete shock that he didn't either. When she saw the mess, she started saying "Yuck!" and "kean up!". He then grabbed her a left the room as quickly as he could.
I cleaned myself up, and what I could in the bathroom, any got back in bed.
An hour later, I decided to get DH to bring me to the hospital. Never before I had I gone to the hospital with my previous miscarriages - My body has always delivered them naturally, and at home, for which I am actually very thankful for. Going in proved to be a waste of time, and just caused more heartache than anything. When I called my doctor before going in, I was told to bring the baby in with me so that they could confirm that I had passed everything. I remember actually saying "Are you serious?!". When I told my husband this, I saw a tinge of fear in his eyes. He took my hand and firmly said "Do not let them take the baby..". We've heard too many stories of babies being discarded as "medical waste" without the parents permission, and we certainly did not what that to happen to us. The doctor told me to place the baby in a baggy of "some sort" and to try to contain "as much of the pregnancy as possible". Hearing these words felt like a knife in my heart. After hanging up, I went to the kitchen, and rummaged through my cabinets, looking for small glass jar. I was not about to put my baby in a baggy. Though, I know some of you may have gasped when I mentioned the jar. What would you have done?
My husband has a medical kit, so with gloves on, I gently placed the baby, with placenta still attached, into the jar. You think reading that is hard? Try doing it.
I put the jar into a brown paper bag, and we were on our way.
I will never forget the feeling of sitting in the car on the way to the hospital. Sitting in my lap was that little brown paper bag, and I couldn't help but thinking about how wrong the situation was. My baby should be in my belly; warm, safe, and alive. Not in a jar. Not in my lap. I should have be driving to the hospital, months from then, with contractions ready to give birth to a beautiful baby. Instead, I was on my way to the hospital with contractions because my baby had died inside me.
When I got to the hospital, I had to wait for my turn to see the triage nurse. I'm sure I looked pretty horrible. I know my eyes were black and swollen from crying so much. I was in a considerable amount of pain, so I wasn't walking properly either. Everyone that saw me either quickly looked the other way, or just stared. I felt like a freak.
I finally got called in to see the nurse. It was the most awkward feeling ever. She asked why I was there, and I said that I had just miscarried my baby. She then said "How do you know?" I must have given her one heck of a look, because she immediately shut up and starting writing. She then took my blood pressure, and checked my temperature. I wanted to say something along the lines of "I'm not sick, stupid! My baby died!" but I kept my mouth shut, and bit my tongue. I couldn't help but feel so bitter and angry. She then told me to have a seat in the waiting room. I could have hit her. Really? I have to wait?
Just my luck, while I was waiting a very pregnant lady came in with obvious contractions. I wanted to scream. I couldn't help but think that coming was a horrible idea and wanted to go home. After 30 minutes of waiting, I was finally called in to see a doctor. He asked my medical history, so I told him about the multiple miscarriages. He then proceeded to say that I was a "habitual aborter". Thanks, that's exactly what a woman wants to hear in that position. After a quick examination he asked to see the "pregnancy remains" to which I said "Do you mean my baby?", he nodded awkwardly. After opening the jar, and taking a look, he asked he we would like him to "dispose of the waste". Imagine that. I said "No, we'd like to take our baby home and go from there." He seems surprised, but didn't question my decision. He asked if we would like the baby sent for testing, and we declined. Knowing why our baby died wouldn't change anything at that point, we knew that.
I had to wait another 2 hours while they waited for blood test results, that confirmed that I had miscarried - because apparently my word for it wasn't good enough..
Making the decision to go to the hospital is a complete regret of mine. It was horrible experience, and both DH and I wish we had decided otherwise at the time. What's done is done though..
I keep replaying that morning in my head, wondering why this happened. Anger takes over & I want so badly to scream. As of tomorrow, I would have been halfway through my pregnancy. I so vividly remember the halfway mark with Little Miss; what a joyous time this could have been..
“Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.”
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