June 5th was a day I was looking forward to for
weeks. It ended up being one of the worst days I’ve had in my life.
June 5th I was supposed to take pictures with
Dave to announce our pregnancy. I had picked out the perfect dress. I had the location
for the pictures picked out—the library at the University I attend. It was so
fitting. I dreamt about the day, hoping for a sunny evening so the lighting
would be right.
June 5th I was 3 days away from 12 weeks. It was
a shitty day. It was gloomy and rainy all day, and it was so fitting. Instead of taking pictures to announce a moment
I never thought I’d get the chance to do, I had to have another D&E.
I found out I was expecting on Easter Sunday. I surprised Dave
with the pregnancy stick (back in its packaging) in his little Easter basket I
put together for him. Since I miscarried last summer I was a little anxious, so
we had gone in for blood work to check my levels and then went in for an early ultrasound
to make sure everything was okay.
I saw my baby’s heartbeat on April 28th and at
that moment nothing else in the world mattered. I saw him kick his little bitty
legs on May 20th after we went to the emergency room when I started
to spot. The heartbeat was still strong and my entire world revolved around
those little flutters I couldn’t feel yet and the blinking light on the screen
I knew I’d be able to hear for myself soon.
He was still kicking around and the heart was beating strong
when we saw him again on May 25th. Just a little over a week later
on June 4th I went back into the doctor because I was still spotting
and his heartbeat had stopped.
My little bean was no more.
I had less than a 1% chance of losing the baby I
affectionately called Bean and couldn’t wait to meet in December. Less than 1%.
Statistics mean nothing to me anymore.
I’m still trying to come to terms with this. I’m waiting on
answers which I hope to have soon and I hope that somehow that will bring me
some kind of relief from this pain, guilt and sadness I feel. I fear that it
won’t.
I originally stopped blogging because I was so exhausted
from having my little bean growing inside me. My creative energy was completely
sapped, but I was happy to step away from all my creative outlets. Now I don’t
write because it hurts too much to say that it happened again to me. It shouldn’t
have, the odds were in my favor.
It hurts to be present amongst other women, women who have
babies, women who are pregnant, even women who don’t carry around the weight of
struggling to conceive and then miscarrying. I envy all of you. It hurts to be
present even among people who are just happy, because I am reminded that right
now that is the furthest thing from my grasp.
I know in time I will heal. I know that if I stay strong and
keep my head up, I’ll stop feeling like I’m drowning. I want to start every
sentence with “I just wish…”.
I just wish this hadn’t
happened again.