Someday, maybe I'll understand (2)

Music: "Counting Down the Days" - Above and Beyond
Written mid-August. 8:20a


After the doctor's visit, I went back to work for the first time since learning I was pregnant. I was now super aware of everything; every step, every noise, every feeling, every movement. I was put on A dock, and it was not forgiving, and I found myself in front of the computer the entire day, 14 hours of prime after prime after prime. I think every member of QA had come down to verify at least once. It was super busy. But I was only on for one day; I'd taken Saturday off, for our Choir reunion that had since been cancelled, so I kept the day open anyway. It was super relaxing after everything; I spent the day swimming, and my dad even taught me how to make his famous pizza. For a moment, I forgot about being pregnant, and just let myself be lulled into my now former life, a life without worry or stress. 

I spent a lot of sleepless nights worrying, and trying not to at the same time. Thinking about things, the future. About John. About being a mother. What will my friends and family say? Where are we going to live?  Work? School? Would I be able to go back? Late night feedings. Diaper changes. Crying. Money. What if the baby doesn't make it? What happens after he says thing are fine, and progressing well? So many things, and not having anyone to talk to to help sort things out. I was treading water. 

Wednesday came. I knew that whatever happened at this point, was completely in God's control, but I just wanted an answer. I went straight to the radiologist, and the nurse did two very extensive ultrasounds. I waited, impatiently and nervously for the answer. Lying there for what seemed like an eternity. Praying. Nothing but silence in my head. The radiologist came in, and came straight over to me, gently grabbing my hand, and I could see it in his eyes, read it on his face. My brain was too slow to process it; but my heart already knew before the words could leave the doctor's mouth....

We couldn't find a heartbeat. 

It was like being in the middle of an ocean, the waves angrily crashing over and over. The emotion hit me with such force, that my world came to an abrupt halt. I wasn't strong enough to keep my head above water. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't say anything. All I could do was cry. The doctor apologized and asked who was with me, and he went and called for my dad. I can't tell you how much it hurt because it was John who I really wished would come through that door. Oh God I have to tell him, and it's going to hurt. My dad finally got to me, and I had to tell him, he didn't know. We cried, and I didn't even care I was still lying on the table, with just a sheet over me. Naturally, my mom called, as if she unconsciously knew already. I told her. I couldn't move, just cried and cried. I knew I had to go see my doctor eventually and figure out what to do next. I got dressed and we went upstairs. I can't tell you how empty I felt. Hollow. Numb. 

The doctor was out in the ER in surgery, so my nurse, Pat, came in to comfort us for a bit. She said for me to go on home, and rest, eat something. The hardest thing was to tell John. I saw the stages of grief without actually being there in person. He kept texting me 'are you sure? are they sure? TELL THEM TO CHECK AGAIN'. It hurt me even more to see how much pain he was in. Each text message was a knife slicing through my already broken heart. My own pain doubled, because I couldn't be there to comfort him, and vice versa. I made it home, and my dad and I sat and talked about what happened. He told me about my late sister, Janet, and how hard it was seeing her sick. She passed away at 16 months. He said although she'd been born and wasn't lost while my mom was pregnant with her, it's still the loss of a child, and there's no greater pain than losing a child. I was about 8 weeks at this point. We cried and talked and cried some more. I knew now that I had to be strong and be supportive of John and vice versa. We needed each other, and being 400 miles apart doesn't make that any easier. My dad went on to finish up his work, and I was able to finally admit to myself and take in what had just happened.

I lost my baby. 

Everything had come to a dead stop. My parents had been so excited, and so were John and I. Now, now what do we do? 

One thing that I learned right off the bat, looking back, is that you can't blame yourself, and I had absolutely no reason to: I was doing everything I was supposed to, eating right, resting enough, no smoking or drinking. I have no reason to feel guilty, and I still don't. This was simply all part of God's plan, this just wasn't the time. There was nothing anyone could have done.

The doctor called back later that afternoon, and apologized. He explained that it was nothing I did, just that the chromosomal pairs just did not come together, and not to feel guilty. He explained that for the safety of my health, it would be better for me to have the D and C procedure done (Google it if you don't know what that is, as I really do not wish to explain it). He explained that letting Mother Nature take over and handle the miscarriage naturally, I could be in a lot of pain, and who knows when the bleeding would start, or how bad it could be. So I was to go back the next day and get another ultrasound. Another problem would soon show itself...

When John called that night, it was really hard. He didn't want to talk about the finer details, just how I was doing and what the doctor said. We grieved together, no longer parents. I don't know how I was able to sleep that night.

I went back in on Thursday, and did another ultrasound. He was unable to get to my uterus, because now there was some blockage in my colon, preventing him from getting a read. He needed to get in there to confirm the D and C would be the best option. I was to come back in again the next afternoon. Friday morning I got up and called my boss, Brian, and told him everything. He was the first person outside of the family (and the first person at work) that I told, but this was an emergency, and I felt better that he knew. He sent his condolences, and suggested I take a leave of absence, as I was looking down the throat of a Step 2 for attendance. Done. I called the company that handles it, and they were to send me all the paper work. Went back to the doctor, and he was able to get the ultrasound. I was scheduled to have the D and C on Tuesday the following week. 

He was concerned about the blockage issue, explaining that it looks as if there might be an infection. He recommended a doctor in the Med Center, the best in the world. He was going to set me up with her to hopefully get some answers to our questions. I remembered the hell I went through six months ago (he knew all of this on the first appointment), and this is something I've dealt with all my life. However, 20 plus years ago, technology wasn't what it is today, doctors just didn't have the answers back then. They were sure that as I grew older and my body developed, that the issue would go away. So after being given my pre-surgery instructions, I headed home for a long weekend. I called my manager and told him everything, and he suggested I take a leave of absence. He was very understanding and said call if I needed anything. Turns out I needed the break after all. I made the personal decision to call my sister that Saturday. It broke my heart to hear her excitement (oh my, God, I'm finally going to be an Aunt!), only to let her down with the bad news in the next breath. She was sad, but told me something I never knew about her. She was pregnant when she was really young, and wasn't something her and her boyfriend were ready for. My sister had the same procedure done, so she knew exactly what I was going through. I felt a little better having someone close, besides my parents, who understood, a little better in some cases. She asked when the surgery was, and said she'd be definitely be there.

Monday, I was on an all-liquid diet, as well as laxatives, to be sure they wouldn't have an issue getting to where they needed to be during surgery. My body all but laughed at my efforts. Desperate, I called Pat, who gave me some tips. I did everything, but it's like stage freight where everything in your body freezes. That night, I was miserable because nothing was working, not to mention I was weak from not eating. I can't do the Jell-O/broth diet, I just can't. I felt stuck again, time refused to pass. I wanted this behind me. 

My doctor had instructed me to come down to his office before my scheduled surgery (the buildings are right next door to each other), to examine me to determine if this procedure would be given the green light. Waiting in that room, I tried to decide what to do if this wasn't going to happen. I couldn't do this again. With the baby still inside, I wasn't able to grasp still what had happened. I needed to grieve. With the green light finally given, and a huge sigh of relief, it was off to the surgery building. The doctor seemed pretty confident that he'd be able to get in there and do what needed to be done.

After all the paperwork, and a call from my sister saying she was on her way, they started prepping me. The nerves came back. I was never happier to see my sister when she came through the curtain. They only allow two people at a time in the small room, so my parents alternated with each other. My sister was there the entire time, holding my hand and telling me to breathe. The nurse started the IV, then returned a few minutes later with the 'cocktail'. This is it. I wanted to panic, but I heard something then that took away all the stress and anxiety: 

Someone from Heaven spoke to me. 

I haven't told anyone this. When I lost a beloved family member 15 years ago, I came home and saw a video on TV. It was a song by a group from the UK. I didn't really care for the song at the time, but it grew on me, and that day, took on a whole new meaning. The lyrics were beautiful. It even became a contender on my list of songs to sing at my Senior year Choir concert. I listen to the song once in a blue moon, and I've heard it one other time since that day, but can't recall the event.

I heard the song on the radio, above all the chatter and hospital noise, seeming out of place what with all the other songs I'd heard, but coming at just the right time. This family member was telling me it was going to be okay. I wasn't nervous anymore, like all the fear and worry had been sucked out of me with the fading of the song. This is the last thing I remember. 

Surgery was a success, far as having any issues go. They had no problems. We were told that I shouldn't find any issues with a future pregnancy. I was warned, however, that I was not to get pregnant again until this other issue gets resolved. Well, won't have to worry about that because my boyfriend is three states away. Still. After a pregnancy or pregnancy loss, there is a three-month window where you're super fertile, and this is usually when women get pregnant again. Yeah, cool facts, huh.

I was taken home and given a list of instructions on what not to do for the next two weeks: no swimming, no baths, no sex. You're killing me. I'd have to spend my next vacation looking at the pool. I was a little too anxious to return to normal, and swimming is the perfect therapy for me. But health comes first. I was perched on the couch the rest of the day, watching shows with my mom, while starting to eat solid foods again, and monitoring the bleeding. Amazing thing is, I had no pain. I wasn't ready to climb up my stairs yet or run a marathon, but I thought the pain factor would've been more up there. But I knew, this was it, the time when I could finally process this, and grieve. I thought I would be okay. 

Friday morning, I went back to work. Felt strange to be back in a sense of normalcy, with my co-workers, and QA stuff, and a normal schedule. I hadn't cried since before the procedure. Hadn't really processed it. The emotions simply had not hit me. I walked 10 steps beyond the front door of the warehouse, and I lost it. The boat finally sank, and I was at the mercy of the waves again for the first time in two weeks. Three weeks later after starting to write all of this, and I'm still waiting for the rescue boat. The waves come and go; some are smaller, and some are 20 stories tall. I was an emotional wreck all weekend. Ups and downs. Brian stopped by my dock each day to ask how I was and offered to lend any support. I told two of my closest co-workers, Tashanda and Mr. John. I was glad to know they had my back, and I knew the process of telling my closest family and friends was about to begin.

The worst was now over, but still so much unresolved. A lifetime of searching for answers for the other health issue was now about to have some light shed on it from the end of a very long tunnel, and the true impact of the loss was about to hit....

Someday, maybe I'll understand. (1)

Music: Britney Spears, "Someday",playing over and over in my head
Written mid-August. 7:50a

Ever been awakened by words or thoughts demanding that they be brought to the surface and be dealt with? I can't tell you how many times I just wanted to sit down and sort through all these emotions I've been dealing with these last few weeks. What a roller coaster it has been. So, I'm finally sitting down and talking about just how much has been going on in the last month. At least, for now, I can put this out somewhere, because I've had to keep such a low profile lately. And with good reason that I hope people will eventually come to understand, once I feel the time is right, and I'm ready to tell them. Here we go...

After the chaos and excitement of Jessica's wedding had calmed down, I left work Sunday night feeling something I hadn't felt in a while: total freedom. For the first time since February, I had no plans whatsoever. It felt like nothing was holding me down or back. Alright, finally I can do what I need to do and look into this damn apartment, get some finances in order, and just have four days to myself to rest and do whatever the hell I want.

God has a funny definition of the word 'rest.'

I was feeling not-so-normal. Not in a sick way, just now impatiently waiting for Mother Nature to make a late arrival, and take some stress off of me. I had other symptoms I'd never had before (nothing that needs to be discussed here). There was this weird gut feeling I had. Something was different, and needed to be looked at. John was concerned, and suggested I go take one of those home pregnancy tests, just for our peace of mind. Because surely this is just MN's way of saying 'yeah, I'm just torturing you a bit, you're really fine, but you look like you need a good scare.' After work that next Sunday, I drove out of my way to a Walmart and bought a test, scared out of my mind the entire time. The next morning, I waited for that long, happy negative strip, and hey, false alarm, MN was really just messing with me in a sick way....except I found two long lines staring back at me. I was too shocked to panic, but this voice inside kept screaming at me, do you know what you've just done? 

I called my doctor immediately to get an appointment. Maybe the test was a fluke, like they sometimes turn out to be. John was nothing short of panicking, texting me every five minutes 'what did the doctor say? is he seeing you today??' They managed to get me in early the next morning. I took another test, after explaining to the doctor what had been going on. Upon coming back into the room, he asked what answer I was hoping for. Um, I'm hoping you tell me no? And all this stress will have been for nothing and we can all go back to living our miserable, boring lives. He showed me the card.

Holy fuck, my parents are going to kill me! Even though I"m 32! Then, after that, they're gonna kill John!                 but after the baby's born, of course.....

Pregnant.

I cried, a mix of excitement, shock and panic and disbelief. No way I could be pregnant, I never even thought, with all my other health problems that it would be possible. I never imagined myself as a mother. Not now, anyway. I know nothing about babies except they cry too much and are messy little goobers. Never thought that it would happen to me. We were always so careful, a little too careful, with only one other small scare that turned out to be nothing (and would have otherwise been an early Christmas present). I don't remember walking out of the office, where my mom was waiting for me. Well, we all die sometime. Except that she wasn't the one to worry about....She was in shock, too, but didn't say a whole lot. Calling my dad was the hardest thing I've ever had to do, and looking back, his reaction could have been downright comical, but it really was serious (and scary). And this was just a month ago! After calming down, we talked briefly, well he panicked about me and I listened. I got back to the house and John called, desperate for the final word from the doctor. Again, the shocked silence that follows the news you weren't ready to hear. And that's just it: we weren't ready. John had just left a couple weeks before, after being out of work, and I still lived at home (and trying desperately to get out on my own, setback after setback). We needed to work this out, what were we going to do now?

Game on. 

I knuckled down, got serious. Bought a few books from Amazon, and started reading up and learning. I gave Jessica all of the alcohol I'd had stored up, not because I'd be tempted-that was no problem at all-but because I didn't want it to go to waste. I went on a diet, an all-health kick. Don't think the house had ever seen so much healthy stuff before. I took all the vitamins, and really started getting in the mind set that in 8 short months, I'd have a daughter (or son, I really hoped for a daughter). After the initial shock wore off, I found an OG/GYN in the Medical Center, and set up my first appointment. I found a nurse through my job's benefits, and got acquainted with her. Meanwhile, John and I tried to set up a game plan for our future. It was really difficult and stressful. He is all the way in Alabama, how are we going to do this? We had more questions than answers, and that alone scared me. I did not want to be alone, and I felt more alone than ever, because it was still too early to tell anyone the news, and we wanted more information before we did so.

My very first appointment with the doctor wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. He was very nice. On my first ultrasound, he was unable to get a read. Concerned, he sent me down to the radiologist. They were able to find a heartbeat, and determined that I was about six weeks along. However, upon meeting back up with the doctor, he explained that the baby's heart rate was very low. Between what the baby measured and the measure of the uterus, it wasn't matching up. Meaning, the baby wasn't as far along as my uterus showed it should be. He went on to explain that miscarriages aren't uncommon for someone my age. Although he didn't want to scare me or worry me, he also was trying to prepare me for the worst. He asked that I take it easy, keep doing what I've been doing, and come back in a week for a follow up. Things could still turn around, but I now had a very bad feeling....