I wasn’t sure whether to write about this or not, but here it is.
I had a threatened miscarriage this pregnancy, and it was one of the most emotionally draining parts of my life.
With my daughter, I had some very light spotting at 13 weeks. It turned out to be nothing, and nobody knew where it came from.
With this pregnancy, I didn’t have any spotting at 13 weeks. I had a gush. I was sitting on the couch one evening, texting my sister, and it felt like a water balloon popped, and warm liquid burst out of me. My first thought was confusion, and then OH FUCK. It was blood. I panicked, and walked to the bathroom, where I passed something large. When I looked, all I saw was red. It was either a big clot, or my baby.
In my mind, it was over. Done. I started weeping and mourning. I started thinking about Lily and what we would tell her. I was thinking of all the diclectin I had taken, and that this was my fault for taking medicine while pregnant. I was dreading telling my family and friends. I was dreading sharing this with my husband and seeing his pain. I was dreading everything. I couldn’t believe it was all over, all the dreams and thoughts, the excitement I couldn’t even contain when I found out I was expecting, the suffering I had been through with extreme morning sickness. The 500 pregnancy tests I peed on because I couldn’t get over it, I loved seeing the second pink line. The addition to our family. The life of this little baby who was so desperately wanted and planned for, and already loved for and talked about daily. Gone, just like that… I called my family and was off to the ER.
I had an ultrasound, and I was waiting to see the empty sac. The nothingness. Do you know what I saw?
A baby. A 13 week old baby bouncing away, unaware I had envisioned him or her gone. Unaware I had shed tears for him or her in the bathroom just moments before, shaking and scared and terrified to even move, while my toddler looked on saying “Its ok, Mommy, don’t cry.”
I didn’t believe her, but I should have.
I went back for another ultrasound the next day, and there was baby again, wiggling around like nothing happened. He or she waved. I held my husbands hand and fought back the tears because I knew if I let one slip out, I’d never stop. And I saw the look in his eyes and he looked from the screen, to my belly, to me.
But just because I (we) cannot or do not express our emotions in public outwardly didn’t mean we weren’t grasping eachothers hands like we were falling off a cliff.
I was told if I could hang on to this baby and make it to week twenty, “You’ll be golden.”
Right now, I must be lightly golden at 18 weeks. And I will happily take that.
I wasn’t given any explanation besides “It happens.” I was told I had an anterior placenta and couldn’t ask for a better outcome of the ultrasounds. I was sent home with mixed emotions, and in disbelief that after all that, I still had a viable pregnancy, a little jumping bean who looked great and was moving around and I was even measuring a week ahead.
I’ve been struggling with a lot of emotions these past few weeks. I’m not even sure struggling is the right word. I think just being older and thinking about things differently than I previously thought about things, and coming to terms with myself over this is a struggle. Some feelings have resurfaced and others have been placed in a different light.
I’m so lucky to be where I am right now. Thankful, grateful, and extremely lucky. I know there must be similar stories like mine that don’t end the way mine did. And that day, I grieved for every woman and family whose story didn’t.