A month ago, I found out that we lost our baby. I thought I was being paranoid, going to the doctor over a little spotting, but as the ultrasound tech struggled to find a heartbeat, I realized that all my fears and worries over the last week had merit.
I found out I was pregnant in mid-January early one Sunday morning. I had been exhausted for the previous few weeks, and I had this feeling that my body was working overtime. I was so excited to see "pregnant" pop up on the test almost immediately. I was about 6 weeks along. We told immediate family and a couple close friends, and then the research began. I read about the baby's growth and development, what to expect, birthing methods, all sorts of stuff. Surprisingly, I wasn't sick. I had occasional nausea in the evenings, but nothing a little zofran couldn't fix. I had to quickly stop all my medications for my migraines since they weren't good for the baby, so I had a week of higher pain, but after that the raging hormones and chaos in my body helped my migraines settle down. Besides the exhaustion, I was feeling pretty good. Every once in a while, I would get a little concerned that something was wrong because I kept reading that morning sickness usually signified a healthy pregnancy, but I always shook it off.
We had a nickname for the baby. We talked about girl names and boy names, and my parents began to think of what our kids would call them. I called my father-in-law "octo-paw," since our nieces and nephews call him Gpaw and our little one would be his eighth grandkid. My mum started crocheting adorable baby stuff. I had found a bunch of sewing patterns for clothes and diaper bags and changing stations - I was pumped for another great excuse for a whole lotta craftiness. Then, just shy of 8 weeks, we finally got to see little one!
The best part was hearing the heartbeat - it was strong! Our baby was healthy, and I could not be happier. What I didn't know was that a week later, that little heart stopped beating. There was no pain, no bleeding, nothing to tell me that our baby had passed away. The next week, I was worrying a lot about miscarriage. I had no reason to think it would happen to me, but I guess some part of me knew that the baby was gone. Then there was some spotting. I had had little bits of spotting before, but this time I freaked out. After talking with some doctor friends, we decided to wait until Monday and see the doctor then to check things out. I desperately hoped and prayed that the baby was healthy.
I got in to see the doctor first thing Monday morning. The ultrasound tech brought up a picture, and I could see our little one on the screen. I was so happy to see that little bean, I could even see the outline of a sweet little nose growing. Then came the bad news. There was no heartbeat. From measuring the baby, the doctor said it had stopped growing a week earlier. It was a missed miscarriage.
I was in a daze. I went home and held my nephews tight. The two-year-old was especially cuddly, as if he knew I needed a little extra sweetness. I didn't want to tell anyone, that would make it real. But we began letting family know that we lost the baby. We had talked early on in the pregnancy about whether or not to tell people, but Jeff and I both thought that it was worth telling family and close friends because they were our support network in case something went wrong. Looking back, I'm so glad that was our decision. They celebrated the highs with us, and when the lows came, they gathered around us and covered us with love and support and prayer. I was especially glad to be living with family at that point - they helped me feel normal. The boys still wanted to play and snuggle, which helped take my mind off things and reminded me to be thankful for what I did have.
A few days later, still having not passed anything, I had a D&C. The procedure and recovery process went smoothly, from a physical standpoint. I hated it though, knowing that it was the last day I would carry our first child.
Things have mostly gone back to normal at this point. I still miss carrying our child, and I'm still heartbroken about it. I think I always will be. I wish I didn't know what it was like to lose a baby. I never thought this was something that would happen to me. I knew it was pretty common to miscarry, especially in the first trimester. But I am thankful that I got to see its little face and hear its heartbeat. And I'm truly thankful for the 8 weeks and 6 days that I got to carry our sweet baby.
I found out I was pregnant in mid-January early one Sunday morning. I had been exhausted for the previous few weeks, and I had this feeling that my body was working overtime. I was so excited to see "pregnant" pop up on the test almost immediately. I was about 6 weeks along. We told immediate family and a couple close friends, and then the research began. I read about the baby's growth and development, what to expect, birthing methods, all sorts of stuff. Surprisingly, I wasn't sick. I had occasional nausea in the evenings, but nothing a little zofran couldn't fix. I had to quickly stop all my medications for my migraines since they weren't good for the baby, so I had a week of higher pain, but after that the raging hormones and chaos in my body helped my migraines settle down. Besides the exhaustion, I was feeling pretty good. Every once in a while, I would get a little concerned that something was wrong because I kept reading that morning sickness usually signified a healthy pregnancy, but I always shook it off.
We had a nickname for the baby. We talked about girl names and boy names, and my parents began to think of what our kids would call them. I called my father-in-law "octo-paw," since our nieces and nephews call him Gpaw and our little one would be his eighth grandkid. My mum started crocheting adorable baby stuff. I had found a bunch of sewing patterns for clothes and diaper bags and changing stations - I was pumped for another great excuse for a whole lotta craftiness. Then, just shy of 8 weeks, we finally got to see little one!
The best part was hearing the heartbeat - it was strong! Our baby was healthy, and I could not be happier. What I didn't know was that a week later, that little heart stopped beating. There was no pain, no bleeding, nothing to tell me that our baby had passed away. The next week, I was worrying a lot about miscarriage. I had no reason to think it would happen to me, but I guess some part of me knew that the baby was gone. Then there was some spotting. I had had little bits of spotting before, but this time I freaked out. After talking with some doctor friends, we decided to wait until Monday and see the doctor then to check things out. I desperately hoped and prayed that the baby was healthy.
I got in to see the doctor first thing Monday morning. The ultrasound tech brought up a picture, and I could see our little one on the screen. I was so happy to see that little bean, I could even see the outline of a sweet little nose growing. Then came the bad news. There was no heartbeat. From measuring the baby, the doctor said it had stopped growing a week earlier. It was a missed miscarriage.
I was in a daze. I went home and held my nephews tight. The two-year-old was especially cuddly, as if he knew I needed a little extra sweetness. I didn't want to tell anyone, that would make it real. But we began letting family know that we lost the baby. We had talked early on in the pregnancy about whether or not to tell people, but Jeff and I both thought that it was worth telling family and close friends because they were our support network in case something went wrong. Looking back, I'm so glad that was our decision. They celebrated the highs with us, and when the lows came, they gathered around us and covered us with love and support and prayer. I was especially glad to be living with family at that point - they helped me feel normal. The boys still wanted to play and snuggle, which helped take my mind off things and reminded me to be thankful for what I did have.
A few days later, still having not passed anything, I had a D&C. The procedure and recovery process went smoothly, from a physical standpoint. I hated it though, knowing that it was the last day I would carry our first child.
Things have mostly gone back to normal at this point. I still miss carrying our child, and I'm still heartbroken about it. I think I always will be. I wish I didn't know what it was like to lose a baby. I never thought this was something that would happen to me. I knew it was pretty common to miscarry, especially in the first trimester. But I am thankful that I got to see its little face and hear its heartbeat. And I'm truly thankful for the 8 weeks and 6 days that I got to carry our sweet baby.
I know your pain, and also your peace.
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