Some things need to be felt and processed before being shared with anyone other than my husband.
It’s been 4 months and I am still processing this loss every day. I am starting to see that I’ll likely be doing so for the rest of my life.
I was two weeks shy of entering the second trimester when the bleeding began. I immediately knew – “I am losing my baby”.
The baby I had met a week before in my first ultrasound.
The baby I saw fluttering it’s tiny arms and legs; full of life and energy.
The baby whose heart I heard beating so strong; confirming the new life within me. I was in love.
The feeling of helplessness overwhelmed me knowing there was absolutely nothing I could do to save it’s little life.
In the same instance, I was greeted with relief, guilt, and shame.
Relief because I no longer had to worry about juggling a newborn and a one year old at the same time. Relief because a chromosomal abnormality had been detected and I no longer had to prepare for mothering and most definitely protecting my child’s life. Relief because stress and fear of the future was no longer mine to have. In this case anyway.
Guilt because I couldn’t help but wonder if I caused this loss. Did my worry and self-doubt harm this being? Did he or she feel less loved by me? Was this my fault? Am I undeserving to mother the baby who had me feeling so calm, confident, radiant, and strong – once I had accepted it all; reassuring me that together we could get through this? So much blame. Blame I still struggle with today.
Shame because I felt broken. Like my body wasn’t good enough. Strong enough. Incapable. My pregnancy with Ofelia was a difficult one. I almost lost her twice and went into pre-term at 33 weeks… But we made it to 40. I thank God everyday.
Shame because I couldn’t help but wonder if the other women who are mothering more than one child are better than me. Shame because I know people talk, and I couldn’t bear to think of the gossip spoken behind my back.
Within one day I met with my doctor. The bleeding had stopped but nothing had passed. With my husband and daughter in the room, we had another ultrasound showing the tiny little body once full of vigor, now curled up inside me – lifeless. Without a whisper of a heartbeat. I broke down in tears.
Later, I held myself in the shower. Apologizing to my baby I’d never get to hold. I cried and cried, but the tears were heavily disguised by the water raining over my head. I was filled with so much anguish to know that I was still technically pregnant, carrying my now dead baby inside me. I was too far along for he or she to pass so a D&C was required.
If you know what a D&C is, then you understand that it is a blind procedure. Meaning that when my doctor simply went in with basically a vacuum hose to clear out my uterus while I was off in some lala land dream state, she had to rely on sound and the visual ‘waste’ sucked out of me to determine whether or not my uterus was clear of both baby and placenta. As it turned out, it wasn’t. So two weeks later, I was given a magic pill to help my uterus contract whatever was left inside me… For six weeks my body went through this horrendous ordeal that only delayed the ability to move on. That only delayed the ability to heal and recover. That only delayed the hormonal balance required to not come off like an irrational psycho to literally everyone outside my immediate family.
Enough time has passed to finally open up. So many of you have kindly asked how my pregnancy is going. Have wished me well on this journey. Have shared funny posts regarding “Irish Twins”. Or have commented on how Ofelia would make a great sister… She definitely would have. Now she’ll make a great sister to the fur babies running around our house. Now my husband and I can focus on raising her and fully giving her what she needs from us.
The best thing that has come from all this is appreciating our sweet baby Ofelia so much more! In our eyes, she is perfect in every meaning of the word. We are blessed she chose us. Together, we grow stronger and wiser everyday.
I trust that our baby lost, is our Angel gained.
Sometimes I catch myself talking to our angel baby. I ask that he or she walk alongside Ofelia, to guide and protect her always. Maybe he or she had to serve a greater purpose in teaching me a valuable lesson, and quite possibly finding a better way to journey with our baby ‘O’.
My body has finally recovered from it all. My mental and emotional wellbeing have stabilized – it took some time. There will always be a piece of my heart missing for the baby I never got to embrace. I’ve come to accept that this feeling will likely never go away. That’s fine by me. I honestly don’t want it to. Why would I want to forget my baby lost…
No longer ashamed or embarrassed. No longer conflicted with how to respond to your questions on how my pregnancy is going. It isn’t. And that’s okay.
I had a miscarriage.