Wow, that’s a really depressing title. Like really depressing. It’s depressing me and I wrote it. What does that tell you?
However, I think it has a better ring to it than “Crappy Miscarriages” or “Let’s all get a D&C!”
Yeah, we’ve had a little bit of a rough go here in the Better Half House. I know I haven’t been what you would call a “daily blogger”. Hell, let’s be honest here and say I wouldn’t even be known as a monthly blogger. But lately, I have been pretty absentee.
As many of you may know, we decided to start to try to add to the chaos here in the house back in March. In late June we found out that we were successful in our endeavors and would be expecting the new arrival in late February. Our happiness, however, was short-lived as I was sick. VERY SICK. Like “maybe we should have thought this through” sick.
I was not expecting it to be that hard and in the middle of the Arizona summer it was harder than hard. It was brutal.
But through it all, I just kept hearing “Then it’s a boy!” and I hung on to that for dear life. When I would be sicker than sick I would think “this is for my little boy”, and then I would barf and take a nap for about 5 seconds before Audrey decided it was time to play toys…again.
I had my first ultrasound scheduled for 9 weeks because I am what doctors lovingly call “advanced maternal age”. Isn’t that sweet? And so comforting too. Like if I didn’t already have a catchy name for my blog, that would have been it.
That morning I took my Zofran, got a shower, put on MAKE-UP and even blew out my hair. If any of you all know me in real life, you know this was a BIG deal. I don’t get pretty for just anyone but I wanted to be pretty to day I met the newest member of our family.
As I was ushered into the dark room with thousands of dollars worth of fancy a/v equipment, I made excited small talk with the ultrasounds tech about how I was leaving for BlogHer in New York in a few days, how exhausting that would be with how sick I have been and how we are going to Napa Valley in a few weeks and, darn, I won’t be able to wine taste. Aww shucks, I’ll just have to go to the spa that day instead. Life is so hard, wah wah, white girl problems.
But as she started snooping around my womb she got quiet and even my untrained eye could see it. Or rather, see nothing.
No heart beat.
I immediately began to cry and she advised me that I should call my husband. My sweet husband who had offered to be there in the first place but I told him it was just a routine ultrasound just to see the heart beat, no biggie. And now it was a biggie and he needed to get there quick.
After the ultrasound they put me in a room to wait for the doctor whom I refused to talk to until Rutherford got there. I couldn’t do it alone and I knew I wasn’t going to be able to absorb anything she was going to tell me.
This is one of the many reasons I love my husband. This is his forte. He’s good at the big things, I am good with the small. I knew I was safe to mentally check out because he was completely tuned in, even through his own sadness.
I got my instructions to take it easy, a couple prescriptions for the “good stuff” and sent home to make a decision: D&C or let nature take it’s course. Fortunately/unfortunately I was all set to leave for BlogHer ’12 in New York City in just 2 short days. And while my doctor leaned more towards me staying home, I was all about going. I wasn’t about to leave my sponsor, Britely.com, high and dry. And, more importantly, it was a distraction.
BlogHer itself was a blur. So fun and so exhausting. I have decided that they need to have that event in a really boring place next time. Someplace where you want to go to bed after the long day as opposed to staying up till midnight wandering around Canal Street looking for knock-off purses. (I’ll be doing a whole BlogHer wrap-up post soon.)
But I made it though relatively unscathed and no more worse for wear (at least nothing a good night sleep and a foot rub couldn’t cure).
Monday morning, I was back at the doctor’s office. The final decision, after discussing with my husband and people who have been there would be that I would have a D&C.
On Wednesday, August 8th, I was checked into the hospital and ready to go.
I cried, of course, because I’m a crier and I barfed, of course, because well, I’m a barfer too. But all-in-all it was much worse in my head than in reality. I had my husband there the whole time (looking terribly nervous event though he says he wasn’t) and I had a wonderful team of doctors and nurses.
Today I am better. Right now as I write, my house is being cleaning by 3 little angels with mops, for the first time since before the positive PG test. (Yes, it has been THAT long and yes, it was THAT disgusting.) I am a little tired, a little crampy and a little sad but I’m good.
Friends have come out of the woodwork telling me their stories. Heartbreaking stories. And if there was a contest for who has the worst dead fetus story, I would not win by a long shot. But this isn’t a contest, there are no winners.
I have always found that telling my own story makes me feel better. Hearing “yeah, I’ve been there too” works wonders for me. So here I am, telling my story and telling you “yeah, I’ve been there too”.
Sorry if this post wasn’t as funny as advertised, I’m still working on finding it. Baby steps. Get it? I said baby steps. Ugh, yeah, I’ll keep working on it.
I took this picture of Audrey the day I found out I was pregnant. This was going to be how I was going to tell everyone I was pregnant, I was going to post this picture on Facebook but I was waiting till my ultrasound, till I saw the little flicker. I’m glad I waited but this picture is too cute not to share.