Post by sorrow on Nov 29, 2013 22:49:09 GMT -5
It's so difficult to define the flux of emotions that roll through me every time I see a baby, whether it's on the television or in the store or even my 8-month-old nephew. I have two beautiful, healthy daughters. There are times that I feel almost selfish for grieving the loss of the two other children that my girls will never have the chance to meet. So many women can't even bear children; I thought that I could not have children until my first daughter arrived...my miracle baby...almost nine years ago. My doctor had told me when I was 17 that I would likely never have children. I had tried to accept that. So when I suspected that I may indeed be pregnant, at the age of 32, I dashed out and bought a test. It was one of the happiest moments of my life, staring at the little blue plus on the pregnancy test. It was sheer delight to go through the pregnancy right until I held her in my arms for the first time.
For some reason, it never occurred to me that I could have a miscarriage. I found out that I was pregnant again, when I was almost 35, and I was overjoyed. My husband was not so happy; he had only wanted one, but despite our precautions, there was the little blue plus again. Things seemed to go swimmingly, until I started spotting. My doctor assured me that spotting usually was not cause for concern, so I went so far as to let my coworkers know that I was expecting. I was almost 8 weeks, after all, and I was already thinking of names, despite my husband's decided lack of enthusiasm. I was almost positive it would be a boy this time. When I went for my ultrasound the week I announced my pregnancy at work, there was a heartbeat, and I got the ultrasound picture of my baby...but the doctor said that the heartbeat was slower than usual, and that I should come in after the weekend, because there could be complications.
That entire weekend, I prayed. I made silent promises, my hand pressed to my abdomen, and prayed as hard as I could. It was the longest weekend I could remember, full of anxiety that I kept to myself.
And then came the appointment. Another ultrasound, and the nurse looked, but there was a heartbeat no longer. I was frozen with the news. Frozen, I went to the drugstore to get the prescription. Frozen, I drove myself home and told my husband. Frozen, I listened to him say, "Well, it wasn't really a baby."
My coworkers signed a sympathy card and my friends lent me the shoulder that my husband denied me. I wasn't sure what to think. There had been a heartbeat. How could this have happened? I was meant to have another child, I just knew it. And in my mind, my son...Alexander James...was crying, lost to me, and I handled it by doing my best to gracefully and logically get through it, but I was still frozen inside.
I bought ovulation test strips a month later, and insisted that we try again. He protested, and perhaps, given his completely dispassionate reaction to the miscarriage, I should have gone other avenues. But I felt that loss so keenly; it was nearly an obsession, to have another baby. I didn't want my daughter to be an only child. We had just moved into a new house. I would make this work.
I became pregnant again very quickly, to my surprise. I waited until I missed my period to get a pregnancy test, but I already knew. I *felt* pregnant. I didn't tell my husband until after I had my ultrasound picture again in my hand. He seemed a little more accepting of the new pregnancy. The baby was due at the end of July.
When the end of March rolled around, and the pregnancy was going very well, I had a panic attack that I was going to lose the baby. It was an irrational fear that made me burst out sobbing, curled protectively around the growing life inside of me. I had lost Alexander at the end of March. My husband heard me crying, stared at me, and shoved a box of Kleenex in my direction. He had never exactly been the warm and loving husband I had hoped for, but when I told him what was wrong, his sigh and following derisive response was the first blow struck to the the eventual end of our marriage: "Get over it."
My second daughter was born without incident, although I had to drive myself to the hospital on the day she was induced. Both girls were bright and relatively easy children. My husband and I had agreed that two was enough, and were taking precautions to ensure that two was it. There was a pall over our marriage, however. His reactions had been shocking to me, and were hard to overlook. I was also dreaming about our son on a regular basis, both beautiful dreams and also nightmares. I never confessed the nightmare material to my husband; I was afraid of how he would respond. I was immersed in taking care of my daughters, starting to realize that I was the only one really taking care of our daughters. My marriage focused on the girls, and my husband became more remote. There was an incident where I discovered an email from a woman with whom he had cheated with on his first wife, and my husband's request for nude photos from her, although she was also married. I nearly left him that night, but he swore up and down that he would cease all communication with her, and I went back to caring for our daughters and being the best wife I could be.
Then, when my youngest was 3, I knew I was pregnant again, despite all precautions. By this point, the distance between my husband and I had grown. He had become increasingly emotionally abusive, toward all of the "useless females" in the household. He had little or nothing to do with the girls besides transporting them various places, and he was constantly drinking. I had been making tentative plans to leave him, terrified of taking that huge step, but equally worried about what would happen if the girls continued to see his behavior. I did not tell my husband I was pregnant. My three best friends knew. I wanted the baby, of course I did, but what would my husband do when he found out? I knew I had to be almost 7 weeks along or so, and I finally made an appointment for an ultrasound, without letting my husband know.
Literally the day before I was to see the doctor, I was doubled over with the most incredible pain. I had been feeling fine, although fatigued, and there had been no spotting. It was about time to start cooking dinner, and as I ran to the bathroom to vomit from the pain, my first thought was that my appendix may have burst. My second thought was that I had to get dinner ready or else my husband would get mad.
There were events that happened in the next few hours that still make me cringe to recall, from my toddler telling my husband that "Mommy's really sick, she can't walk,"and being forced to walk downstairs regardless by him...to his finally agreeing to "drop me off" at the nearby Emergicare after he called for Chinese takeout, since I couldn't make him dinner. He did drop me off...about twenty feet from the front door, where I hobbled slowly in and was told that they could not treat pregnant women and I had to go to the emergency room. My husband had driven off by that point, to get Chinese food, so I texted my most reliable best friend and asked him to meet me at the emergency room, since I thought my appendix had burst. Eventually my husband showed back up to take me back home. I believe that I was in shock from the pain. Not even the birth of my daughters had been so extremely painful; it was like the most tenacious contraction had settled in my side to stay. No, nobody called an ambulance. Yes, I ended up driving myself to the emergency room, after kissing my daughters goodbye.
I had to park in the parking garage around the side of the hospital from the emergency room. My best friend pulled in beside me, and said that I was paper white. I told him that I was fine to just walk around, but he insisted on driving me around and half-carried me in. We found out a little later that my blood pressure was so low from internal bleeding, that I likely would have collapsed and died in the parking lot had I tried to walk that distance. The nurse was astounded that I was still conscious, and called immediately for a gurney. It was a little amazing at how quickly all the nurses all converged and began to work in unison; I remember thinking that the television shows got that right. I was telling anybody who would listen that my appendix had likely burst, that I was pregnant, to please be careful of the baby, not to do anything that would hurt the baby.
It was the internal ultrasound that hurt the most, and that revealed the true nature of what had happened: it was an ectopic pregnancy that had ruptured, and I had to have emergency surgery as soon as possible to take care of the internal bleeding. It took a minute for the information to sink in, and then I started crying. I didn't really stop crying until they gave me the shot that put me under. My best friend held my hand through nearly the entire time I was in the emergency room, stopping only to call my parents for me to let them know what had happened.
They put me under, the doctor removed one of my tubes and fixed me up as best as she could, and told me the next day that I had been about 8 weeks along. It was also apparently necessary go into detail about the procedure and also to show me actual pictures of how much bleeding there had been. How purely horrific to see those pictures. I don't recall talking beyond a faint thank you here and there.
My husband did not show up until late afternoon the following day. I found out later that my uncle had offered to babysit so he could come in the morning, but my husband had turned him down.
I grieved. I grieved the loss of another baby. I grieved the loss of what had once been my marriage. I could see no reconciliation after the way my husband had responded, and I was right: a week after the surgery, my husband trotted out the "it wasn't really a baby" line again, shrugged off what I perceived as despicable response to an emergency, and declared that he didn't believe it had been his baby anyway. It was the death of the marriage.
I went to grief counseling for a while, took my daughters and left my husband, and am now living in a pretty nice neighborhood. My best friend and I decided eventually to date (he is the man who saved my life, quite literally), and that is going immensely well. It's been about a year and a half since the surgery, and the divorce papers came through just last month, after a long and harrowing legal battle, the results of which are not satisfactory..60/40 joint custody with me as the primary guardian...but the judge was biased, with a firm belief in father's rights, not full custody, no matter how deplorable the father has behaved. (My husband's deplorable behavior extended to many areas, as I found out after I had left him.) I am grieving the loss of time with my daughters, due to the bias of that judge.
As far as my other babies... I stopped going to grief counseling after the counselor told me to "write a letter to your lost children and tell them how much you miss them." I tried. I couldn't do it. I miss children that were never born; I love children that I never held.
There is always a shadow of sorrow. I still have dreams; I still have nightmares. I still hear the crying. Alexander James, and Vivienne Marie, lost. I don't know why I named them, or why I am so sure of their gender, but they are mine, and perhaps I will see them after I have also passed on. It is a hope of mine, and not one I share lightly.
I am lucky to have my two beautiful daughters, and my boyfriend is as supportive and understanding as any woman could want. But the shadow remains. Perhaps by typing out this sad little tale, I can find solace in the knowledge that other women have experienced similar stories, and that they understand as well as any woman can, under the dark umbrella of loss.
For some reason, it never occurred to me that I could have a miscarriage. I found out that I was pregnant again, when I was almost 35, and I was overjoyed. My husband was not so happy; he had only wanted one, but despite our precautions, there was the little blue plus again. Things seemed to go swimmingly, until I started spotting. My doctor assured me that spotting usually was not cause for concern, so I went so far as to let my coworkers know that I was expecting. I was almost 8 weeks, after all, and I was already thinking of names, despite my husband's decided lack of enthusiasm. I was almost positive it would be a boy this time. When I went for my ultrasound the week I announced my pregnancy at work, there was a heartbeat, and I got the ultrasound picture of my baby...but the doctor said that the heartbeat was slower than usual, and that I should come in after the weekend, because there could be complications.
That entire weekend, I prayed. I made silent promises, my hand pressed to my abdomen, and prayed as hard as I could. It was the longest weekend I could remember, full of anxiety that I kept to myself.
And then came the appointment. Another ultrasound, and the nurse looked, but there was a heartbeat no longer. I was frozen with the news. Frozen, I went to the drugstore to get the prescription. Frozen, I drove myself home and told my husband. Frozen, I listened to him say, "Well, it wasn't really a baby."
My coworkers signed a sympathy card and my friends lent me the shoulder that my husband denied me. I wasn't sure what to think. There had been a heartbeat. How could this have happened? I was meant to have another child, I just knew it. And in my mind, my son...Alexander James...was crying, lost to me, and I handled it by doing my best to gracefully and logically get through it, but I was still frozen inside.
I bought ovulation test strips a month later, and insisted that we try again. He protested, and perhaps, given his completely dispassionate reaction to the miscarriage, I should have gone other avenues. But I felt that loss so keenly; it was nearly an obsession, to have another baby. I didn't want my daughter to be an only child. We had just moved into a new house. I would make this work.
I became pregnant again very quickly, to my surprise. I waited until I missed my period to get a pregnancy test, but I already knew. I *felt* pregnant. I didn't tell my husband until after I had my ultrasound picture again in my hand. He seemed a little more accepting of the new pregnancy. The baby was due at the end of July.
When the end of March rolled around, and the pregnancy was going very well, I had a panic attack that I was going to lose the baby. It was an irrational fear that made me burst out sobbing, curled protectively around the growing life inside of me. I had lost Alexander at the end of March. My husband heard me crying, stared at me, and shoved a box of Kleenex in my direction. He had never exactly been the warm and loving husband I had hoped for, but when I told him what was wrong, his sigh and following derisive response was the first blow struck to the the eventual end of our marriage: "Get over it."
My second daughter was born without incident, although I had to drive myself to the hospital on the day she was induced. Both girls were bright and relatively easy children. My husband and I had agreed that two was enough, and were taking precautions to ensure that two was it. There was a pall over our marriage, however. His reactions had been shocking to me, and were hard to overlook. I was also dreaming about our son on a regular basis, both beautiful dreams and also nightmares. I never confessed the nightmare material to my husband; I was afraid of how he would respond. I was immersed in taking care of my daughters, starting to realize that I was the only one really taking care of our daughters. My marriage focused on the girls, and my husband became more remote. There was an incident where I discovered an email from a woman with whom he had cheated with on his first wife, and my husband's request for nude photos from her, although she was also married. I nearly left him that night, but he swore up and down that he would cease all communication with her, and I went back to caring for our daughters and being the best wife I could be.
Then, when my youngest was 3, I knew I was pregnant again, despite all precautions. By this point, the distance between my husband and I had grown. He had become increasingly emotionally abusive, toward all of the "useless females" in the household. He had little or nothing to do with the girls besides transporting them various places, and he was constantly drinking. I had been making tentative plans to leave him, terrified of taking that huge step, but equally worried about what would happen if the girls continued to see his behavior. I did not tell my husband I was pregnant. My three best friends knew. I wanted the baby, of course I did, but what would my husband do when he found out? I knew I had to be almost 7 weeks along or so, and I finally made an appointment for an ultrasound, without letting my husband know.
Literally the day before I was to see the doctor, I was doubled over with the most incredible pain. I had been feeling fine, although fatigued, and there had been no spotting. It was about time to start cooking dinner, and as I ran to the bathroom to vomit from the pain, my first thought was that my appendix may have burst. My second thought was that I had to get dinner ready or else my husband would get mad.
There were events that happened in the next few hours that still make me cringe to recall, from my toddler telling my husband that "Mommy's really sick, she can't walk,"and being forced to walk downstairs regardless by him...to his finally agreeing to "drop me off" at the nearby Emergicare after he called for Chinese takeout, since I couldn't make him dinner. He did drop me off...about twenty feet from the front door, where I hobbled slowly in and was told that they could not treat pregnant women and I had to go to the emergency room. My husband had driven off by that point, to get Chinese food, so I texted my most reliable best friend and asked him to meet me at the emergency room, since I thought my appendix had burst. Eventually my husband showed back up to take me back home. I believe that I was in shock from the pain. Not even the birth of my daughters had been so extremely painful; it was like the most tenacious contraction had settled in my side to stay. No, nobody called an ambulance. Yes, I ended up driving myself to the emergency room, after kissing my daughters goodbye.
I had to park in the parking garage around the side of the hospital from the emergency room. My best friend pulled in beside me, and said that I was paper white. I told him that I was fine to just walk around, but he insisted on driving me around and half-carried me in. We found out a little later that my blood pressure was so low from internal bleeding, that I likely would have collapsed and died in the parking lot had I tried to walk that distance. The nurse was astounded that I was still conscious, and called immediately for a gurney. It was a little amazing at how quickly all the nurses all converged and began to work in unison; I remember thinking that the television shows got that right. I was telling anybody who would listen that my appendix had likely burst, that I was pregnant, to please be careful of the baby, not to do anything that would hurt the baby.
It was the internal ultrasound that hurt the most, and that revealed the true nature of what had happened: it was an ectopic pregnancy that had ruptured, and I had to have emergency surgery as soon as possible to take care of the internal bleeding. It took a minute for the information to sink in, and then I started crying. I didn't really stop crying until they gave me the shot that put me under. My best friend held my hand through nearly the entire time I was in the emergency room, stopping only to call my parents for me to let them know what had happened.
They put me under, the doctor removed one of my tubes and fixed me up as best as she could, and told me the next day that I had been about 8 weeks along. It was also apparently necessary go into detail about the procedure and also to show me actual pictures of how much bleeding there had been. How purely horrific to see those pictures. I don't recall talking beyond a faint thank you here and there.
My husband did not show up until late afternoon the following day. I found out later that my uncle had offered to babysit so he could come in the morning, but my husband had turned him down.
I grieved. I grieved the loss of another baby. I grieved the loss of what had once been my marriage. I could see no reconciliation after the way my husband had responded, and I was right: a week after the surgery, my husband trotted out the "it wasn't really a baby" line again, shrugged off what I perceived as despicable response to an emergency, and declared that he didn't believe it had been his baby anyway. It was the death of the marriage.
I went to grief counseling for a while, took my daughters and left my husband, and am now living in a pretty nice neighborhood. My best friend and I decided eventually to date (he is the man who saved my life, quite literally), and that is going immensely well. It's been about a year and a half since the surgery, and the divorce papers came through just last month, after a long and harrowing legal battle, the results of which are not satisfactory..60/40 joint custody with me as the primary guardian...but the judge was biased, with a firm belief in father's rights, not full custody, no matter how deplorable the father has behaved. (My husband's deplorable behavior extended to many areas, as I found out after I had left him.) I am grieving the loss of time with my daughters, due to the bias of that judge.
As far as my other babies... I stopped going to grief counseling after the counselor told me to "write a letter to your lost children and tell them how much you miss them." I tried. I couldn't do it. I miss children that were never born; I love children that I never held.
There is always a shadow of sorrow. I still have dreams; I still have nightmares. I still hear the crying. Alexander James, and Vivienne Marie, lost. I don't know why I named them, or why I am so sure of their gender, but they are mine, and perhaps I will see them after I have also passed on. It is a hope of mine, and not one I share lightly.
I am lucky to have my two beautiful daughters, and my boyfriend is as supportive and understanding as any woman could want. But the shadow remains. Perhaps by typing out this sad little tale, I can find solace in the knowledge that other women have experienced similar stories, and that they understand as well as any woman can, under the dark umbrella of loss.