I am not exactly sure where to start, or what to say. What I do know is that when I started SoMuchFattitude I said I would always be real and honest, no matter what. This will undoubtedly be the hardest thing I ever write, as this has been the hardest week of my life.
They say no parent should ever have to endure the loss of their child. While Kevin and I never held our beautiful baby in our arms, we were fortunate enough to spend almost 11 weeks dreaming about what it would feel like. I played everything perfectly safe – no caffeine, 9 hours of sleep a night with a daily nap, no running or getting my heartbeat over 140, pre-natal vitamins daily, no smokey environments, etc. etc. But that didn’t matter. Apparently it was decided from the moment of conception. Whenever people would ask us if we wanted a boy or a girl, we would both say in unison, “We want healthy.”
We went in for a routine ultrasound and we were informed that we had lost our baby. There was no more heartbeat to hear and all growth had stopped. Kevin held my hand and wiped my tears as they told us that I was far enough along that they suggested I have a D&C , scheduling it for the next day. I cried as the anesthesiologist held my hand as I drifted off to sleep the next morning. The pain killers they give me for after the surgery make me wired and strung out. They don’t touch the pain – emotionally or physically. I don’t sleep. Every time I go to the bathroom I’m reminded that my body has betrayed me.
Initially, there was some concern. I had my IUD out in early August and never cycled before we got pregnant. They were concerned then, but told me it didn’t play a roll in the miscarriage. My progesterone was on the low end of normal, so they put me on Prometrium and my levels went up. My HCG wasn’t doubling, but it was steadily rising. I was going biweekly to my OBGYN to make sure things continued to go smoothly. Everything was okay until October 22nd. There were no explanations. No justifications. No causes. No reasons. Nothing to have been done differently. That’s what they keep telling me. It doesn’t seem right. Two weeks before that we heard a heartbeat of 112bpm. The growth was perfect. The beats per minute was perfect. My blood work was perfect. And then, two weeks later it was all gone. I cannot wrap my head around it.
I keep reading miscarriages are very common; it doesn’t help. I keep reading missed miscarriages are rare; it doesn’t help. After you hear the heartbeat your chances of miscarrying drop to 5%. The chance of a missed miscarriage is 1%. We heard the heart beat and had a missed miscarriage. I feel betrayed by my body. With a missed miscarriage you have no idea that your baby is gone. There is no bleeding, no cramping, nothing to indicate that your body has betrayed you. Your breasts continue to swell, the morning sickness doesn’t stop, your tummy continues to expand with bloat. You have no idea, because for some strange reason – your body hasn’t realized that your baby has passed away yet.
Kevin holds me. Wrapping me in his big safe arms. He promises me things will be okay one day. He promises me I am not crazy. He promises me it’s okay to cry. His hugs feel so warm and rich. It’s soothing to replace the feelings of sadness and emptiness that I can’t seem to shake. I’ve cried every day, multiple times a day since the 22nd. I don’t know how to stop. Or when it will stop.
I want to lace up my running shoes and run until my legs don’t work. Run away from what is now my reality. I want to drink until I can’t remember. I want to rewind. I want to understand. I want to feel human again.
I am sad for what could have been. I am sad for that tiny heart beat I heard thumping in my belly. I am sad for my baby. I am sad for my husband and I am sad for myself.
I turned 30 on Sunday. Kevin planned a surprise vacation/get away at a cabin over the weekend for my birthday with my closest friends months ago. We still went. I thought it made more sense to surround myself with family/friends and grieve there instead of crying non stop at home. I feel like I ruined all of their hard work and planning. They were all so sweet. So kind. So nurturing. So loving. And I just cried. I wanted so desperately to get out of my own way and pretend this never happened. I wanted to put on my happy face and be the fun, partying, life loving girl everyone knows, but I can’t find her at the moment. Kevin assures me I was fantastic this weekend, again, wrapping me in his big safe arms. I inhale him deeply and feel the calm come over me. It’s the only time I don’t feel so alone.
I have a 10k this coming weekend that I can now run. I am trying with every ounce of my being to run it so that I can feel some sense of normalcy in this time of loss. One foot in front of the other.