Pass the epidural
As of this afternoon I am officially no longer pregnant. I awoke this morning at 3:00 having some cramping pains about every thirty minutes. Just as I would begin to drift back off to sleep I would be jostled awake by yet another cramp. This went on for most of the day. I tried to function past it, not focusing on the pain, but what all I needed to do today. Around 11:30 CowBoy and I went to the grocery store for the week’s groceries ($313.27, thankyouverymuch - and that was all store brand stuff). CowBoy is so much fun to take places by himself; I just love having conversations with him alone - for a four year old his vocabulary just blows me away and the child can read although I’ve never really taken that much time to teach him the specifics. I knew having him with me would be just right to keep my mind off of my pain (both physical and emotional).
It’s not exactly fun going grocery shopping in the rain, you know loading all those bags in the car with a rain storm on your head. We got home just after 1:00 and unloaded the car. I put away most of the cold items then headed to bed because standing upright was becoming a bit of a challenge from the pain. It wasn’t much longer before the inevitable began to happen. I’ll spare you the details. I must admit that I am very much tempted to write out every detail - I do not want to forget.
I want to hold on to the joy we felt when we learned we were pregnant. I want to hold on to the joy I felt during those few weeks before we learned that things had gone bad. I also want to remember the emotional turmoil. I want to remember that his was real. I am afraid I will forget. I want to be able to answer questions one day, clearly, with knowledge when my path crosses another woman who is suffering like this. It is a lonely place.
I know my husband is terribly sad, but he never felt this pregnancy. He didn’t see my belly grow. I suspect it is a bit surreal for him. “Hey, Honey. We are going to have another set of tippy-toes running around and more giggles and snuggles in the house soon.” Then hearing, “Hey, Honey. It’s not going to happen after all.” I know he’s sad. I know he hurts. But I know my husband and I think his concerns have been more on me. How I feel. What he can do for me to make me more comfortable.
He can love me. He can hold me when I need it. He can help take over the care of the other children while I get through this on the bed folded up in a fetal position trying to find a place that gives me some physical relief. I want to say so much more about the physical aspects of this, but I don’t want to scare anyone away. As I said, this is a lonely place. It is a place that is dark and sad. It is a place that hurts physically and emotionally. I want to share how I stood in the shower for almost an hour this afternoon (until I no longer had warm water) trying to let the heat penetrate to help the alternating pain in my lower back and my uterus as I cramped, and dare I say contracted, through this miscarriage. Every five minutes I found myself breathing through the pain as if I was in the early stages of labor (the more easily manageable stages). I want to write about what it was like and what I was thinking as I stood in that shower through each contraction followed by the blood-stained water washing away down the drain.
I want other women to know what to expect, even though every woman is different and every pregnancy and miscarriage is different. I did not know what to expect and it might have helped me a bit if I did. I Googled miscarriage and various terms to try to find stories of other woman who made the same choice as I did. The choice to miscarry at home. A choice I made because I just couldn’t stand the thought of some doctor scraping my baby out of my body. A choice I made because I believe our bodies are made to handle this naturally. I am not so naive as to believe there are not times when a D & C is necessary or that some women go through infections or other problems. Heck, it is not even over for me. I have to go in tomorrow and confirm everything has passed through and nothing is left behind to cause and infection. That will not be fun or comfortable. Those search results did not yield much for me.
I have mourned off and on throughout these last two weeks. I did not think I would be so affected today when I obviously passed the sac and placenta. It was such a finalizing moment. the past two weeks have been like a death watch, waiting for this moment. Wishing it was all a dream, but praying desperately to happen so that an emergency room visit would not be necessary. I boo-hooed like a baby. I completely fell apart. I did not know I had that left in me. And as I type this I can not stop crying. My heart aches and there is a void that can not be filled easily. I know my God is enough, but I am not feeling it right now. I know that God’s plan for me and this situation is better than my plan and my own desires. I do have comfort in believing that our baby is in heaven. Is not going to live a life of suffering or pain. I believe that our baby is blessed by not having to suffer a life on this fallen earth, but instead is praising a risen savior and is in His presence even as I type this. Selfishly, I mourn. I mourn what He has decided I can not have.
Is there such a thing as an emotional epidural? I need to sleep tonight. I need to get back to my other children. I need to return to normal. I do not know how women who suffer infertility do it emotionally, going through this joy/loss roller coaster over and over. I have six beautiful children to love and cuddle and consume me. My arms are not empty, my hands are full. That does not lessen the pain I feel for this loss, nor does it lessen our desire and joy to have had this opportunity.
But please, pass the epidural.
I have been praying for two weeks that everything would work out for you. I am brokenhearted for you because I know how much your children mean to you. I love you.
Reading this brought back such poignant memories for me. You have described so well what I went through, as well. In addition, a missed miscarriage (my diagnosis) involved two weeks of knowing that the life that I had been so joyously carrying in my body for months previously, had turned to death. I also opted for “the natural process” rather than the dnc.
I know many people are telling you this, and it doesn’t really help all that much, but I can tell you that the wound does heal eventually, although the tender places remain.
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I’m so sorry.
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You do not know me, but I am a real-life friend of Elisa’s. She mentioned I might want to read your entry.
I almost did not, having already known what this was about. We lost our very first child through a miscarriage on October 13th after 2+ years of infertility and finally IVF. It was the greatest loss I have experienced to date, and my heart’s most wrenching and faith-testing dark place. I don’t even think I’m through it. My husband and I were praying tonight, and I found myself crying and admitting to God I still miss our first child I never got to meet terribly. I still grieve.
I don’t think women are prepared for what a miscarriage will feel like, and how it will especially affect their hearts/minds and mostly their spiritual walk. It took me MONTHS to work through my emotions toward God: anger, bitterness, sorrow, questioning, blaming, submitting, total dependance and crying for help. It was such a process. And every “anniversary” brought fresh pains (due date, the 13th of each new month, etc).
I, like you, breathed my way through labor-like contractions in the ER as I knew but prayed my body was not miscarrying. I never asked myself why I was timing my “cramps” and they went from 10 minutes to 7 to 5 to 45 seconds. I never let myself believe it was all ending, until I too passed the baby and placenta. An obvious 6+wk baby. When I held it in my hands I knew. The ultrasound 30 minute later was of no use to my broken, bleeding heart.
My heart aches for you right now, for the pain and loss and utter grief you are experiencing. Please know I have prayed for you, as a stranger who in bonded in Christ, but who has walked that painful path too. I can only pray Jesus wrap His arms around you, emotionally and through your family/friends. He is the one who brought you this trial, but He is your only hope for a future greater than this.
Remember grief is very personal, and no one can make you get through it any faster or slower than you yourself will walk through it. It’s a process not an event. I imagine I may still cry years from now when I think of our child I never got to meet. But I too, know the child never knew pain, never knew sin, and never ever knew separation from God. So I am grieving for myself and what we missed out on, more than for the baby who is in Jesus’s holy presence right now.
You are loved with the bonds of Christ’s family.
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I don’t know what to say. Nothing feels adequate; I want to say so much but none of my words match what is in my heart. I will be thinking of you, hoping that you will find grace in time and be able to uncurl.
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I am so sorry for your tremendous loss. I appreciate you writing about it so openly. You mentioned that you were crying as you were writing this, you had me and I am sure many others crying with you as we were reading this. You and your family will be in my thoughts. I wish I were nearer so I could come and help somehow.
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I’m so, so sorry. Prayers said for you and your family.
There are NO words…May God keep you during this time…
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I feel ya.
Little things will make you cry, make you angry, and make you put your hand over your tummy and make you feel empty again. These little things are very hard, very real, and an important part of healing. just take it slow and easy.
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I am so sorry to hear about this loss for your family. Know you all are in our thoughts and prayers.
I am deeply sorry for your loss. May the Lord comfort and strengthen you and carry you through this most difficult time.
If you feel like it, please email me your mailing address (and last name), because I would love to send you a little book of comforting verses.
Love and prayers, Carol
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I am so sorry for your loss. You are in my prayers.
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I am so sorry, again. I have been praying for you. If you want to write about all of those things, then do it. I will read. I will cry with you. It will not scare me off. ((hugs))
I don’t know what to say, but I’m still praying for you and your family.
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I’m so sorry, Smocklady. Really, truly grieving for you, because, I too, know the loss you’re experiencing. One of the thoughts that haunted me in the days and weeks following were, “Why, God, why even let me be pregnant? I don’t understand why you would give me the joy of new life, and then take it away so arbitrarily.” It was not exactly the highlight of my faithful walk. I was angry, alone– because as much as my husband loves me (as yours does), he still felt it differently. The people around me who loved me were sympathetic, but often gave words that I found trite and little. The only people who really reached me were the other women who had experienced it– who knew where I was, and could tell me, that yes, you will heal. It doesn’t feel like it right now, but you will, and it will be okay again.
I won’t pretend that I have all the answers, or that my answers fit your situation– but I do know that God worked me away from that pain, that anger. It seems endless now, and hard as that is, SmockLady, just let it be what it needs to be. Don’t try to force yourself to “get over it” or “look forward to the next pregnancy”– or whatever. Don’t feel that because you have many other blessings, that you are somehow not supposed to feel this loss all the way to your marrow. Give this the time, the acknowledgement, the tears, it needs. You are grieving because you understand accutely what it is you have lost. And right now, you may not know how to move on– you may not be able envision taking a step away from this, but you don’t have to. God will do it for you, in His time. Now, I KNOW that sounds trite, but there’s no other way to say it. I think it’s like falling asleep in the car when you’re a kid. You couldn’t rouse yourself if you tried, but somehow, you wake up in your own bed. Somebody bigger, stronger, one who knows your needs and meets them because you can’t– that person picked you up and carried you, as you slept. Somehow, you are moved from grief, to joy, without your feet ever touching the ground.
One more thing. I can honestly say now, to God be the glory for that dark time in my life. It helped me understand Him so much better, it changed things in me that I couldn’t even begin to fit into this already (too) long comment. The first moment I knew things were different, were several months later when God placed a woman in my life who needed to talk and cry and lean on an understanding shoulder. I couldn’t have done that before. And I saw that there WAS a purpose, that God had not abandoned me or punished me. That even in my pain, He was continually working His good and perfect will, and I could always trust that. He restored my spirit, and my body, but not at the same time. Wounds of the heart take longer to heal.
Anyway, that’s just my story. Yours will be different. Forgive my long comment, I just wanted you to know you’re not alone. I’ll be praying for you, thinking of you, and hugging you mentally in the days to come. Anything more I can do would be a blessing to me, so let me know.
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Oh, SmockLady… You have been in my prayers and I will continue to lift you up in them. I am so very saddened by your loss. Much love.
So sorry this happened to you. I know this child was very much wanted. I pray that God will give you comfort.
I’m so far behind in blog reading and today I decided to sit down and at least read a few on my reader. I’m sorry for your loss. I cannot imagine your heartache. (((hugs)))
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[...] what’s been going on around here, either because I’ve told you privately or you read this post yesterday. This morning, I checked my e-mail and there was a message from one of you. Not a [...]
Oh honey, I’m so sad for you. Six children or no, a loss is heartbreaking. I hope you do write it down — every single bit of it — because looking back on it will be helpful. You’ll want to remember every bit of the good and bad (at least, I did) because it somehow makes the lost baby that much more real.
I commend you for miscarrying at home. It is not easy. I miscarried my first and fourth loss at home, had a D&C for my second loss only because I was hemmoraging and lost consciousness. My third “loss” was different because I was right at 23 weeks. He was born alive and died later because of his extreme prematurity.
As for finding stuff on the internet about miscarrying at home, there is an excellent forum at http://www.mothering.com. It’s the Pregnancy and Birth Loss thread here:(http://www.mothering.com/discussions/forumdisplay.php?f=22). There are so many helpful women there who have been or are currently in your shoes, and I’ve found all aspects of the thread there very, very helpful throughout my experiences.
Thinking of and praying for you.
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I will continue to pray for you and your precious family!
I’m so sorry to hear your news, I will be praying for you
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I’m so sorry to hear of your loss. The pain never completely goes away but would you really want it too? Five years have passed and I still think of my sweet baby. Hard as it may be, I don’t want to ever forget. My prayers are with you.