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.