The hardest summer of my life...

As most of you know, about a week after my last post, I had a miscarriage at 14 weeks. It was very difficult and I was finally recovering emotionally when I found out I was pregnant again! I was so excited...until I found out I had a condition called subchorionic hemorrhaging and I lost that pregnancy at 12 weeks. It was devestating. I am finally recovering from both incidents. I still cry about the miscarriages when I think about seeing the ultrasounds of the babies I never got to hold, or when I see a new baby and realize I never got to see mine, or when I remember that the one I lost in April was due next week. Then I cry my eyes out until I have no tears left. But, I'm done hiding. I need to write about my experiences; I'm not sure why. I hope it will help put those sad, painful feelings to bed; but also, I hope that someone out there who is going through the same thing will read this and not feel so alone. (If that's you, I promise you that it's hard and takes a long time, but it gets better. The pain doesn't go away, but it gets duller.)
I have four other children, each with normal pregnancies. I had friends who had had miscarriages, had heard about them, but I had no idea--did not even fathom--how difficult, sad, and painful (emotionally and physically) miscarriages could be. To any of you who I was less than sensitive to during a miscarriage, I truly apologize. I am so sorry that you had to go through something like that.
The hardest thing about miscarriage is that most people have no idea what you've just gone through and that you have to do it pretty much alone. It's a death without a funeral, family gathering, or sympathy flowers and cards. You're mourning but no one knows and no one understands why you act the way you do. It hurts in a deep emotional and psychological pain that is completely unexplainable. The best I can do in describing it is a pain that you can't pinpoint and although it gets better, it doesn't go away. There is no 'take two of these and call me in the morning.' And, to add to the pain, you get to explain what happened every time anyone asks about the 'new little bundle of joy' on its way. Without my faith that everything will be made alright--perfect--in the end (whenever that is!), I don't know how I would cope. Even that faith does not take away the need for mourning, the sleepless nights with a tear-soaked pillow, or the pain in my heart. I just know that someday, I won't feel that way and that someday, I'll get to see my babies.
So, this is the story of my spring and summer.
In late February, we found out that we would be having a baby (or so we thought) in mid-October. We had been trying for a while to get pregnant and were pretty excited. I went to my cousin's wedding on April 9th and was spotting very lightly. I didn't think much of it because I had spotting with previous pregnancies with no troubles. But, on Sunday, I started having cramps and thought I'd better get things checked out, just in case. On Monday morning, I made an appointment for later that afternoon. At the doctor's office, they checked all my vital signs and sent me right over for an ultrasound. I still remember seeing a little baby without a heartbeat on the monitor. The worst part was waiting alone, hoping that I'd seen things incorrectly and that everything was fine, but knowing deep down that things weren't fine. The technician didn't say a word during the sonogram and I had to wait about 10-15 minutes before the doctor came and told me that I'd had a miscarriage. The baby measured small and hadn't been growing normally. I had a D&C the next day. It was so hard to come home and tell the kids that we wouldn't be having a baby after all. They were sad, but they recovered pretty quickly. I did, too. I was sad, but I felt pretty much back-to-normal within a few weeks. I wasn't ready to say for sure that we weren't having any more kids, so I didn't do anything to prevent another pregnancy.
A couple of months passed and then in the first week in July, I found out that I was expecting again! I felt so happy and reassured. We went to Moab with family and friends the next weekend. We went rafting on Saturday and had lots of fun planned for the next few days. Unfortunately, on Sunday morning, I started bleeding heavily and figured I was having another miscarriage. I stayed in bed most of the day crying, but by evening, I was feeling well enough to go on a picnic dinner. Once we got to the mountain, though, I started bleeding profusely and passing huge (apple- to cantaloupe-sized) bloodclots. Dale and I left everyone else on the mountain to go to the ER. I was doing okay; sad, but resigned that I'd had a miscarriage, until they sent me to get a sonogram to make sure all the tissue had passed. In the sonogram, we saw a live, healthy fetus and our hopes went up. Then the doctor told us that it was a miscarriage in progress and that the baby wouldn't last a week, and our hopes went crashing back down. He said to go back to my doctor at home in a week to make sure there was nothing left in my uterus. Well, a week later, I went to my doctor and they saw a live, healthy fetus that had grown and showed no signs of being affected by the bleeding and clots. I was then diagnosed with subchorionic hemmorhaging--a condition where the placenta does not attach completely to the wall of the uterus, which causes bleeding and clotting. The doctor said that most people with SCH bleed their entire pregnancy and usually deliver early, but the baby does fine. She said that there was a chance that I'd lose the baby and that I'd need to be on bedrest until the bleeding stopped or slowed down significantly.
After a week on bedrest, I decided to go to my mother's house so my parents could help take care of my children. I could get up to go to the bathroom, eat, and shower. I wasn't supposed to lift things or have any kind of exercise. After a week at my mom's, I met with my new doctor and liked him a lot. He talked with me and said he didn't think I'd need to be on bedrest, I'd just need to take it easy. He also didn't think he'd need to see me every week, like my previous doctor believed. Then he did an ultrasound. After seeing how many bloodclots I had (so many that they were squishing the baby and he worried how they might affect growth), he decided that I'd need to come in every week and I had to schedule and appointment with radiology for a more in-depth ultrasound. But, the baby was growing well, measured at 12 weeks, moved and kicked a lot, and looked like a real baby, not a sea monkey. I warned my mom that seeing the ultrasound and then losing the baby was much harder than not seeing it (based on my feelings from when I thought I'd had a miscarriage earlier without seeing the baby), but she wanted to see it. She cried on the way out of the hospital with the realization that her grandbaby might not make it. I didn't cry that day. I only cried for a few minutes the next day when I miscarried. Now, I cry just thinking about that day. I want to hold that baby so bad; I want that child in my family; I want to get to know the little one that I loved so much. Why couldn't I have held that baby, just once? Back to that day, I was so hopeful that things were going to be okay. Before that, I was resigned to the idea that I'd probably lose this baby. But when I saw that it was growing well and that it was still hanging in there, I thought that maybe everything was going to turn out fine. The doctor said that I'd need to pass those clots for the baby to have room to grow. My husband and I prayed that I'd be able to pass the clots so that things would be alright. The next morning, my mom went to work and left me with the kids at home. My dad was out of town working and Dale was still in Idaho. I started passing bloodclots around 10:30 am. Then I started having pains that felt a lot like the first stages of labor, but I thought that they were just helping to pass the bloodclots and kept telling myself "you can get through this. It hurst now, but it's helping the baby and you can do this." I didn't realize until I was sitting in the bathroom unable to move or speak for the pain that I was in real labor and that this wasn't going to end the way I hoped. My mom came home about 5 minutes before I delivered that baby into the toilet. It was the worst day of my life. I had to go through labor and delivery all alone and I didn't get a cute little baby in the end. I didn't even cry until I told Dale what happened, and even then it was for maybe a minute. I was just numb and knew that once I started to cry, I wouldn't stop for days. I went into the doctor's office so they could make sure everything had passed. There were still several clots in my uterus and so they started cleaning them out. I think it started as just removing a couple of easy-to-reach clots and moved up to basically a D&C--an unmedicated D&C. It was very painful, but I still didn't cry. I just couldn't. I couldn't feel anything. I went home and went to bed.
The next morning, I had a little bit of a fever, but dismissed it as nothing because it went away and was only 100 degrees. Later that afternoon, my fever came back and I decided I'd better call the doc. He said to come on in to the hospital and get some IV antibiotics and they'd watch me for 12 hours. Well, to make a long story short, I ended up being there for about 40 hours. I had an infection in the lining of my uterus caused from the bleeding. The doctor said that the bloodclots created a highway for bacteria right up to my uterine lining, where they'd thrive. So, I got to sit at the hospital alone and feel sorry for myself because I was all alone and I'd just had a miscarriage. I was not a very happy patient that first day, especially after I found out my stay was being extended and I hope those nurses forgive me for my behavior. It didn't help that I only got about 8 hours of sleep during the entire 40 hours that I was there. (I HATE hospital beds!) I entered the hospital on Saturday afternoon and left on Monday morning. I watched a lot of TV and read two novels the next week and Dale came and got the kids and me the following weekend. Then I got to go home to everyone asking about the pregnancy and how the baby was faring. It was a rough couple of weeks.
With the first miscarriage, Dale didn't go to any of my appointments and hadn't seen the ultrasound pictures of the baby so he didn't really get too affected by it. With the second one, he saw two ultrasounds of the baby and I saw three or four. In so many ways, I wish I would have miscarried that first day the bleeding started before I saw any sonogram. It hurt so much worse with each sonogram that I saw. Dale was really sad with the second lost pregnancy. He said he didn't really understand why I was so sad with the first one until he saw the picture/video of the second one. He said that made it real for him; it made him realize that a little being that we had made died. I feel so bad for him because I made him tell everyone what had happened. I didn't feel like reliving it, but I didn't even think about how he felt. I didn't even stop to think that he was hurting, too. At least I got to stay in my room and cry for a couple of days. He had to go back to work and act like everything was okay, besides having to call friends and family and tell them what happened and field questions about me, the pregnancy, and the baby from coworkers. (They all knew I was on bedrest because he took a couple of days off to help me before I went to my mom's house.)
So, here I am today. Most days I do well and don't even think about my lost little babies. But when I see an ultrasound picture, pregnant woman, or new baby all those feelings come flooding back. At work the other day, I realized that my first pregnancy was due next week. I started bawling! (Luckily, it only lasted for about five minutes.) I've been thinking and crying a lot about those miscarriages this week, but the two or three weeks before that I didn't cry even once. It's getting better over time. I wish that I didn't have to go through what I did, but because of it I have so much sympathy for those who have gone/go through this. Miscarriage is something that is so extremely painful, but everyone talks about it so casually, like it's a normal part of life. I've learned that I need to be so much more sensitive and kind to others because you don't know what they're going through. I'm so thankful for friends who've come forward and told me about their miscarriages because it gave me strength to see that they made it through and so could I. I hope that I can come through this stronger and not broken. Kinder and not jaded. Time can only tell.