Part 2 of 3
“The worst period ever”
That night, I felt more cramps, and the bleeding increased. I got off the couch to make my way into bed and ran straight for the bathroom. Suddenly, blood was coming at an alarming rate along with intense cramps. From 9:00 PM until around 1:00 AM, I was bleeding non-stop, passing two large clots and shaking from the shock and blood loss. Funny, I never remembered any period of my life being this bad.
I spent that night on a sleeping bag with old towels and a puppy pad under me, my dog Stella curled up in the crook of my legs.
The next morning, I had a text on my phone from my mom telling me she and my dad were on their way from Cleveland. I also had a missed a phone call from my NP to confirm the miscarriage. When I called my NP back, instead of a greeting (and an explanation of why I hadn’t heard from her all week), she told me I had a miscarriage and that I should stop eating. “Um, I’ve had 3 sips of coffee, can I still drink that?” “No,” she said, “you’re going to have a D & C today.”
I was confused because I had already passed so much blood and had pretty bad pain the night before. Wasn’t I close to being done? She had no idea the night I just had…maybe if she had asked how I was first? (Just a thought!) Nonetheless, she needed to speak with my OB to make sure I still needed the procedure. “Don’t eat until I know,” she said as she hung up the phone.
I think it’s important to note that I called my doctor’s office immediately on Monday morning to follow up after my ER visit in Cleveland. After a lot of back and forth simply asking to speak to this same NP that called that morning, I was given an excuse every day of why she couldn’t make it to the phone. My information from my ER visit was never sent to my doctor’s office, most likely because of the confusion with my last name, just like I knew would happen. And the worst of it all, I spent a full week not knowing if my baby is okay.
45 minutes, 2 defeated phone calls to my parents and Preston and no food later, they called back to say, yes, we did need to do the procedure, “today.”
“Okay, I can do that. But can you please answer some questions I have first?”
My NP sounded annoyed as I asked the questions I had been waiting to ask for a week. I had been left in the dark and experienced one of the worst moments of my life, the least someone could do was answer my questions. I learned later her shortness was due to her wanting to get me scheduled that day so I didn’t have to wait the weekend. Lucky me?
“Name, birth date, D & C.”
They got me in at 1:00 PM and just as Preston and I rolled up to the hospital, so did my parents. I had never had any surgery done before and with the lack of what to expect, I was nervous. I got signed in and follow a nurse to a pre-op room.
Once I got undressed and they took some information from me, they let Preston come back. A woman, I think her name was Katie, was very kind in explaining everything a few steps at a time. In fact, everyone was fantastic that day.
I was thankful to finally have people that cared in my corner. Unfortunately, it all felt a little too late.
Katie gave me some forms to sign and asked me to take off my jewelry. This included taking out my belly button ring, something I hadn’t done since I got it on my 18th birthday. “Oh well, I guess I was going to take this out anyway when my belly got bigger…” I thought.
Katie pulled out a final form and her demeanor changed. “This decides what you would like to do with the leftover tissue from today.” I scanned the form with check boxes next to these heartbreaking options
“leave at hospital,”
Burying my son.
As I sobbed, she comforted me and gave Preston and I time to decide. She also mentioned that a new addition to this form was to put the tissue in a mass plot in a local cemetery for the pregnancy losses from the hospital and surrounding hospitals. We decided on this option.
All day, whenever I met a new member of this team of people performing the procedure, they had me say my name, date of birth, and why I was here. So all day, I repeated my name, my birth date and the letters “D & C.” It didn’t hurt any less every time.
I remember them putting a green mask on my face, and the next thing I knew, I was in a new room with a nurse asking if I was okay because my blood pressure was high, as if I knew a reason for anything that had just happened.
Once I was cleared, they let Preston back to see me. Apparently, I still had 70% of the tissue left, so I was glad this wasn’t all for not. I went home that night, and it was all over.
Well, kind of.
“The day they took my baby from me.”
The day of my D & C was harder than the day we found out we were miscarrying. That was the day they took my baby from me.
I wasn’t alone for 2 months and that day, I felt more alone than ever.
Except, I really wasn’t. The amount of support and love I received from people, especially once I shared my story, blew me away. I had researched miscarriage even before Preston and I started trying to conceive and all you heard was people saying the wrong thing. People sent texts, phone calls, messages on Facebook, gifts. I couldn’t believe it. The love people had for someone they had never met was incredible. It made me love those people even more.
This was a nightmare of an experience and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. However, the peace I felt, and still feel, that our Anthony is safe with our grandparents and lost loved ones is so strong. He was no longer in danger with me. All he ever knew was the love his father and I had for him and the home I made him. The hurt I feel that he is gone will live with me for the rest of my life. I know I will see him again and meet him someday, but I will never understand why I wasn’t meant to meet him in this life.