I purposely didn't blog about being pregnant. I think I wanted to be a little further along before posting it or registering. Maybe I thought I would jinx it or how hard it would be to face if something happened. I don't know. It didn't stop me from verbally sharing the news or doing my research and finding the car seat, the stroller, the jogger, the bottles. There were some things I had to do at home before coming back from sugery, and this is something I want to do now. Share. Grieve. I'll never forget.
The day we were told, "we have a heartbeat" at 7 weeks was an amazing day for both of us. The joy, excitement, happiness. It was intoxicating. We stood in the parking lot at the Dr's office oogling over each other. Neither of us wanting to go to work. The Dr asked me to come back in 2 weeks to be sure the baby was moving along at the right pace. She assured me she didn't think the baby wouldn't be. Little did I know, it was to "confirm" the pregnancy. I found this out the day we went back. I mean wasn't it aready confirmed? I do get it. It's just part of my story.
I've lived through so many of other's sad stories and experiences. I was paranoid, but mostly ready to see the heartbeat and go about my wonderfully happy day. This time her first words were, "there's no heartbeat." It was what I would imagine a knife in my stomach to feel like. Just as no one can prepare you for the wonderful and hideous things about your first trimester, no one can prepare you to hear those words. I couldn't cry. I couldn't even look at my husband. I stared at the flat screen as she tells us the baby stopped growing a few days ago. Now she's telling us where the head was. I didn't care. I looked up at the ceiling. Scott's hand has been on my foot and I finally turn to look at him. He is confused, sad and in obvious shock. I sit up and the lady leaves. Scott's arms are around me and now the sobbing begins. Walking out of that room was like the walk of shame. I felt like I couldn't give to my husband. Like I caused it; after all it's my body. Then it was "get this thing out of me."
Now what?
We scheduled the D&C for the next day. Every girl wants their mom at certain times. I wanted mine. Mom & Scott were troopers...they held their post like they did in December. Once again, I made it out of surgery like a pro. This time, though, I was deeply saddened. My heart hurt. I cried with the nurse and drank my juice box. I needed some time before seeing Scott. When we got home, I didn't want to be alone. I could have probably slept off the anesthesia, but going up to bed alone sounded horrible. I've noticed feeling needy the last few days. I haven't wanted to be alone. Scott's been amazing support. He's doing better, too. I'm glad we have his Tour de Cure next weekend. We did bike accessory shopping this weekend. It was a needed mental break.
I didn't cry yesterday. I genuinely want to move on. It's still a little tough. I woke up today and felt bummed. I didn't want to feel that way. I just did. Luckily, I have Scott. He makes me smile and he does make me laugh. I do accept it was nothing I did, and those feelings of not being able to provide have gone away.
I'm very much looking forward to getting into my sweaty work outs again. I wish I could do them now. I know the exercise is going to help...in lots of ways. I found a kickboxing class. The one with the bag. I'm ready.
This will take time. I'm not looking forward to work tomorrow. But I'll get through that, too. Now, I'm going to spend the rest of the day with my husband.
