It has been five days since I had surgery – since I said good-bye to my second child. It was miserable. I don’t know how people go through this. I’m surviving. I guess that’s about all I can really expect to be doing.
March 6, 2018 – I cancelled my appointments for the day rather than going in after my doctor’s appointment. I knew I was in no place to help others. I knew I needed the time for myself. The wait for the appointment was long and felt drawn out. The wait was agonizing. I just wanted it all to be over. I had another ultrasound. I almost didn’t look. I did not know if I could bear to watch it all again. There was about two more days of growth from last week. There was still no further development. Even if it really had been too early, there should have been a heartbeat by this point in development. There wasn’t.
The doctor said we could wait after she reviewed everything. We could see what happens and come back in another two weeks. I told her I had reached my limit, and I could not keep waiting. We went over the risks. In the end, she told me that it was important to listen to where I was at emotionally, and it was her job to listen to what I wanted. We were able to schedule the d&c for the following day.
I was relieved. But I also felt so guilty. I wanted to be able to do this. I wanted to be able to wait if it was the best way to do it. But I couldn’t wait any longer. I felt weak for not being able to wait anymore. I cried a lot that night. I was scared. The last surgery was traumatic. I wasn’t sure if trauma could be avoided when the surgery meant officially losing my baby. But carrying the baby that was no longer alive was also torture. It was so traumatic to wait for a miscarriage that could occur at any point. It wasn’t my fault that my body didn’t get the memo that the baby wasn’t growing properly. My therapist later told me that it is a sign of emotional strength to know when I have reached my limit in what I could handle – not weakness. It’s still hard not to feel differently as I grieve.
That night I started to have some bleeding. I sat on the couch watching shows as I cried. I was in pain. I was scared. I was terrified of what would come next. Maybe I would miscarry tonight. Maybe I would have to go in for an exam in the morning before the surgery. Maybe they would tell me that I could no longer have the surgery. Maybe I would have to have another ultrasound (I wasn’t sure if I could do that again). Maybe I would not be able to have the surgery and this would take several more weeks. This could last for another month. I might still need surgery even after all that. Some friends came over to sit with me as we watched shows. I could not talk much. My mind felt fried. I could not think about what was happening. I finally went to bed, but I did not sleep much.
March 7, 2018 – I was awake early in the morning and moved back to the couch to watch more shows because I couldn’t lie there and think. I waited out the hours until the office opened. By then the bleeding had stopped. I think that made the decision easier. I knew I just needed this to be over still. I couldn’t keep waiting forever. The nurse was not concerned and told me that it would not affect the surgery. I was relieved. I continued watching shows as I watched out the hours until we could go to the hospital. I pretended that we were just going somewhere to watch shows. I knew what we were doing, but I couldn’t think about it. Bryan tried to help and told me that we were going to Disneyland. The minutes inched by until we could finally leave.
I go to the hospital. It hurt to be there. But I wouldn’t let myself think. I figured I would have enough time to process this later. Today, being here was all I could bear to do. I asked the nurse if Bryan could just come with me this time. She was unsure and told me that she could ask as soon as we got back there. She came back with Bryan. I was relieved to have him there. I remembered crying alone last time until they brought him back. The process went a little faster this time. As the nurse went over the paperwork, I signed the consents quickly. When she told to the consent about fetal remains, I cut her off and told her I knew and had done this before quickly signing and looking only enough to check the right box. She got the IV in and apologized. She was very nice.
Last time I was so worried about the process that I waited a lot of the time doing nothing. This time I figured they would have to work around me. I watched more shows and tried not to think pausing only after someone came in to talk to me. The wait was smoother. Anesthesiologist, nurse, another nurse, another anesthesiologist. About fifteen minutes before the surgery was scheduled, I got out the calm app to meditate. I figured it would be good for me. I finished it right as the doctor came in. Everything was on time this time.
I got down to the operating room this time and the nurses were talking about dogs. I think they asked me if I had a dog. I just smiled. I couldn’t comprehend what they were saying. Last time I started crying on the table, so they put me to sleep right away. This time I was awake for more of the prep work. They got my arms adjusted, put on the heart monitors, and buckled a strap over me to “remind you not to roll over.” I was asleep quickly.
I woke up in pain. They gave me as much pain medicine as was allowed. I told them I was dizzy. They explained that one of the medications was given as the very end of the surgery and was probably just hitting me now. “Close your eyes and relax.” I stayed there for much longer than last time. They finally moved me, and I carefully moved to the chair. I stayed in this second stage for longer too. I felt so dizzy every time I moved my head. The nurse told me that I would sleep it off when I got home. The nurses gave me a card this time, “Thinking of you.” I was finally able to leave. This was finally over.
But really, it had only just begun.
Recovery is the worst part. It looks like pain. It looks like weakness. And in my case, it looks like grief. Grief is a lot of heartache. It does not get “better,” but it does become less intense. I was also a little relieved that it was over, and I did not have to wait any longer.
Pain medicines don’t actually make me sleepy like they do most people. I was awake for most of the day and did not sleep well again that night. I stayed in for the next few days working on recovering. I tried to pay attention to my grief process. It looked a lot different this time. It was sad. I ended up not feeling well enough Friday to go out like we had planned for a short time.
Bryan was amazing through everything. He took off the day of the surgery to take care of me. He was able to work from home the next two days to make sure I was okay. I am really lucky to have him.
Saturday was the worst day. I woke up with a heavy heart. The weight of the day was too much to bear. My wedding shower was also five years ago on that date. I cried. I know that children are not a measure of a relationship, but all I could feel was that it had been five years and all I had to show for it was two dead babies. That was a hard smack of reality. I never wanted this for us. I never want this for anyone. The day did not get any better. My mom came to sit with me when Bryan left. I didn’t want to leave the house. I felt guilty for not going to my friend’s baby shower. I was supposed to have a shower by now. Now I had lost out on two baby showers. I had lost two babies. As the day progressed, I got more and more depressed. It is such a weird feeling to be so aware of my symptoms and my depression but be unable to do anything about it. I could not make decisions. I felt miserable. I felt like the pain would never end. I had rebuilt myself last time, but this time it felt like too much. This time I would not be able to get back up again. This time might break me.
Bryan tried to help. He figured maybe I just needed to get out of the house. I tried too. I couldn’t do it. I cried several times in the restaurant before leaving. I couldn’t stop. The pain hurt so badly. I couldn’t see anything. Bryan sat with me later that night, and I tried to piece through the pain. I thought about what it was like the last time. I figured out the timelines matched. The day I felt the worst last time was about the same amount of days after the surgery as this time. I figured my hormones dropping had a lot to do with it. No one really talks about postpartum depression after a miscarriage. I would argue that it’s a lot worse. You don’t have a baby to look to in order to make it all feel worthwhile. I wondered again if all this was worth it. Nothing could have prepared me for the miserable feelings that day. And as it turns out – not even going through it once before. I would never wish those feelings on my worst enemy.
After that, the emotional pain weakened a little bit. I slept more the next day. But the physical pain got worse. Apparently my body finally got the memo. I was in a lot of pain, but I tried to get out of the house for a bit. I felt okay. I don’t really know what the word “okay” really means anymore, but I wasn’t miserable. I made it through the next day.
I still think a lot about it all of this is worth it. I am afraid to go through this again. I am afraid for how this could affect our marriage down the line. I am afraid that if I go through this again that it really will break me. I think about if I do have to go through this again that I will probably be completely done. I can only take so much. I think about what it would look like if we never have kids. I feel like I need to come to terms with that a little better. I feel like that is a reality that I might have to face. I talk out what my limits are – with testing, with medical interventions, with loss. People throw around adoption and foster care. They act like it is an easy replacement. I have to mourn the loss of this first. That is a hard pill to swallow. I am not ready to give up yet. Not today. But foster care and adoption are also an extremely difficult option. It is not an option I want at this point in the process. I am still grieving my children. So I just keep thinking. I just keep wondering. The future is full of uncertainty.
Now today, I am preparing to go back to work tomorrow. I am equipped with a beautiful framed picture with my two babies names on it – Andrew Philip and Ellie Grace. I have suffered an unimaginable loss. I am changed again – and I can’t really say it’s for the better. But today, I am surviving.