#09.07.15

There’s no rush, take your time.

December I was feeling these massive cramps, I had thought they meant I’d be having my next menstrual cycle soon. When January rolled around, and it still hadn’t come, I waited thinking I had skipped a month. When speaking with a coworker, she shared that she had the same thing when she was pregnant and was so set on the fact that I was and had convinced me to take a test. I thought there couldn’t possibly be a way but, she was persistent, at the end of the month I went home and took two tests. After the longest five minutes of my life I took a peek at these sticks sitting on my bathroom counter- two pink lines on one, and a plus sign on the other.

I was pregnant.

My first wave of emotion was panic. I was only 19 years old, what the hell was I supposed to do. Sure, I wanted kids someday, but I was thinking at least 5 more years and that we’d be married. Although, I knew life always has it’s own plans. I immediately called my coworker and began to cry and she whispered words through the phone that helped calm m, she told me everything was going to be alright. After we hung up this overwhelming sense of happiness came over me. I knew I wanted nothing more that to have my baby. Through all odds (birth control and condoms) God still blessed us with a child. I then called Michael’s work and asked them to have him call me. All I said was “I took a test.” And he knew, he was shocked to say the least. The only words he said were “no way..” he left his shift early and we met by Marshall’s and Lollicup. Within an hour I was already so in love with this child growing inside me. I had already imagined my new life. Though not planned I was ready to take on the world for my little peanut. Michael, scared out of his mind, not so much. He had so many questions, there were too many things that were left in the air and he wasn’t sure.. He was nervous but, his main concerns were being kicked out of his home and church. We both should have been scared but, the wonder of being a mother filled my head.

Within a couple days my father found out. I stupidly left the boxes with tests tucked away under a pile of clothes in my room (which my dad searched through and found). Though very very upset he helped me to answer all the questions Michael and I had and we officially decided to keep the baby (the only other option I was allowing was adopion and, well, Michael was against that) We became over joyed. We were nervous, but so excited. We were going to be the best parents we could be. We loved our peanut whole-heartedly. It is the purest form of love you’ll ever feel; I promise you that much.

I signed up for MediCal, and WIC as well as so many other samples and free grants for mothers in my situation. I tried everything I could to be ready. Michael began saving as much money as he could aside and spoke to his manager about getting more hours. The only ones in his family who knew were Ryan and Rhawnie. My coworker gave me a crib she never used, and donated me clothes from her children. I watched video after video, read article after article. 

A week after notifying my doctors I was pregnant I received a message from my genetics counselor. She had notified me that there would be a chance, because I was a carrier of alpha-thalassemia trait, that there could be a real defect to my child and that we would need to run a test called Amniocentesis which could result in miscarriage, or wait until I was 28 weeks to rule out hydrops. That night after I got home from work I crawled into my father’s bed and he held me until I fell asleep. I told Michael the next day, I prayed and prayed and asked for guidance and I was terrified. What if there was something wrong? It would be all because of me. My child could be suffering all his/her life because of something I have genetically wrong (i.e. sickle cell). 

February 4th, I had my first sonogram at 11 weeks. I was so excited. Michael along with three of my closest friends were going to be going with me to hear and see my baby for the first time. Unfortunately, the day of, my friends had to cancel and Michael had gotten called into work, but I was still as ready as ever. All I could think about was that in 5 more short weeks we would be finding out their genders. “There’s two sacs,” my OBGYN said, I was grinning ear to ear, staring at the black and white screen. In between the static there were two black circles filled with white and two smaller ovals in them, almost like oddly shaped cartoon eyes. This had explained why I was starting to show so early and then “hold on..” she said “I can’t find any heart beats.” She took some tests and also found that the sacs were only as big as about 8 weeks. My own heart sank and my smile faded. “We’ll need to run some tests to see if your hormone levels are increasing or decreasing. There could be a chance that their backs were just turned.” I nodded and got dressed. 

I felt heavy. A small part of me still grew hopeful that all would be well. That they were just turned away, that I wasn’t as far along as we thought. I was so protective over them. I took all the right prenatals, stopped taking my anti depressants, ate healthier, drank more water. I sung to them every night and just dreamed of our future. I fell on my way out of the office, crying rivers, and two nurses had to pick me up and bring me into the back until I calmed down enough to walk to my car. From there I called person after person with no answer. I was alone. That’s when the anger started to rise. If anyone should have been with me it should have been Michael. There shouldn’t have been a “I’ll go next time” this should have been the first time we heard our baby, saw our baby.. babies.  Two weeks later I received a phone call and my world was lost. “Your hormone levels are dropping, I’m sorry.” I had asked for a copy of the pictures she took from the sonogram and she said that they no longer had it.

The part that hurt the most that day, was being alone again when I found out- having no one to turn to. Having to tell those who knew and having them be relieved when all I was was crushed. The next morning I woke up around 4 and without thinking I got out of bed and cut my hair. They were crooked and a mess and I turned to self-harm again after I had been clean for over 4 years. I did it because it gave me a sense of control after dealing with something out of my power And the waiting, the waiting was dreadful. I didn’t want any medicine to force it to happen I waited and waited. The cramps go worse, to the point of tears and gripping onto pillows and biting into blankets and nothing helped. For a week I bled them out, I saw when they came out. Little raspberry sized clots. It’s like a period but a million times worse.

I spent nights crying, I still do, and when I see a child I see mine. And when I see women who are preganant, or the announcements.. it breaks my heart all over again. I wasn’t prepared for the fact that grief is so unpredictable. It wasn’t just sadness, and it wasn’t linear. Somehow I’d thought that the first days would be the worst and then it would get steadily better - like getting over the flu. That’s not how it was.

It took me 3 months to be around any sort of babies or family members who were pregnant. And once i was able to, I found I was greedy with the infant. I wanted them all to myself until I’d realize what I was doing and quickly give them back to their mother’s, go the restroom and cry. It hurt after it was all done, when people would come up to me and tell me I had lost weight or looked skinnier, if only they had known why. The other night at work, a guest went into labor right in front of me and all I could do was cry. Michael threw himself into work, into his car. He’s only come to me twice these past 7 months crying about it othewise he tries not to think of it, or mention it. While I spent the 7 months imagining how big I should have been every time I looked into the mirror. Blaming myself, thinking what I could’ve done better. If maybe it was that one time I ate a cup of noddle, or that run I did. Everyone says it’s not my fault, that no matter what I did thing would’ve turned out the same but it’s hard not to blame yourself when you’re the only one able to physically protect them. I didn't just have an abrupt end to my pregnancy, I didn't just lose my babies, I lost years I already saw in my mind. I dream of them, I dream of sleepless nights and changing diapers. Some nights I dream and they’re already gown quite a bit, and they’re beautiful..

On the third, I got my first tattoo, two interlocking hearts behind my ear. One for each angel, and they’ll always be on the back of my mind. Getting it has actually helped me more than I thought, while getting it I held onto a necklace Melanie gave me for my birthday with two angels on it, this necklace and the tattoo give me somewhere to place my emotions, they give me something physical to have. I have my good days and my terrible. I had to up my dosage and start taking the citalopram again. I joined miscarriage & infant loss support groups; as well as my usual therapy sessions.  What also hurts is that I had never gotten around to tell my mom so she never knew. And when she makes passive statements of cousins or people she knows in similar situations to what I should have been it hurts to have to shake it off and be interested.

This situation has scarred me. I am terrified to try again, ever. This was my first pregnancy and it slipped through my fingers. Our future attempts will be fraught with concern. The wonder of the first time, the unmitigated joy, and possibility and optimism are, if not gone, then muted by the knowledge of what could be, and could have been. Before this I never knew how common miscarriage was, it takes up a quarter of pregnancies. I’m sure I learned it somewhere but, I never imagined it would happen to me. I hate how helpless it made me feel. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. It makes me angry how taboo the subject is, how it made me feel like I did something wrong. How woman are made to feel that they should wait to announce their pregnancy until after they reach a certain period just in case they do miscarry. And all the things people say hurts. Like I could try again. But they don’t realize I don’t want just a replacement for the ones I lost but the ones I should of had. And to be honest I hate saying I “lost” them because it’s like how bad of a mother do you have to be to “lose” your child.

I am sorry if this is more than you wanted to know, I kind of went on a tangent. I don’t really talk to anyone about this.. not even my friends because besides Mel, most try to tell me they weren’t babies yet, I’ve had some tell me I’m not a mother. Or it just makes the room awkward. So I keep to myself.

Thanks for listening, × LEC