{I originally wrote this post ahead of time and scheduled it to publish on the worse day ever, I decided that responding to comments on the blog would just be too hard on that day. So I am sharing today and tomorrow.}
I had always hoped and dreamed for a Honeymoon baby. So, on October 8th 2006, when it was confirmed that I was 9 weeks pregnant (despite being on birth control), I knew it was an answer to my prayers. I had not actually got pregnant on our honeymoon but only weeks into our marriage. God was giving me the gift I had always hoped for.
The day I found out I was pregnant, was my dads birthday. We announced it to my family by giving him a Happy Birthday Grandpa card. We wasted no time in telling the world about our little blessing. How could we not share this overwhelming joy we were feeling?
About 2 weeks after finding out I was pregnant, I started spotting. The doctor told me not to worry, this was normal. I was still worried. My cousin took me to an early ultrasound tech. She said she couldn't tell me anything medical but she could show me the baby and it's very strong heartbeat. I breathed a sigh of relief.
A week after that came the cramping and the clotting. No! This could not be happening. This baby was a gift, God would not take that away!
On October 29th, we took a trip to Hoag hospital. (My doctor was in Anaheim but we were living in Costa Mesa at the time). Everyone was very comforting. The doctor in the ER was amazing. After sitting there worrying for a few hours I was taken in for an emergency ultrasound. The tech said that everything looked great. She showed me my babies super strong heartbeat and assured me that everything looked just right on my 7 week baby.
In that moment, when they told me that my due date was off but my baby looked perfectly fine, I painted on a fake smile. I acted like everything was great and pretended to believe that bed rest would do the trick. They sent me home saying that obviously you could never guarantee anything in pregnancy, especially in the first 13 weeks but they were not worried.
I left there acting calm and relieved. Deep down I was mortified. My baby should not have been measuring 7 weeks. My due date was not off. I knew it was not off. My baby should have been 12 weeks at this point. I continued acting like everything was fine. I didn't express these fears or concerns to anyone. I knew that God would work it all out. And the cramping got better. The bleeding slowed down.
Then, October 31st came. The cramping was back. We decided not to go to Harvest fest this time around. I was on bed rest. I looked forward to handing out candy to all of the cute kids that would be trick or treating. I made Steven get the good stuff. If I couldn't go out, I was going to be the cool house. But the trick or treaters never came. I know it sounds silly but the whole night all I could think about was "this is a sign that my child will never come"...I was right.
At 9:30 we decided to go to bed. By 10pm the "cramping" was to much to bear. I felt like I had to use the restroom but couldn't. After 30min I realized I was no longer cramping, I was contracting. At 11pm I delivered a small sack, in my bathroom. This was not the way I was supposed to deliver my baby. I should have been in a hospital, with doctors. The baby should have come out screaming and crying. Instead, I sat in my bathroom with a little sack and a thought that maybe that tan area was in fact my baby. I wept.
We left for the hospital. Because of finances we decided to go to Anaheim Memorial, where my doctor was. We called ahead. They told us to bring the sack that was "discharged". We arrived and waited. After only a few minutes they took us back. Soon enough they were taking my blood, missing my veins and spilling my blood on the floor. I felt like I was in a horror movie. They came and asked for the sack. They were going to take it to the lab for testing. I wanted to yell at them. Tell them it was not a lab mouse. No tests were needed. I am no doctor but I knew that was my baby! I was too emotionally drained to say anything.
I laid in my bed in silence. No tears, no words, nothing. What was there to say? After a while, a doctor came and took me for an exam. He then sent me for an ultrasound. Steven and I were directed through the poorly lit silent halls. I did not want to go. I wanted to go home.
We finally arrived to the techs room. It felt like it took hours to get there. She had me lay down and instructed me to insert the ultrasound wand. Was she serious? She wanted me to do it myself. I felt like I was being asked to go on a wild goose hunt for my own baby. I asked her if she could do it. She repeated the question "you want me to do it?" I wanted to yell at her. Isn't it your job?!?! I just responded with a yes, please. She looked around for a little while. I knew there was nothing. I couldn't see the screen. I could see it on Steven's face. Then came the dreaded words, by the rudest woman with the poorest bedside manner ever "Welp, no baby". I wanted to punch her. I wanted to get her fired. Instead, I laid there in silence.
I was silently wheeled back to my room in the ER, where my blood was still on the floor. After waiting an eternity, the doctor came in and told me that I had lost the baby. The good news was that I had in fact delivered the fetus and would not be needing a DNC. All I could mutter out was "thats what we said when we called". I left the hospital no longer pregnant and with no baby.
{Tomorrow I will be sharing how I reacted to it all}
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