Better.

It's getting better. Instead of tears running down my cheeks, it's just a random twinge and frown. Yesterday I started my period. In the shower this morning I had "flashbacks" of the ordeal.

Today is my first day at a new job! I'm excited but also slightly bummed that I'll be waking up at 5:30am every single day. I'm going to miss Oliver. He's already giving me the sad eyes. He's a punk. Maybe I should call in sick and snuggle with the cats all day. Zim knows something's up. He was sleeping on my head this morning in hopes to suffocate me enough to stay home.

So, I suppose miscarriages get better with time. They sure suck. And I had a slight fear that my period would start with those horrible pains. Every cramp reminds me of it.
An unedited photo of Oliver's sly death glare. And below is the cute Zim face I wake up to every morning.
Off to catch the bus and start my new job. I'm going to have to take my cats with me on occasion...

It's catching up

My mom always insists on looking in the baby section when we go to stores. I feel obligated to "ooo" and "ahh" at all the cute things, yet I'm choking back tears.

She's going through much more than I could ever understand. She's depressed; she was abused as a child. My dad doesn't believe that depression is an illness. I'm stuck supporting her when I can't even get myself together.

The miscarriage was over three weeks ago. Why can't I forget it? When I wake up in the morning, I rub my belly in hopes that it was all a dream. It's still empty.

I've had a miscarriage before. That one didn't hurt nearly as bad, emotionally or physically. Why must this time be so hard?

Is it because we nicknamed him? Is it because I wanted him? Is it because I'm not on anti-depressants anymore?

Logging into facebook, there's always an update of "so-and-so's" pregnancy. Baby pictures stand out. Big bellies containing life stare at me. I remember the heartbeat I saw; then I remember the day there wasn't one. I remember the bathroom--toilet filled with blood.

Today I saw my grandparents. My grandpa has prostate cancer. I felt like I just added to their saddness when I walked in without a belly.

I can't afford counseling. I know what they'll say. It's the same textbook replies to my depression. I've taken Psych 101, I know the drill, yet why can't I be content?

Maybe today was hard since the doctor called yesterday. All my labs are normal. I'm perfect, medically speaking. Maybe it's because I'm looking for a job instead of preparing the baby's room. Maybe I'm just emotional because I'm suppose to start my period soon.

I feel empty.

Hops

I need to write this down just to get it out.

December 28th I figured something was up. Every year I usually start my period on Christmas, no matter what. I didn't this year. The 28th was technical day I should have oozed, yet my body decided not to be exactly on time. I didn't want to get my hopes up, so Tom and I waited until the 1st. Two pink lines on the first test. Two pink lines on the second. But since the lines weren't bright, I didn't trust them. We bought a digital test. "Pregnant." Yippee!We tried to wait until the first doctor's appointment, but couldn't contain it. (Mostly Tom couldn't... He's a blabber mouth.) We told family and friends. Then went to the first appointment.

I was 8 weeks from my missed period, but technically 6 weeks along. (According to my calculations.) The doctor did an ultrasound and saw a little something. He decided to try a vaginal one and found the little blob on the screen. There was a flicker; his heart was beating. The doctor turned on the sound and we heard the thumping of his heart. 95 beats per minute, which is low, but maybe he's just calm and happy in there. The doctor said all is well, and we were on our way.

We nicknamed him Hops. I know, at 6 weeks the fetus is still unisex, but according to the Chinese calendar it was a boy, therefore I'm calling "it" a "him." Tom's last name is Beer, like the beverage, and Hops are one of the main ingredients. Since Tom's brothers have used all the good nicknames, we tried to be original.

So for the next two weeks we prepped. Tom and I had been reading every parent-guide and baby book since the day we thought I was knocked up. We were scared poopless, yet were super stoked. At thrift stores my mom and I lingered in the baby clothes and bought several yellow/green outfits. Tom and I compared notes on our readings. We surfed the web for cribs and cradles. We had it all planned out. My mom even started a cross-stitch piece to put the name and weight on.

I ate carefully, drank less caffeine, took prenatals, and slept; I did everything I knew I should. I never had any morning sickness, so I thought I had been doing well. Then I got sick with a nasty cold and suffered as long as I could without medicine. I finally gave in and took Tylenol cold medicine after given the OK from the doctor.

Wednesday, February 9th, I felt like crap. My body ached the worse it ever had; I was crying for no reason. I went to my massage and cried to Angelique about how horrible I felt. I figured it was just hormones and my snot filled head reacting. Though now I think that's when Hops decided to leave. I got home from the massage feeling a bit better but still "off."

Friday, February 12th, I was stoked for my 8 week checkup. My mom had an appointment with the same doctor right after me to see what is going on with her. (Mom has been on her "period" for almost 30 days and nothing would stop it. Some said it was just menopause, but it was horrible bleeding, so she needed to find out the cause.)

Lights out, pants unbuttoned, goop on the belly. He waved the wand over my stomach. Nothing on the screen. My stomach sunk. Take off pants and underwear, now for a vaginal ultrasound. He found Hops sitting lower than expected. No growth. No flicker. The sac was separated from the uterine wall. Hops was dead.

My heart sunk. Tom's heart sunk. The room filled with horribly sad energy. The doctor said sorry and went over my options. I don't remember it. All I could think of was that I knew something was wrong at the first appointment. I knew Hops wasn't going to make it. Why must my feelings be right?

The doctor proceeded to tell me that I should try to have a natural miscarriage and that it might take up to two weeks. If nothing happens, then I'll need a D&C. He asked if I wanted to go tell my mom, who was in the other room waiting for her turn. I told him I couldn't do that because she'll just want to leave. She needed to be seen; I don't want her to die, too.

Tom and I waited for her to come out. I ran up to her as soon as she came back into the waiting room. I choked out the words, "There's no heartbeat. It's gone." My mom hugged me. We went home.

Just a few hours after, I was spotting. Tom had to go to work leaving me alone to slowly drip out pieces of my child. It got a little worse and I couldn't stop thinking about flushing my kid down the toilet. My mom came over and we watched "Ghost Adventures" until Tom got home at midnight. I tried to sleep.

I don't remember Saturday much. I think we went shopping. Then I tried to go to sleep. The cramping started. I kept tossing and turning while Tom snored. I moved to the living room to try to get my mind off of it. Took ibuprofen. Sat. Wiggled. I tried yoga. I tried Reiki. I tried laying down, standing up, squatting. I went to go pee and the blood was now chunky. The cramping got worse. Then at 2am it was at a 8 out of 10 on the pain scale. I kept thinking, "I can do this, I've been through worse pain." I breathed. I tried all the techniques again. Then, at 3am, I woke up Tom and asked him to call the doctor. The nurse on call told us to go to the ER if the pain is unbearable. The pain, officially, was unbearable. I've only had pain that bad once with a migraine. A pain so bad you can't think, talk, move. An actual 10 out of 10.

Tom called my mom (who has planters fasciitis and was currently using a golf club to walk) and she came over to pick us up.

When I say pain, I mean pain. I've had several tattoos, hundreds of migraines, and I've even gotten my skin sliced open three times with just a little lidocaine. This was excruciating pain. In the car it kept pulsing. I was bleeding through my pad and I could feel it. As soon as we got to the ER I ran to the bathroom and noticed some blood droplets on my pants. Clots fell out of me.

Waiting for a room... It seemed like hours. I went to the bathroom again taking Tom with me. I thought I would pass out. Finally they took me back. Blood pressure, high; temperature, normal. A million questions asked. I needed a toilet. All I could think of is my pain and the fact I just needed to get to a bathroom.

Made it to a room. Ran to the toilet. It poured out of me. Blood and guts. I got into the gown and sat on the table. They jabbed an IV into me and drew some blood while my uterus kept contracting and shoving blood out. Back to the bathroom. More blood and guts. I must have went like six times. The bathroom looked like a horror scene. I didn't have the strength to wipe off my mess. I didn't have the energy to wrap my pads before throwing them out.

The cramping went down to a tolerable 7 out of 10. I laid on the bed waiting. Wanting some form of pain killer. Nurse came in and told us the one ER doctor is busy and another doctor should be coming on soon. Waiting... Waiting... Waiting. I watched the clock, but didn't really pay attention to the time. Around 5:30am, a doctor finally came in. "Soooo, how's it going? Pass any tissue yet? Oh, it hurts? You're just having a spontaneous abortion. I need to do an exam."

Took off my underwear and laid on the table, bleeding all over it. Sitting in pieces of my baby. He jabbed the fancy vagina spreader in and pulled out clots while asking dumb questions. Then offered me pain killers now that the most painful part had ended.

I was supposedly "fine" in his eyes. That heartless being. I just pooped out my baby in a hospital toilet and flushed it into the sewers of Spokane and all he can tell me is to wait it out. Tom asked if the hydrocodone prescription I got from my OB/GYN would help. The ER guy replied yes, with a slight happiness that he didn't have a write one out. We could leave. Yet we had to wait until the papers printed. That took literally an hour. AN HOUR of sitting in a puddle of blood shivering and crying. The nurse waited until the shift change at 7am, then removed my IV (that wasn't connected to anything and was absolutely pointless). I was free to go.

I bled on and off for a few days. Grew a nasty zit on my crotch from the plastic pads. Curled up on the couch and cried. Tom packed up all the baby-related items into bins. Neither one of us knows what to say to the other. We just pretend to go on with our routines.

Valentine's day came. I woke up, and while walking to the bathroom, felt something slide out. I sat down and looked. It looked like a little brain. Maybe two inches wide. I think it might have been Hops. I made Tom bring me a ziploc to save it. I thought the doctor might want it for testing or something. I called the doctor to schedule an appointment and they told me to just throw out the "sample;" they didn't need it.

Tom and I went to go to Red Robin for lunch and took the trash out. Hops went into the dumpster.

Today, Thursday, February 17, I had a doctor's appointment. He did an ultrasound and told me my uterus is empty. All the bits and pieces are gone. I will start my period in the next four to six weeks. Then Tom and I can try again in three to four months. He had me go to the lab and get blood drawn for testing. Lupus and thyroid were all I could decipher from the paperwork. They took 11 vials of blood from my arm. Awesome.

So now I'm done with it. All the tissue and junk is out of me. I just get to wait again.

I keep seeing people with babies and getting angry. A lot of my friends are pregnant and I'm jealous. One friend is 12 weeks along, just 2 weeks ahead of me, and she posted pictures today. Her baby has feet and arms. Mine could have looked like that. Facebook's ads are popping up with pictures of pregnant people. Friends are doing side views of their big bellies. My eyes are focusing on it. I just want to forget.

I had a miscarriage in the summer of 2004, when I was 18. It didn't hurt that terribly; it was just an extra heavy period with chunks of weirdness that came out. I was maybe 6 weeks along. Now I had another, at 25. My mind keeps thinking that I'm not going to be able to have a baby. I hope I'm wrong, but usually my weird feelings turn out right.