6.23.14

I did not expect the last time I held my third baby in my womb to be a summer day, just like those warm summer days when my first two lovely babies left the womb. After all, this baby wasn't supposed to make its appearance until winter, just after Christmas. Everything seemed so perfect in the beginning, sort of. Were we planning on a third baby? Definitely not. Did we have room in our lives for another little one? Not currently, but we could make it work. We did have room in our hearts; I know for sure that I loved that baby the moment I suspected I was pregnant, before I even picked up the pregnancy test from the grocery store shelf on a whim. I couldn't wait to get home and take the test. I knew that as a family, we weren't prepared for another child, but that I would be incredibly upset if the test showed a negative result. But I wasn't disappointed...almost immediately, two dark lines appeared, indicating pregnancy. I took a second test, just to be sure, and the results were the same. We were shocked, but I was also excited. While the thoughts of sleepless nights, colic, chapped nipples, and pureeing baby food exhausted me just thinking of them, the thoughts of a new baby gave me hope. Would this be the baby who finally looked like my handsome husband, Marc, with his dark curls and pretty green eyes? Would we have another boy, guaranteeing me a lifetime of smelly feet, fart jokes, and endless joy? Or would we have a girl, who would no doubt be a daddy's girl from her first day, and also my best friend (with maybe some worst enemy years throughout her adolescence?) And Jack was so proud to be a big brother again, he would rock me from side to side nearly every day, telling me that he was rocking the baby, and he'd sing to it and kiss my belly. Sam was so proud to be becoming a big brother as well, no longer would he be the baby, when asked about the baby, he'd say "bay-bee" with a smile, and point to my belly and then to his own.

Everything did seem to be going along so well, which is why we'd told the kids so early in the first place. I'd forgotten to mark down my last period on the calender, but I was pretty sure it was March 26, a Wednesday. When we went in for our first ultrasound, the baby measured a week earlier than that, indicating that my last period would have been a week later. That didn't seem quite right, but the baby was measuring as 7 weeks, so instead of a New Year's Eve due date, we now had a due date of January 7. But still, I wasn't worried. Everything looked so good in the ultrasound, baby right where it should be in the egg sack, with its little heart beating away, we even got to hear the heartbeat on the ultrasound machine and it sounded perfect to me. The ultrasound tech said that since the baby wasn't as far along as I'd thought, they might bring us in a week later for a follow-up ultrasound. But the next week went by without incident, and all I had to do was visit with a nurse who recorded my medical history and provided me with information for a healthy pregnancy. I also had a ton of bloodwork done, just the standard stuff, like testing for lead or communicable diseases. Still, nothing to indicate that there were any problems. A week or so after that, I was supposed to have my first OB visit, but my grandma had passed away (such a hard loss for me to handle, but I took comfort in knowing that my grandma went to her grave knowing that I was expecting another baby), so my OB appointment got pushed back a week. Still, when I went in for that appointment and peed in that cup, nothing indicated any problems with my baby. The doctor checked the positioning of my uterus and cervix, and all seemed well, and we were told that things were progressing perfectly. We went home and continued with our plans to purchase a vehicle with 3rd row seating to accommodate our growing family, and I continued to abstain from my 2 vices, coffee and wine.

The following weekend got off to a rocky start. On Saturday night, we went to the annual summer pops concert in the park, but I came down with horrible abdominal pains shortly after arriving. Chalking it up to a gall bladder attack, I watched the firework finale from Marc's truck while he and the boys stayed for the end with our friends and family. I still think it was a gall bladder issue, and not a baby issue, but it kinda set the tone for me for the weekend. I went to prenatal yoga that Sunday morning (I LOVED prenatal yoga...the connection with the baby, the sisterhood of expectant moms...held in a store filled with natural baby items) and felt fine, but later that day, I had some spotting. It had happened early in my pregnancy with Jack, so I wasn't terribly concerned, but concerned enough to tell Marc about it. He wondered if everything was okay, and I told him I was sure that it was, just that it seemed a little strange. We continued about our day, heading to a cookout in the evening and while I had fun, things just didn't feel quite right. That night when I went to bed I was nervous. I started having some lower abdominal pain, but chalked it up to feeling sore from yoga. Still, combined with the spotting, I had a hard time sleeping and felt very anxious for my unborn baby.

The next morning, Monday, June 23, I had a feeling things weren't okay. The abdominal pain was more pronounced, and the spotting hadn't stopped. I called my mom for our daily morning chat, and told her that I was afraid that I was having a miscarriage. She said I should probably hang up and call the doctor's office, immediately. So I called, and it took so incredibly long for the nurse to get back to me. In the meantime, I was in constant contact with my mom and with Marc, and I'd called Marc's mom, Judy, to watch the boys while I went to the doctor. Thankfully, she'd just pulled out of her driveway to run errands, and was in my driveway before we'd even hung up the phone. Finally, Marc arrived home to take me to our 1:00 doctor appointment, but by the time he arrived, I could no longer stand on my own, and insisted that he carry me to the car and drive me to the nearest hospital; the one where our other two children had been born and the one that is much closer to our home. The short car ride was excruciating; by this point I'd begun to have contractions on top of the painful constant cramping. Clearly, I was going to lose this baby, but still, I hung onto hope.

Once we got to the hospital, things progressed pretty quickly, just as they did when I was rushed there for Jack's emergency delivery. If only the outcome was as happy this time around... Within minutes, they wheeled me into triage, and after a couple cursory questions, had me in a room with an IV full of hydrating fluids and morphine. The morphine helped with the cramps, but nothing helped those awful contractions. Once we were in the room, it became pretty clear that I wasn't going to be leaving with my baby. I mean, they don't typically give morphine to pregnant women, and by this point, I was having strong contractions one after the other. We weren't timing them, because what would be the point? Marc and I tried to remember all of the comfort techniques we'd learned in our prenatal classes those years ago when I was pregnant with Jack. The techniques we never thought we'd need after our first two children were born via c-section.

Even though all signs were pointing to miscarriage, the ER doctor (PA, actually) wanted me to have an ultrasound. I knew it was bad when the ultrasound tech turned the machine away from me once she found what she was looking for. I was afraid to ask, but Marc wasn't. When he asked the tech if she thought I'd had a miscarriage, she said it seemed as though I was in the process of one. And that the baby was still measuring at 7 weeks. So there it was. Confirmation of what I'd been suspecting, but trying to hope and pray away. I was losing my baby. And very quickly, the obstetrician, the anesthesiologist, and a couple of nurses who I remember fondly from their time with me previously up in Labor & Delivery, all had arrived in my room to prepare me for the D&C that would officially take this baby away from me.

And just like that, my baby was gone. Gone from my body, but never from my heart. I don't think we'll be in this situation again. We hadn't planned on having three children, and I don't think this will change things. I desperately wanted that baby, but I don't think I could go through this again. So for now I'm focusing on all of the superficial things, like how I won't need to drive some dorky minivan now, and how Jack and Sam won't have to share a room or give up things like ski lessons, how Marc and I can finally take that honeymoon we never really had. It helps a little, I guess, but I can't stop wondering if I'll ever not feel like someone is missing from our family. Rest in Peace, sweet baby, Mama loves you.