‘I lost my baby’
The absence of a heartbeat confirmed what this pregnant mom already knew: the baby was not alive.
‘I’m sorry, it’s sad news.’
I felt the tears drip from my cheek onto my chest before I realised I was crying. The beat of my own heart pounded in my ears, but the monitor, aimed at the heart of what should be my baby, remained silent.
I became aware of pressure on my hand. My gynae was squeezing it.
It wasn’t really news. I started bleeding the previous day and although I was told to keep positive, I knew it was too late. Knowing however does not make it any easier. I heard myself ask the question, ‘Are you sure?’
People respond differently to bad news. I go into survival mode. Take control. I needed a time for the D&C (dilation and curettage) procedure, so the hospital was called. I phoned for the medical aid authorisation code. Then it was time for the pre-admissions office.
Don’t think; keep busy. Keep busy; don’t think.
I booked into the hospital, put on the less-than-flattering gown, got into bed and waited. I didn’t want to talk. Not about what had happened, not about what was going to happen. Not about anything. Unfortunately, this is not how it works in a hospital – especially just before a procedure.
I answered the same questions over and over and over: when did I first suspect something was wrong (2 days ago), how many weeks am I (none – oh, you mean was I: a little over 12 weeks), am I experiencing any pain (does heartache count?), am I bleeding a lot (yes, no, I don’t know, how much is a lot?).
What felt like days later I was wheeled to the theatre. Breathe in, breathe out.
While being pushed to the recovery room my doctor told me all went perfectly. I went home 2 hours later.
I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t have any physical pain; my mind just wouldn’t switch off. All that ‘not-thinking’ caught up with me. I got up after tossing and turning and ended up in front of my computer. I updated my blog, read many others. Tried to sleep again, got up again. ‘Watched’ TV.
The day was worse. It seemed like every single issue someone could come up with, someone did. Issues I would normally deal with using finesse, I struggled to deal with at all. Everything seemed insignificant. I had to bite my tongue regularly.
Numb. The only feeling I had was the lack of feeling.
But then it changed.
The incredible support I have been receiving from my husband, family and friends became tangible and I knew I would be okay. This chapter was finished, but I could write another.
I am still sad. I still feel loss. I wish that I was still pregnant, carrying a healthy baby. Yet, I am okay. As soon as my gynae gives the go ahead, hubbie and I will try again.
But I am also afraid. How do I enjoy my next pregnancy? How do I possibly relax until I hold a screaming little boy or girl in my arms?
I don’t know.
But I’m willing to find out.
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