One year ago today, at almost 19 weeks pregnant, I got the worst news I'd ever had: my baby had died four weeks before. I've been remembering all the "What was I doing a year ago" memories since June. Since an "oops" turned into an unplanned pregnancy, then into a much wanted baby. My fears of a miscarriage (almost everyone I know in my family has had one) to my joy of seeing a heartbeat at 11 weeks, to spotting and my world came crashing down around me.
I'd had fears of miscarrying Taylor since I first looked at the pregnancy test. Almost everyone in my family has had a miscarriage of one kind or another. I remember praying every night for God to let my baby be healthy, and every visit to the doctor it was. 12 weeks is the "magic" number when most women think they are past the "miscarriage point". Supposedly the risks of a miscarriage are only 5% after seeing a healthy heartbeat and making past 12 weeks. I was one of that 5%. I'd read blogs about miscarriage and remember thinking something just wasn't right. I'd been feeling sick for most of September last year, but I chalked it up to a busy start of school and the stress of being outdoor school coordinator. I even remember standing around for an emergency drill at school and thinking my baby was sitting really low and feeling like I was close to going into labor, then talking myself out of it and mad for thinking those thoughts. How scary to think that I was right.
On September 10, 2008 I had a normal healthy baby check up and heard a strong heartbeat. Just three days later my baby would stop growing and it's heart would stop. On October 5th, my birthday, I would start spotting. Not enough to worry a nurse or doctor, but enough to worry me. Two days later the spotting turned to red and a call to the OB nurse forced me to accept reality. "Have you been feeling regular fetal movement?" she had asked. Well of course I'd been feeling regular movement, the baby had been kicking me for the past few weeks hadn't it! I told her "I think I've been feeling it." and I started sobbing, doubting every time I had thought I felt movement.
I was supposed to have my "big" ultrasound, the one when I find out the sex of the baby. Tony and I had always wanted to be surprised, but with Taylor, we wanted to know. Instead of finding out the sex, we found out our baby had died. There was no heartbeat on the screen. You know things are bad when the ultrasound tech doesn't tell you anything, just keeps frantically taking measurements then sends you back to talk to your doc. Tony had been watching the screen for any sign of movement or life, and got to see our baby for the last time. I only wish I had been able to see it too. We opted to have a D&C the following day.
The following day both mine and Tony's parents left on vacation and I had surgery. It was awful. I fit into my normal clothes the next day and gave my maternity clothes to a friend who was expecting.
My grief for my dead baby has consumed me at times during this last year. Friends and family have been very supportive, but I will always grieve for my baby. I've battled the anger, sadness, and grief through friends pregnancies, unwanted advice, and now, my own infertility battles. Our loss has made my marriage stronger, and the stress of trying for another has almost destroyed it.
If you had asked me the day after my surgery what I would be doing a year from then, I would have told you I'd be hugely pregnant and happy. Here I sit, 365 days later, with an empty uterus and unknown infertility, an empty room filled with baby stuff, with everyone else around me blissfully pregnant. I can't see friends I used to see all the time, I can barely go to church with everyone pregnant or with new babies. Even watching movies is difficult. I rarely sleep through an entire night, and a year later, crying is still a daily activity. This blog has even evolved from a place to post my family pictures, to a place for me to get all my frustrations and grief out, a place to really share how I feel, and a few comments from its readers.
I have plenty of regrets, but would never wish I hadn't been pregnant. I wish I had seen that sad and final ultrasound. Most of all, I wish I was writing about my 7 month old baby's new skills and not my dead baby.
*Re-reading all my old posts from a year ago (to do the hyperlinks) has shown me just how happy I was before my miscarriage and how much my life has changed in just one year.
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