I know it's been pretty silent on here lately. I often think of things I might want to send out into the internet world and for my remember-this-later-on blog function, but... So many buts keep them away.
June has been strange to me. Thankfully, I am finally starting an actual physical recovery. But it occurred to me today that it's been months since I've felt physically "normal." I started to get sick and tired from pregnancy mid-April (I remember when running suddenly got so hard, and then nonexistent). Then May was heavy with nausea, fatigue, and hopes. Now June has been filled with gazes at ceiling tiles and fluorescent lights.
First I stared at those tiles and breathed prayers to find that heart beat. I know my uterus is tipped back, but at 10 weeks, it should still be there! After 3 tries from 2 different midwives, something in me accepted that no beautiful swish of heartbeat would be heard.
Then the painful week of cramps, sending Bert to the store for pads (what a man!), getting sympathy emails (thank you!!!), and gorgeous weather playing outside with Gwen. That week there were the ceilings to stare at in the ultrasound room. Twice. The second visit ruled out a blood clot as the cause of intense pain (7ish on the scale!) in my right leg. Thankfully that resolved itself by the end of the week. The first visit was unable to determine whether that little baby was alive or not, so we waited. Then the next day, back at the ceilings and curtains-for-walls to give more blood to see if pregnant hormones were down. They were. Finally after four days in a row of waiting rooms and appointments, we knew the baby would not live. That was my first hardest week. The bruise on my arm showed up after 3 pokes that week, and I got a break from the ceiling tiles for a while.
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This week has been another one of those. I have said the words "still bleeding" more than I can count lately. It was going on for a long time. We were at four weeks, which felt long to me, when I had the appointment when the sweet midwife said, "Did anyone tell you this can take a long time? Like up to 8 weeks?" Why hadn't they told me that? I didn't want to bleed all summer and wait even longer to get my strength back. In my mind 4 weeks was already pushing normal - but I found out it wasn't. So, so much to learn in this process.
So I was sent for another ultrasound to check out the status of things in there. That blessed (truly!) ultrasound technology found that there was still a lot of lining and 'products' left where it should be empty. My body was trying and trying, but not letting go. (One person told me, I get really attached to my babies and have a hard time letting go. :) Just like I couldn't naturally birth the placenta with Gwen. Wouldn't unstick. Is that too much detail readers? Sorry!) Time to choose: wait another month of closely monitored bleeding and risk infection, or get the D&C and be done. So I said, let's be done.
I thought back to my pregnancy with Gwen and how I was determined, with God's help, not to let fear ruin the labor and delivery. I tried to get in that mindset with the D&C. God gave lots of grace, through prayers of others and his Spirit, for that fear. Though I easily could have been paralyzed by it, I somehow wasn't. Thank you Lord! I was most afraid of the risks of the surgery (perforation of uterus and scarring on uterine walls) and being under anesthesia in the hospital (total different ballgame from getting my wisdom teeth out in high school). Granted, these aren't scary things to everyone, but I used to shake at the thought of needles. Still do sometimes. But I am definitely getting tougher through all this motherhood stuff.
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The D&C is over now. How strange it is to go to a hospital for surgery. They ask you if you're allergic to anything about 7,000 times. I started feeling like I was giving them the wrong answer and trying to think of something I was allergic to. Surely, if they are asking that many times then I must be forgetting something.
We went to Woodwinds and the hospital itself was dreamy. I'd heard that they "treat you like a queen" if you have your baby there. Even though I had surgery, they still treated me like a queen. Heated blanket, lavender aromatherapy, Japanese garden images on TV, gazebo out my window, and an ipod shuffle stocked with soothing music (what?!). The hardest part was the waiting. We got there at 9:30am and I didn't go back for surgery until noon. (How weird it is to be in a bed that's pushed around by people! You feel so small and vulnerable.) The hardest part of the waiting, while staring at ceiling tiles (which had pictures of daffodils on them!), was thinking about them scraping out my uterus. But there was a peace too of knowing that I am being taken care of. Really, really good care.
C.S. Lewis calls God a surgeon sometimes, and he is doing something painful that will save our lives. I knew I was being taken care of, but I was still uncomfortable with the pain of it.
Being wheeled into the operating room was by far the most dramatic part of my D&C day. The nurses stopped outside to tie up their face masks, and then pushed me into a stark white room with tall ceilings and insanely bright lights. There were weird looking machines, plugs dangling from the ceiling, and a big bed in the middle. I didn't like the thought of being the person on that bed. I didn't like that my baby had died and now my pregnancy was ending in here. In this awful, amazing, dramatic room. So I started crying which was embarrassing, because I was trying to be brave.
One of the nurses very kindly grabbed my hand and told me to let the tears flow because it's an emotional thing to have to go through and it helps to let tears out. The other nurse (who had complimented me on my hair as she put it into the puffy blue cap earlier) came over and grasped my hands too. Then, she very dramatically and sincerely said, "Just think about your beautiful hair!" That definitely got me to burst out laughing which felt even better than the tears had. Then they put something sleepy into my IV and I have very little memory after somehow scooting onto that big bed in the middle of the room and feeling a dent in the bed under my behind. I even forgot to wonder how they'd hold my legs up while I was asleep. (But really, how did they do it?)
Waking up wasn't scary at all. They gave me something in my IV so my sensitive stomach wouldn't puke right away (so nice). In fact I remember thinking that I didn't want to wake up, because I didn't want to deal with the fact that it was really over. Being asleep felt so much better than accepting reality. I am officially done being pregnant. It felt so final.
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Now the road to recovery looks like taking it easy for a few days and taking ibuprofen every 6 hours. I am definitely sore when it wears out. Ouch. I was SO THANKFUL to hear that the doctor said things went well. Though I am dying for a few more detailed words like "there were absolutely no complications and you are in perfect condition to bear more children." Maybe I'll get those at the 2 week follow-up appointment with her. But for now, "everything went well" is all we have since Bert was running out to the car when she called him with the post-op update and he didn't have cell phone service, so she left a message.
Maybe someday in the weeks to come my hormones will level out (feeling doubtful of this). And maybe I'll feel strong enough to push myself to run again. I've pretty much given up on The Color Run, my first ever 5k, that is on July 15th (for which I was supposed to be 4 months pregnant). Running does not rank as high as 'recovering from miscarriage' in my priorities. So we'll see what that day looks like for me.
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