I have only recently found the ability to talk about this publicly. Sure, there are some people that know this information already. And of course, I have the option to keep it private always. But someone helped me through this and if it wasn't for the fact that she shared her experience with me, I'd still be drowning in sadness. Alone.
I found out I was pregnant during the month of May. No, it wasn't planned. But no matter the plan, life is what happens while we are making other arrangements.
I started to bleed. A lot. Spotting. Maybe Aunt Flo? Cramping. Must be Aunt Flo. Then it went away.
Then it came back.
For the better part of a month (read: almost every day) I had spotting. And I grew tired of it (read: concerned).
And so, I drove myself to Urgent Care after work where I explained my concerns, peed in a cup and heard those words.
Not that I couldn't have been. It's just...huh?
After four kids...all boys...I hadn't planned.
But it would be nice...
And I started to hope.
And my hcg quants went down. And I had pains on one side. And it didn't. look. good.
And I spent the weekend of Memorial Day in the hospital losing my baby to an ectopic pregnancy.
There is not a day that goes by that I do not think about the month of January 2012 and how full my body should look by then.
I am 100% positive that that baby was my daughter.
I am fairly certain that I will not be pregnant ever again. That doctors will ask how many pregnancies and how many children and I will always have to explain that no, although the math sounds right, no, in fact I lost a pregnancy.
I am different now. The experience was painful. I spent the final excruciating night in pain in the ER and was ignored by Nurse TooBusy and Doctor TooLittleTooLate. I cried to them as I begged them to give me something for the pain, I had been sitting in my room alone for two hours and no one had checked on me and I was in pain and I was losing my baby and please, wasn't there something they could do to speed things up or move things along.
My favorite was Orderly Hottie McFunnyJokes. He was almost as good as the intravenously injected pain prescription...
But, as Pearl Jam sings, "Whoah, IIIIIIIIII, whoah, I'm still alive."
And I am. And I have lived to blog the story. And I do it in case you need someone to talk you through your painful experience. Because that final night, a woman who will remain anonymous because I don't feel it my right to share her story here if others don't already know it...she stayed on the phone with me until the ER got me admitted to my room at 6 am. She didn't leave me. She didn't leave my side.
And now she has someone that would do the same, fly across the country, drive if I had to dammit, for HER.
And that's what happened at the end of May. And what has happened emotionally a little bit less everyday since then.