I made dinner Wednesday night-lentil tacos. I had lettuce sliced into thin strips, refried beans, lentil filling with TVP, Tofutti sour cream, the works. It was nearly ready when J got home. We set the table, and I went to pee before dinner. (TMI, I know. But I'm not great at being subtle. Here comes more...) As soon as I pulled down my drawers, I knew. I started crying, and just kept it up.
I called the doctor, and while I waited for him to call me back I called my Mom. While I waited for her to call back I talked to the doctor, then my Mom called and we made arrangements. The doc wanted to see me, J wouldn't let me drive as upset as I was, so Mom said she'd watch the kids the next day so we could find out what was going on.
The doc did another ultrasound confirming that the pregnancy was gone. He then did a D&C in the office because I was bleeding so badly. If there is a scale of sucking, that went all the way to 11. Seriously, I wanted to punch the guy in the face for making me feel worse. Instead J and I cried through it, then dealt with it. The doc said there was nothing wrong with me; just bad luck. He gave me some instructions, but by then I was hearing nothing. J and I drove to the store to get Advil, we bought donuts and sat in the car feeling like shit. We cried, we talked. I kept going back to the "I lost another one" thoughts. There's no way to fix that. And worse, there's nothing to do but deal.
Oddly enough, or maybe not, I'm fine as long as I'm doing something. My Mom came over to help me with the kids Friday, and it was OK. When everyone left I got pretty down, but my sweet little one healed that up fast. With kisses. It still sucks, this loss. It will for a while; I don't know how long. But it didn't carry the awful shock this time. It was something we'd been through, if not an easy thing, it's at least a known one.
When we found out that our first baby wasn't going to live, we talked about what we would change if we could. I found out something good back then that still stands: I wouldn't trade this experience if it meant someone else would have to go through it instead. 1/4 of all pregnancies end in miscarriage. I've had 2. That means that 2 other women didn't have to go through this. Good. I found out that I'm a tough old broad, at least when it comes to troubled pregnancies. I've survived. I can again if I need to. I'll grieve more before I'm healed, and so will John. But we're friends as well as lovers, and we've known each other long enough to know what the other needs. And he takes REALLY good care of me. I have a wonderful support system of friends and family. I'd rather have this than someone with no one to lean on.
Next time, though, next time will be different. I never lost the feeling that I have to lose a pregnancy to keep one, and I've lost one. I knew I felt too good, and talking about that helped me not to believe it. I can't say I knew something was wrong, but I can't say I didn't, either. That's the bitch of this, even if I did know something was wrong, what could I have done? But I'm pretty optimistic about the next one, and if nothing else, third time's a charm, right?
We could also adopt, and we've talked about that, too.
Well, this is just so much babble, isn't it? To sum up: I'm sad. Very sad. So is my husband. But we've got each other and a funny little girl who is sweet and magically healing, even whilst tantruming. We're going to try again, and if we continue to fail (which the doctor doesn't think will happen) we will secure a sibling for our girl through other avenues, like adoption. We are lucky people. And life is never what you thought it would be, even when you didn't.