June 5th was a day I was looking forward to for weeks. It ended up being one of the worst days I’ve had in my life.
June 5th I was supposed to take pictures with Dave to announce our pregnancy. I had picked out the perfect dress. I had the location for the pictures picked out—the library at the University I attend. It was so fitting. I dreamt about the day, hoping for a sunny evening so the lighting would be right.
June 5th I was 3 days away from 12 weeks. It was a shitty day. It was gloomy and rainy all day, and it was so fitting. Instead of taking pictures to announce a moment I never thought I’d get the chance to do, I had to have another D&E.
I found out I was expecting on Easter Sunday. I surprised Dave with the pregnancy stick (back in its packaging) in his little Easter basket I put together for him. Since I miscarried last summer I was a little anxious, so we had gone in for blood work to check my levels and then went in for an early ultrasound to make sure everything was okay.
I saw my baby’s heartbeat on April 28th and at that moment nothing else in the world mattered. I saw him kick his little bitty legs on May 20th after we went to the emergency room when I started to spot. The heartbeat was still strong and my entire world revolved around those little flutters I couldn’t feel yet and the blinking light on the screen I knew I’d be able to hear for myself soon.
He was still kicking around and the heart was beating strong when we saw him again on May 25th. Just a little over a week later on June 4th I went back into the doctor because I was still spotting and his heartbeat had stopped.
My little bean was no more.
I had less than a 1% chance of losing the baby I affectionately called Bean and couldn’t wait to meet in December. Less than 1%. Statistics mean nothing to me anymore.
I’m still trying to come to terms with this. I’m waiting on answers which I hope to have soon and I hope that somehow that will bring me some kind of relief from this pain, guilt and sadness I feel. I fear that it won’t.
I originally stopped blogging because I was so exhausted from having my little bean growing inside me. My creative energy was completely sapped, but I was happy to step away from all my creative outlets. Now I don’t write because it hurts too much to say that it happened again to me. It shouldn’t have, the odds were in my favor.
It hurts to be present amongst other women, women who have babies, women who are pregnant, even women who don’t carry around the weight of struggling to conceive and then miscarrying. I envy all of you. It hurts to be present even among people who are just happy, because I am reminded that right now that is the furthest thing from my grasp.
I know in time I will heal. I know that if I stay strong and keep my head up, I’ll stop feeling like I’m drowning. I want to start every sentence with “I just wish…”.
I just wish this hadn’t happened again.