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Amanda's Pregnancy Journal


Week 8
~ Unmistakable Silence

It's a tragic scene from a mid-day soap opera or a horrifying nightmare or perhaps a bit of both. "This isn't a day in my life," I think. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine myself here but reality is present and pinching doesn't help. I am in a state of confusion, panic, despair, disbelief. I always ignored the back section of "What to Expect When Expecting." Miscarriage was definitely a foreign, abstract notion to me. Now it was quickly becoming reality.

After the very light spotting I had on my vacation I was asked to come into my OB's office upon my return (I had barely even made the phone call due to the extremely scant amount of spotting I had witnessed). We had a red eye flight back to Denver from Anchorage and I was able to make it into their office the very same day. Of course my OB was out of town for a few weeks so I saw the PA.

I'm laying on the reclined bed with my legs lassoed in the quintessential stirrups. A position of hope, amazement, wonder. My husband is holding our 12 month old son and is huddled close by. The PA stares at the screen and stares and stares. Unmistakable silence ensures. Worlds away from the heavenly thrill of excitement that was my prior 8 week ultrasound (with my last pregnancy) we are glaring at the dark quiet abyss that is the current state of my uterus. No heartbeat can be found. The PA quietly measures our little embryo and growth has halted since last week. My due date that was so thrillingly right around Valentine's Day now appeared on the screen as a bitter 2-28-11. That was the reality sentence for me. "That absolutely can't be right," I am quietly thinking to myself. Those numbers will be engrained in my mind forever.

My 12 month son begins to screech and squeal and wriggle like his life depends on it. Being stuck in a small, dark, sterile room is the last place he wants to be. I ask my husband to wait out in the car with our son. He leaves, the PA leaves (she has asked for a second opinion), and I am stuck in this dark room for what seems like eons. I nonchalantly grab a "Best of Denver" magazine and urgently read about the best voted burgers in town trying my best to avoid the seriousness of the issue at hand. A second doctor comes in. I brace myself for the worst. Where was my trusty OB when I needed her most? Out of town at a time like this . . . ahh!! He sadly states that there is very little chance our embryo will survive. They schedule me for next Monday to see my OB and to most likely schedule a D & C operation.

And of course they ask to draw more blood! So I sulkily head to the laboratory room (wishing so much for my husband by my side but I also understanding that we have no one else to watch our son and all of this time in the office was too much for him). I wait 20 minutes for my blood draw. When I enter the room I try to hold my own but when the technician is sticking me multiple times without getting my veins I fiercely begin to cry. "It's not you!" I sob. I think she understood. By this time I am completely chilled to the bone and in shock and only wishing to fervently jump into my sweats at home and dive under my covers. I was almost mad at myself for wearing a cute shirt and skirt to my appointment. After my blood draw I nearly run to our car and explain to my husband what we feared most. He holds my hand and tells me it will all be "okay". The tears begin to heavily flow.

These next few days were the worst so far for me. There is nothing worse than knowing that you are walking around with your non-viable pregnancy in your body. I cried many tears, asked myself the endless "whys?", drew the curtains and napped a lot. Why couldn't this tragedy happen in a cold/bitter/fitting month like November or something?!? Why in July, at the height of summer when everything should be care-free, sunny, and happy? Arrrr!!!

Amanda

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