June 2, 2009

• Milestones and Memories

  On Friday, my son graduated from Kindergarten.

  Yesterday was my daughter’s second birthday.

  Today is the seven-year anniversary of the loss of my first child.

  It’s hard to believe it’s been seven years!

  Craig and I were married on November 3rd, 2001; the first weekend after Halloween.  I finished my last round of birth control pills, and we went merrily on our way toward starting a family.  Knowing about my PCOS, we weren’t expecting any miracles, but we hoped!  On March 17th, I remember being out with my cousin one night, and asking her if she was pregnant.  She assured me she wasn’t, and wondered why I was asking.  I’ve always had a tendency to have very specific dreams when a family member was about to announce a pregnancy, and I knew without a doubt that I was not pregnant, so I just assumed it was her. 

  It wasn’t.

  On April 15th, 2002, I had made a wonderful grilled steak dinner for Craig and myself.  I took one bite of that steak….and gagged.  Up until that night, I could eat steak almost every night.  My period wasn’t late, really, but *I just knew* I was pregnant.  We ran out and got a test maybe the next morning?  It was positive.

  I never thought I’d get pregnant.  Never.  But here I was, pregnant without any medical assistance!  We were over the moon with joy!  Our baby was due on December 21st – near the winter solstice – and we were beside ourselves.  I told everyone I could think of!  A baby!  A mommy! 

  It was a rough time for us, though.  My hormones were raging, and we were newlyweds.  Nothing unexpected, but still rough.  Things were calming down, though, over Memorial Day weekend, and we’d gone out for lunch and were enjoying ourselves.  I excused myself to run to the bathroom.

  I was bleeding.

  It wasn’t spotting, it was bleeding.  I called Craig from the stall.  I panicked.  We called my OB, but it was a holiday weekend.  I knew what was happening, but didn’t want to admit it to anyone.

  We got in to see the OB as soon as we could and got an ultrasound.  Our greatest fears were confirmed.  Our precious, tiny baby had no heartbeat.  I was about 14 weeks pregnant, but our dear little one stopped developing around 7 weeks gestation.  We sat in the examination room for what seemed like hours while we waited for my OB to come talk with us.  My options were to naturally miscarry or have a D&C.  I was not prepared to ever have to make this decision.  Never ever ever.  I can’t imagine anyone is.  We scheduled the procedure for a few days later and I went home to let nature take it’s course.

  I couldn’t even tell my mom myself.  I had to call my younger brother and ask him to give her the news.  I apologize for that.  But knowing that my mother had three miscarriages herself, and knowing how proud she was to soon be a grandmother, I couldn’t do it.  I didn’t have the energy.

  I locked myself in our bedroom for two days.  I didn’t come out to visit with anyone.  I couldn’t face them.  I was devastated.  I cried and cried in our room for days waiting for it to all be over. 

  And then it was.  My OB was incredibly nice.  He did his best to keep me in good spirits thoughout the procedure.  I remember the room being frigid, like I was in a freezer.  I felt frozen.  I felt alone.  I felt helpless.  I felt unbelievable sadness.  I felt empty.

  I came home to find one of my rose bushes in bloom.  There had been no buds on it for weeks, and usually, when it bloomed, it was a very pale bluish-pink blossom.  There was one flower, and it was a brilliant bright pink and white.  It was the only time it bloomed in that color.

  I never knew the gender of the baby, it was too tiny.  Still, I named her June Rose. 

  That was on June 2nd, 2002. 

  • 3:30 pm
  • 3 Comments