Shattered

It's been a year since I've blogged. I thought that I was done. A lot of it had to do with the fact that my children are now older and on top of not having time to blog, I don't have a lot of access to a computer because they play video games and what not now, leaving me less access to a computer. But after this past week, I've felt this overwhelming need to get my thoughts down on paper. Well, pseudo-paper, at least.

I lost my baby on Friday. It was the same story as my last pregnancy lost, almost down to every detail. We had been in for several ultrasounds throughout the pregnancy and had seen a beautifully growing baby, the right size, and with a strong and fast heartbeat during each ultrasound. My hormones were good, I was taking Progesterone just in case, and the doctor was sure everything was going to be fine. Of course Alan and I had our doubts. You don't lose four pregnancies and just assume everything will be fine. But as the pregnancy progressed and I got farther and farther into the safe zone, with all signs we could hope for being reassuring, I started to think that we might get to keep this baby. I started to show and got my maternity clothes out of storage. We told the kids; they were thrilled beyond measure, though Nate worried that he wouldn't be able to love this baby as much as he loves Noah. Sweet, sweet Nate. Abbie prayed day and night that they baby would be a healthy girl. We all prayed constantly for a healthy baby. I don't think that I've ever prayed for anything so hard in my entire life. So when we went in for routine heart tones check on Friday morning, I was anxious, but not terrified. They couldn't find heart tones, but they always have trouble finding them on me, so I wasn't too upset. We headed in for an ultrasound. The similarities between this appt and my last appt for my last lost were starting to scare me. I became terrified. And then the ultrasound tech pulled the image of my baby up on the screen and I knew, before she said anything, I knew that there was no heartbeat. All I could say was, "Not again. Not again." Alan was with me this time, and he just cried. I was in such shock that I couldn't even breathe, let alone cry. The tech went to get a nurse and took us into another room to wait. I couldn't believe it. My mind kept thinking there must have been a mistake, even though I saw it with my own eyes. The nurse came in and told us our options. I've lost babies at home and I've done it at the hospital; I would never choose to do it at home. The pain is worse than labor. So we went home and waited until 2:30 to go to the hospital.

The kids went to Alan's parents house after we told them that the baby had died and that we wouldn't be able to keep it. They were sad. Abbie cried. Sending them to grandma's house was a huge blessing so that Alan and I could have some time to grieve alone. I was finally able to cry as it started to sink in. One of the worse parts was that I wasn't allowed to eat due to going to surgery in the afternoon, and because my hormones were still crazy, I was still extremely nauseous. That made me so angry. I shouldn't have to be pregnant sick when my baby was dead. That's still one of the hardest parts. The doctor said it could take up to two weeks to go away, as I was so far along, and the nausea is definitely still a part of every day life. I finally called to get some Zofran, as I was unable to cope with the emotions that accompanied knowing I was nauseous from a pregnancy that was no longer growing inside with me.

I'm recovering physically now, though the nausea is still prevalent. Emotionally, though, I'm a mess. I still can't believe it happened. You'd think that after five pregnancy losses, I wouldn't be that surprised to lose another one, but this isn't something that you can prepare yourself for. My heart feels like it's been shattered and I don't know if it will ever go back together again. Alan has taken this week off of work and I think that having him around is the only thing that is keeping me from falling down a very dark and deep hole. He holds me when I cry and distracts me when it's the only thing to do. I don't know what I'd do without him.

On top of grieving this loss, I'm trying to wrap my head around the fact that I may never have another baby. I would do almost anything to add another tiny soul to our family. Really, anything. But it's not up to me. And I know that I can't just gamble again. This is too devastating to me and to our family. I've been pregnant a total of 38 weeks with babies who I'll never get to hold in this lifetime. I should have five children in my arms and in my life who are not with me. The heartbreak is too great to risk again. How do you close the door on that chapter in your life with you're not ready to be done with it? This is something that was stolen from me. These are not my terms. I'm infinitely grateful for the babies I do have. Losing five makes the three I have ever more miraculous. But they aren't replacements and I will have to live with these gaping holes in my heart for the rest of my life. I don't know how to go on from here. Tears continually fill my eyes as I grieve this baby I've just lost, but also for any babies that I could have held and nursed and loved in the future. I don't know if I'll ever be okay again. I really don't.