I’m taking a lot of time away from Facebook these days. Something about being on that site tends to bring tears to my eyes and I just don’t need any help in feeling sad. I have that covered.
I feel almost hypocritical in my pain. When I loss my baby, I felt fine. I found myself comforting others as I told them of the loss. Little did I know, just months later, I’d feel like I was on a roller coaster, sometimes up, other times down. The down times have a bad habit of coming on when I’m not in a position to give in and release all that’s inside. I don’t like to share my pain with others because they often want to fix it and it can’t and won’t be fixed until I leave this Earth and am joined with my baby, never to be apart again. I just need to be, without judgement, suggestions or pity. Thankfully, my constant companions, my daughters, are wonderful with this.
My due date was January 25, 2013. If this baby would have followed the pattern of my other children, I’d be holding my baby in my arms by now. Obviously, it’s sad, but I like to remember and dwell on all the good, sweet moments I have because of that short, wonderful pregnancy.
When I first learned I was pregnant, I cried. I’d never cried about being pregnant before, nor have I ever cried after giving birth, although, I prayed for and planned all of my children. This one was different. I took a digital pregnancy test and when I saw “Pregnant” I just sat there and cried, thanking God.
This time, I decided to tell my mother, husband and children in really sweet ways. I sent my mom a card with a poem from the baby that I’d decorated with baby decals. I gave my husband what looked like a bracelet box but when he opened it, it too was decorated with baby decals and had the positive (pissy) pregnancy test inside. I sent my girls emails of an inside joke that they’d understand to mean I was pregnant. It was all really sweet and we were all beyond thrilled. My husband and youngest daughter really touched me with how, right from the beginning, they’d put their hands on and talk to my belly every single day. It was wonderful.
My body seemed to begin changing right away. I remember with a smile, the day my husband called me on my cell and asked me where I was. When I told him our oldest wanted to pick out maternity clothes for me, he said he wanted to be the one to pick out my clothes. I told him he could come the next time.
When I started and kept spotting, my husband and I talked about our options. This was a planned family pregnancy and birth-no midwives were invited this time around. We are dead set against sonograms and dopplers and we knew that those were the only two things any obstetrician or midwife around here would want to use at that point in the pregnancy. We weren’t willing to subject our child to 90 decibels of blaring noise and sound waves. If our baby was to die, it wouldn’t be because we did anything that we knew was harmful. Because we chose to not see anyone, we were able to enjoy the pregnancy. Everything unfolded naturally and beautifully.
I thought it was sweet that the day I went into labor, was our 12th anniversary. It was just me and my husband. The girls were all asleep. We’d planned to go to a cabin to celebrate our anniversary but at the last minute we decided against going. My husband had me promise to let him know if I felt any pain along with the bleeding. I was beginning to feel back pain the night before our anniversary but I didn’t say anything.
The next morning, I awoke suddenly when I realized I was wet and bloody, and so was our bed. My husband has a serious aversion to blood associated with vaginas, lol. He was still asleep. I wracked my brain, trying to figure out how I’d get everything cleaned up without him seeing anything but first, I went to get myself cleaned up.
I remember the birth worker in me being fascinated by it all. I examined the bed and my underwear, noting that it smelled like birth in the room and that it was not just blood, but a lot of amniotic fluid literally dripping down my legs as I went to the bathroom and showered. At some point he woke up. He handled everything quite well, clearing off our bed and checking on me. There was no sadness on either of our parts, we just did what we needed to do.
As I showered, I remember feeling the first contraction. I thought to myself, “Am I really in labor? Was that a real contraction?” I waited after the twisting pain subsided and when it began again I knew.
I got out of the shower and my husband told me to get in the bed on his side- which I’d normally refuse because I’m weird like that but I did it. By this time, the contractions were minutes apart, nothing majorly painful, but steady and sure. At some point when my husband had gone to the bathroom, I lay on the bed and coughed a little. At that moment, I could feel something in my vagina so I stood up on top of a chux pad and out came a gush of fluid and an immature placenta. Again, the birthworker in me took over and I stooped over and inspected all that had come out. There were no tears, no fear, just me doing what I felt I needed to do as more fluid and blood dripped down my legs.
At some point, I recalled my husband’s feelings about this type of blood and I scrambled trying to figure out how to get my oldest girl up to help me clean up without dripping all over the floor and bringing it all to his attention. Before I could make any concrete plans, he was at the door staring at my bloody thighs. Then, his attention turned to the flesh, fluid and blood on the chux pad and he asked, “What the hell is that?!” Laughing (yes I laughed in the midst of this),I tried to block his view with my bloody butt and told him to just get our oldest daughter so she could help me clean up. His soft reply was the sweetest thing… “I’m here, I can do it.” So together, we cleaned everything up and I got back in the shower again. Once I was settled back in bed, he went out and got us breakfast and that was our anniversary. 🙂 Although the birth ended in death, it was the most beautiful one I’ve experienced. There was no one there to suggest, advise or take over. No one told me I couldn’t touch and examine what came out of me. I took my time, we both did. So did our children, when they got up. It was a beautiful family birth on my wedding anniversary. After having experienced this and seeing my husband rise to the occasion in such a touching way, I know we’re ready and able to do it alone. That was the best part about it, we were alone. I am eager to be pregnant again.