Read part 2 here.
The next morning, Sunday, November 13, 2011, I woke up to get ready for church. I went to the bathroom, wiped, and screamed. Jonathan jolted out of bed and came to me as I started crying and screaming. I was bleeding.
It is hard for me to remember what exactly happened that morning or what I was thinking, but I know that Jonathan took control. He called his parents and asked his mom to teach Sunday school. And then he called the labor and delivery line at the hospital and told them what was happening. I described the amount of blood and they shrugged it off as spotting and said to call my doctor in the morning. I knew that something was wrong and that it was definitely not “just spotting”. I was so angry that they didn’t take me seriously and I wanted to call them back myself and give them a piece of my mind.
I remember that Jonathan had to work that day and I thought he was really strong to be able to do so. I sat at home the entire day crying and waiting. It was the longest day of my life. I just wanted to know what was wrong. I also started to worry that I was having an ectopic pregnancy, and I was nervous.
The next morning, I called the doctor’s office and they also tried to brush me off as “just spotting”. I told the woman on the phone that I was worried that I was having an ectopic pregnancy, and that seemed to do the trick, because she put me on hold, and then I had an appointment at 11 that morning.
On the car ride over, I cried and cried and cried. And prayed. And begged God to save our Baby M. Jonathan believed that everything was going to be fine, but I couldn’t stop crying with worry that our hearts were about to be broken.
When we got in the examination room, we met with the doctor who asked what was happening and told me she would do an ultrasound, even though spotting was perfectly normal around 10 weeks of pregnancy. She left the room so I could get undressed, and Jonathan and I said one last prayer.
Even though I was filled with worry, part of me was excited that everything might be okay, and we were about to see our baby. In that brief moment in time, I was hopeful and excited.
Jonathan was finally nervous, and he was starting to cry with worry. I think he knew that we were about to get bad news.
As she loaded the image onto the screen, we could see a tiny little baby. I was confused and I was thinking, “Why doesn’t she make the image look bigger so that I can see the baby?” but then she said, “Well there’s a baby here that’s measuring at 6 weeks pregnancy. It could just be that your dates are off.” That’s when I knew that this pregnancy journey had ended.
I explained to the doctor that we had taken a pregnancy test on September 28th and had not been intimate anytime following the positive pregnancy test. She agreed with me that my dates were not off and that it was likely that the baby had stopped growing a few weeks prior.
In one sense, I felt relief, because I was glad that it wasn’t an ectopic pregnancy, which is my biggest fear. But in another, I was in shock. I couldn’t believe that God had said, “No” to my prayers.
Jonathan was sobbing and I was just sitting there, speaking calmly with the doctor. She was very confused by my reaction, but Jonathan explained that I would react when I was alone. I don’t like crying in front of other people, and can usually hold it together very well. When I’m alone, it’s a completely different story.
She told us how sorry she was for our loss and even shared her own miscarriage experience. She also said that because I had already had one loss, she wanted to run a few blood tests. She sent me to the lab to get the blood work done and then home to see if I would miscarry naturally within the week. We planned to meet back in one week for a follow up ultrasound and to determine what we would do next.
I went to the lab and had my blood taken and then we headed to the parking lot to leave. As soon as I stepped outside of the doctor’s office, I put on my sun glasses and started to sob as we walked to the truck. It hurt so much. When we got into the truck, I really let it out. I was screaming and crying and hopelessly asking, “Why?”
The rest of the day was pretty much a blur. I just remember feeling like I had a really painful hole in my chest and I spent much of the day crying. And then in the afternoon, my doctor called and told me that my platelet levels came back low and she wanted me to return in the morning for more blood work. It didn’t sound very serious and I didn’t think it meant anything, so I didn’t think much of the conversation.
The next morning we went to get blood work, and then we came back home to go back to sleep and grieve.
To be continued in part 4.