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Heather's Diary Entries Diary Navigation: Choose A Diary Entry -------------------- Latest Entry: 9/12/00 -------------------- 4/6/00 1/5/00 12/21/99 12/14/99 12/1/99 11/22/99 11/8/99 10/19/99 -------------------- Heather's Introduction

April 6, 2000

Hello Everyone,

I want to start with a sincere apology for my recent absence from my diary. Several of you expressed interest and concern about where I was, and what was happening with my pregnancy. I am so sorry that I left you hanging, so to speak. I hope that you will understand though, once you have read through this entry, which promises to be quite long. Bear with me!

I believe that I left off by saying that I had my first midwife's appointment for a few days later. I also mentioned that I had experienced some spotting, but that I wasn't too terribly concerned and it had subsided. I had been trying to sound not too worried, but deep in my heart, I was. What I did not mention is that I also ate a lot of sugar that day, trying to make every effort to get the baby to move. But nothing seemed to work; there was not even the tiniest of flutters, which just isn't normal for a fourth pregnancy at 19 weeks. I made it through the rest of that day and night without any more spotting, but the following morning, it started up again. This time I called the midwife's office. They wanted me to come in that evening and see one of the OBs, just to put my fears at ease. "Spotting is old blood," the nurse told me, "and we generally aren't concerned unless it's bright red." But a few hours later, it was bright red.

I called back, and the nurse told me that if it were her, she'd go to the ER. I called my husband at work, and asked him to come home and drive me. I got the children and myself ready in a daze. I wondered why I even bothered with makeup, since I was crying it off as fast as I could put it on. I posted on my Due in June board, telling them to please pray, and while their responses were filled with hope, I felt a painful absence of it.

I arrived at the ER around 1 p.m. They took me back into a room, where I changed into a gown and laid on the table waiting. Waiting for someone to tell me that this was just a bad dream, that I was just another hyper mother, worried silly over nothing. I dreamed of telling my baby one day what a scare she'd given me, how that was the first time I'd ever heard her heartbeat. And I prayed harder than I'd ever prayed in my life.

A woman doctor finally came in. I was relieved to see another woman, and she was wonderfully kind and understanding. She did a quick check on my belly, asked some questions, and then told me a nurse would be in with the fetal dopplar.

"Now, I don't want you to get too nervous if she can't find a heartbeat right away," she admonished, "Our nurses here aren't maternity nurses, and they don't do this everyday. So don't get too concerned if it takes longer than you are used to."

The nurse appeared a few minutes later, and started rubbing that little wand over my belly. I stared at the holes in the ceiling tiles, trying to make out grotesque faces in the patterns, anything to keep from focusing on the fact that this nurse was taking much too long, never mind what the doctor had said. And suddenly, I just knew. I wanted to scream at her, "Stop, you aren't going to find anything. My baby is dead!!!" But I said nothing, and just bit my lip instead. She finally gave up trying, but still seemed hopeful that the ultrasound would do a better job. I knew better.

They wheeled me off to ultrasound, down the halls. I felt so obvious, and hoped that no one would notice me. The girl who took me to the little office was very sweet, and I liked her instantly. I knew she'd be up front with me. She got me all settled in, and began to run the wand over my belly again, while punching at the keyboard. I watched her face very closely, and my worst fears were confirmed. My little baby was indeed gone. She took my hand, and looked at me, and said, "You know, don't you?" I nodded, and the tears just slipped out and ran all over my face. She gave me a box of tissues, and then told me that the baby was only measuring about 13 weeks. I was stunned. The baby had been gone for six weeks? And it all began to fall into place. She asked me if I wanted a picture, and I said yes. So she printed up a black and white of my little angel, who for all the world looked like she was smiling. I clutched at it while they wheeled me back to my room, where my DH and children were waiting for me.

I gazed into my husband's eyes, my own still filled with tears, and answered the question he already knew the answer to. He held me while I sobbed, a pain piercing a place in my heart I never knew existed before. Julia asked what was wrong, and when we told her, she burst into tears and refused to be comforted. I felt as though I'd let her down, let us all down.

We went to the doctor's office after that. The OB who was now in charge of me seemed to be a solid doctor, and was sympathetic. She gave me two options: a D&C, or wait to miscarry on my own. I decided on the D&C, but changed my mind later. Without health insurance, we just could not afford to have the procedure done, and I was also terrified of having surgery. So I made the decision to wait it out.

The days and weeks following were terrible. I spent long hours crying, crying in the shower, in my bed, on the couch. I retreated into myself, and would not answer the phone, nor speak to anyone who was not capable of understanding my pain. My husband was wonderful, and took care of the children and dinner. He was brokenhearted as well; he had wanted this baby so much, and he felt the loss quite painfully. It was a dreary time for us all, to say the least.

We had all felt all along that the baby was a girl, but none of us could be sure. I finally asked God to show me one way or another, and I had a dream one night that the baby was indeed a girl. That was all I needed, because I wanted to name her. And I did: Sophia Marie. My little angel.

What I did not tell any of you when I first started this diary was that my second pregnancy also ended in a miscarriage. It was a blighted ovum, and it occurred while I was nursing my first child, so no one ever knew that I was pregnant. I was seven weeks along when I miscarried, and I suppose I never really dealt with the pain. Nor did my DH. So on top of all the pain we were feeling with Sophia's loss, we were also processing the pain of losing our second born. I had always felt that that baby was a boy, and so we named him Josiah, the name our first daughter would have had had she been a boy. It brought a small amount of closure, but the pain was still so raw.

I would like to say that I went on to miscarry within the next few weeks, and the ordeal was over, but it was really just beginning. But that's too long for this entry, so I think that I will make it part two, of this, my final entry.

Heather