I am not that someone....

I know that it has been months since I last posted, but a lot of life has happened since December, more life than I have probably ever lived.  I know my husband would rather that I just shut this blog down and move on, but I feel like I have a voice, and even if only my mom and mother in law are reading this, I want someone, anyone to listen. 

The line was really faint, but it existed. I was pregnant and I knew that my life would be forever changed.   That first morning was surreal.  I don’t know if anyone has been more excited than I was in that moment, and I wanted everyone to know just how excited I was.  All the baby books, internet searches and midwives in existence will say to wait, but I told everyone in my life that very day. I was not someone who lost her baby.  I was so happy, and wanted everyone that I love to share in that happiness. By the end of the next week, I already had my nursery scheme picked out, names on a list, and had spent more time than I care to admit in the baby section at Target. Come September, I was not going to be left unprepared. I was not someone who lost her baby.

We decided that we would have the baby in Lawrence, because we wanted a real Jayhawk. A good friend recommended a great doctor at Lawrence Memorial. So, when I called to make my first appointment, I was really concerned that she would not see me until I was at least 9 weeks.  Several Google searches later, I had learned that was normal and that I should just start taking a prenatal. The only real downside was my husband constantly joking that there was no way I was really pregnant until I saw a doctor.  My body, however, knew that I was pregnant. I don’t know if I ever had been more tired in my entire life. Overnight, it was like I had been hit by train. All I wanted to eat was frozen yogurt, so I ate my weight in frozen yogurt. By the time I hit the 8 weeks mark, I had already gained 7 pounds, but I was okay with all the weight gain and exhaustion because in the end I would have my own little Baby J.

Most of our friends have either already had kids or are really close to having their own. A little part of me always felt like a curious bystander to their lives, so for the first time, I felt like I could really belong.  I even volunteered to throw a baby shower for a friend, because now I was a member of the club. As her belly grew, I started to see the changes in her body that I couldn’t wait to have in my own.  When she would complain about elastic waistbands, I was actually envious of her being at that point in her pregnancy. 

The Tuesday before her baby shower, I started spotting.   Most women would have run to the ER, but I wasn’t most women.  I was not someone who lost her baby.  My life had sucked enough, it could not be happening to me. Adam was on a trip for work, so when I called him and told him what was going on, he demanded that I go straight the hospital.  Three hours later, I was at home with a hamburger gushing to my sister about how I totally overreacted and that I had seen just seen a normal, healthy baby on the sonogram.  The doctor told me that I had a slight bleed in my uterus, but that if I take it easy it should correct itself.  I spent the next day on the couch, letting my husband baby me, but thinking that everyone was overreacting. I was not someone who lost her baby.

I went to bed that Wednesday thinking that by tomorrow, I would totally be okay. I was not someone who lost her baby. At four am, I woke up covered in blood. I was someone who was losing her baby.  This time when Adam and I got to the hospital, everything was different.  Six hours later, I was at home with a hamburger, bawling and too afraid to call anyone.  Suddenly, I was someone who lost her baby. How could I call all these women, these mothers and explain to them that I had failed. I was someone who lost her baby.

Without my husband, I do not know if I could have survived those next few days.  Adam took on the awful task of calling everyone we know, and not once did he complain. He listened to me cry endless, and not once did he complain. He ate fast food every meal, and not once did he complain. He took care of the dog, and not once did he complain. He allowed me to grieve in my time and not once did he complain. I was someone who lost her baby. He was a father who lost his baby, but he had to be strong, because I fell apart.  

In between feelings of sadness, I was angry, angrier than I have ever been in my entire life.  I was someone who lost her baby. I did not deserve this fate. I deserved a baby. I was entitled to it.  I was mad at everyone in my life that had healthy babies.  I cancelled on my friend, the day before her baby shower, but I knew that I would be awful to her.  As irrational as it was, I was pissed that she was still pregnant and I was not. Mostly though, I was mad at myself. I was someone who lost her baby.

No one really knows how to deal with me now, and that’s okay. I do not know how to deal with me either.  They say things like, “you can try again” or “you were barely pregnant.” What these people don’t understand is that I don’t want to have to try again. I want to be pregnant now.  My baby was alive, I saw it. I heard its heartbeat, it was not “barely” alive it. It was my baby. I was someone who lost her baby.

The hurt is still very fresh, but I am slowly beginning to be okay. I still have moments of intense jealousy. I still look in mirror in morning and fight the self-loathing that bubbles just below the surface. I still cry, but I cry less. I am someone who lost her baby, but I am not someone who will let it break her.  I am forever changed, but I am still me.