Life After Loss

I've attempted to write this a handful of times in the last few months but haven't been able to finish until now. There's no real easy way to broach a heavy subject like this so I'll just say it -- three and a half months ago I suffered a miscarriage 8 weeks into my second pregnancy. Honestly, it's taken me a long time to actually say those four words.

I had a miscarriage.

At first it was, "I was pregnant, but we lost the baby."

Then, "I lost the baby at eight weeks."

About a month ago, I reached the point where I could simply say, "I had a miscarriage."

And maybe that's why I'm finally able to write this.

Brian and I are planners (especially when planning our family) and as such decided, even after finding out we would be moving to Germany instead of Colorado Springs, we still wanted to expand our family around the same time we had originally planned, spacing roughly three years between Ellie and her younger sibling. I thought it might take a few months to get pregnant the second time around which was the case with some of my girlfriends. However, just like with Ellie, we were fortunate to get pregnant on the first try around the middle of April. I took a pregnancy test to confirm what I suspected had already occurred and was excited -- and maybe a bit smug -- to see that second line show up.

Within a few short weeks, I was in the throes of early pregnancy symptoms which were far worse than those I had with Ellie. I was nauseated constantly although thankfully never got sick. Nothing sounded remotely appetizing. My boobs were incredibly sore. Even after restful nights of sleep I was exhausted. I called my OB to schedule the first pre-natal appointment and was caught off guard when they said an appointment was available around the seven-week point. I was under the assumption that they preferred to wait until eight or nine weeks and likewise I would have rather waited until nine weeks or later to confirm a heartbeat, but they assured me that coming at seven weeks wasn't too early and put me on the schedule.

At our seven-week visit my doctor (one of four in the practice who also delivered Ellie) did the routine first ultrasound and measured the baby at just shy of six weeks, which wasn't surprising considering neither Brian nor I are very big/tall people and seem destined to make tiny babies. We got to see our little peanut on the ultrasound screen along with what our doctor supposed might be the beginning flutters of a heartbeat. She gave me a due date of January 11, 2014 and sent us on our way with an ultrasound picture, bag full of new baby supplies, pamphlets and (as I predicted) a two-week follow-up appointment for another ultrasound to check the baby's growth and heartbeat again.

Over the next two weeks, we began packing for our months-long road trip. Still feeling pretty sick and very tired, I managed to pack Ellie's suitcase as well as mine. My suitcase was a little more complicated -- with the knowledge that I would be at the half-way point in my pregnancy when we arrived in Germany, I made sure to pack both pre-pregnancy but mostly maternity clothes to accommodate what would be a growing bump during our travels.

Our last week in Tucson was a hectic one. We moved out of our house and into the temporary base housing (aka TLF) on Memorial Day, then spent Tuesday having the house packed up. Oh and by the way, I ripped the rocker board off the van after rounding, then hitting, a curb on our street that I've taken a zillion times in the last three years. I had no idea what a rocker board was until that week and, luckily, it was an easy fix that didn't require any new parts but just added to the chaos. Wednesday was spent running last minute errands since my follow-up appointment was the next day.

Thursday morning we showed up to the doctor's office and waited. And waited. We were brought back where I had my vitals done, and sat down in the back waiting area. Where we waited. And waited. Finally we were taken into the ultrasound room and were met by Dr. Dave, my favorite OB in the practice (the husband of the doctor who delivered Ellie). After a quick hello, he reminded me of his no-nonsense approach -- he's not, shall we say, a sugar-coater -- which I don't mind and truthfully appreciate.

I have to interrupt here to say that, up until that moment, I may have had some foreboding feelings about this pregnancy. I can't explain why but I had an inkling that something wasn't right. For instance, I had watched the film version of "What to Expect When You're Expecting" during those first few weeks and aside from the fact that it was a pretty awful movie, of the four pregnancy story lines featured, the one that stuck out the most to me was the one in which the character has a miscarriage. I also had an acquaintance go through a miscarriage a few weeks before I found out I was pregnant. I kept telling myself that everything was fine, but was scared to death that for some reason I was going to experience the same outcome. Maybe hindsight seems much clearer because of what did happen. I had similar concerns initially when I was pregnant with Ellie which faded as my pregnancy progressed, but with this pregnancy they felt more concrete.

As Dr. Dave prepared for the ultrasound, I kept praying to see that little heartbeat so I could stop feeling so neurotic about everything. He found the baby (which had grown since the last visit), but as he searched and searched for the heartbeat that should have been there I felt a sinking feeling that only grew with each passing second. Then he said, "This is bad. This is really bad."

At that moment, I felt the same rush of heat to my cheeks that I always do in moments of anxiety or distress as my worst fear was realized. Our carefully thought-out plan, the idea in my head of how things were "supposed to be," had been shattered. The life that only moments ago we were so excited about was now gone and I just couldn't wrap my head around it.

The only thing left to talk about were options. For a doctor who doesn't sugar-coat things (and really, how can you possibly sugar-coat a situation like this?), Dr. Dave was so compassionate as he explained our possibilities and the risks and advantages of each. He reassured me that there was nothing I could have done to change the outcome; it was most likely a chromosomal defect. Knowing that the wait for nature to take its course could take anywhere from a few days to several weeks, and with our trip to Hawaii only three days away, I opted to have a D&C procedure the next morning. I'm not saying it's for everyone, and my doctor would not have provided it as an option unless he was 100% percent sure there wasn't a heartbeat, but it worked for our particular situation. Personally, I would have been an emotional wreck waiting for the inevitable to happen, not to mention we were no longer in our own home but in a random base TLF. I also didn't want to risk a potential emergency situation on the five-hour flight to Hawaii and besides (my doctor agreed), it seemed like Hawaii would be the perfect setting to do some physical and emotional healing.

Once my doctor had left the exam room, the tears that had at first only trickled down my cheeks as we discussed options gave way to a flood. Brian put his arms around me and we sat there for several minutes in silence as I cried. We had planned to call my parents after the appointment to give them the news that we were pregnant again. Instead I called my mom and, through sobs, told her, "This was supposed to have been a happy phone call," and explained what happened. She just listened as I cried, comforting me as only a mother could from hundreds of miles away. Talking to my dad helped alleviate some of the fears/concerns I had about having the D&C. From a medical standpoint he agreed that it would provide more definitive end and perhaps swifter closure, whereas even natural miscarriages don't always end well and sometimes still require a trip to the ER.

That afternoon we spent calling a couple of friends -- my friend Tara who without hesitation offered to watch Ellie in the morning while we were at the hospital, and our other friend Kyle to facilitate the express shipment from our TLF room that we had scheduled for the next day. I was able to include all the maternity clothes I had originally packed in that shipment to avoid having to carry them around the entire summer, what would surely have been a constant reminder of the loss we had experienced. I can't say enough great things about our military family. The friends who rally to your aid at a moment's notice and don't even think twice about it. They just do, and know you would do the same for them. There aren't enough thanks in the world for the support they gave us that day.

We woke up early Friday morning and dropped Ellie off at Tara's, then drove to the outpatient surgery center for our 5:30am check-in. The staff were so kind and empathetic and I had a wonderful, caring nurse and anesthesiologist. The procedure itself was routine and went well according to my doctor, although I won't soon forget the feeling of waking up afterwards in tears, knowing that it was all done. Far less expected were all of my pregnancy symptoms vanishing within hours of leaving the hospital. After having virtually no appetite for weeks I devoured an In-n-Out burger in record time and cried afterwards, knowing what my ravenous appetite meant. My pregnancy was over.

Hawaii, as well as staying the Hefrons on the way up and back, proved to be one of those perfect "right place, right time" situations. Yes, there were many moments when I was caught unawares by the gravity of it all, and would allow myself to cry, but it was far better to heal in the presence of family and good friends with the beauty of Hawaii serving as the backdrop rather than within the confines of a random TLF. I am so blessed to have an understanding husband and daughter who, despite Ellie having no comprehension of the situation, kept me grounded and gave me purpose. I took a much-needed break from Facebook (merely typing that seems so ridiculous and trite, but it's true), for as happy and thankful as I was for my girlfriends who were enjoying healthy pregnancies or had precious new babies to cuddle, seeing the abundance of pictures and updates all over my screen when I logged in proved too much to handle.

Sitting here, months later, I can confidently say I've healed both physically and emotionally and life is back to normal... as normal as life can be with a highly energetic toddler. As far as the physical healing went, aside from some expected swelling I felt fine within a few days of the procedure. Obviously the emotional healing takes far longer. In fact, I didn't anticipate tearing up as much as I did while writing this. On the other hand, I wasn't completely surprised by how soon after the fact I was able to really laugh again -- maybe a week and a half -- and how good that laughter felt, another testament to the quality time spent with friends and family.

My doctor recommended that we wait a few months to give my body a chance to fully heal and get back on track before trying to get pregnant again. Right after the miscarriage I was desperate to get pregnant again, but being in Germany that desperation has ebbed and I'm enjoying our new life without dwelling on the past or being overly focused on what's to come. While Brian and I are still planning hopeful to have another child (but don't count on hearing anything from me until I'm in the delivery room!), this experience has been a lesson that we can only plan so much and the rest is out of our hands. Whatever shape it takes, though, I know there is life after this loss -- and what a truly wonderful life we have right now.