The Loss

Misscariages are seen as so taboo, no one ever talks about it, they just bottle it up, cover it up or pretend it never happened. I decided to share my story. Yes, it graphic. Yes, It's upsetting, if you can't handle it, don't read it.
During our second year together, we found out we were pregnant. This was scary. I was very sick at the time, was undergoing a lot or medications, tests and what not, and this just seemed to throw everything off even further. I was in pain constantly and my Dr. constantly asked if I'd considered alternatives, or if I was sure I wanted to try to go through with it. I reassured them all, every single time, even when I was in the nasty, tie-up-back, itchy gowns for the millionth time, or going through the mri machine, that of course, I wanted to let this baby live.
Unfortunatly, just days after we'd picked out a name, (A lovely unisex one, because we were going to wait to find out what the baby was.) I went out to visit my mom, and that night, I woke up bloody. I called Lev bawling, asking what I should do, who to call, where to go. We were hours from any hospital and  I felt like my body was draining me. I could barely walk. I felt the baby bump and I knew something had gone terribly wrong. But I talked to the baby like if I just encouraged it a little more, a little louder, (s)he'd make it for me. I woke my mom and she drove me to the hospital. I showed up bleeding more than I knew was ever going to be okay, if not for the baby, for myself. They did an exam, and said that the baby could very well just have lost a twin. That the baby had a heart beat. I felt a gush of releif. They just had two more tests to run before we could leave. This is where things get fuzzy. I remember Lev holding my hand as the dr.s walked in, us both smiling with relief that our baby was going to make it. I heard something, and then nothing. My ears felt like they were bleeding. I felt Lev's grip tighten up on my hand and he pt his other hand over the hand he was holding. I walked out and felt like nothing. I felt nothing. We came out to the lobby and  my family looked at us, and Lev nodded no and handed me over to my father. He hugged me and I knew. I knew my little baby was dying. That even though she is alive now, she won't be soon. I was shuffled around the parking lot while my family decided which car to put me in to take me home. They were trying to arrange all the kids so that I wasn't in the car with any of them, when suddenly my stepmom suggested that maybe I'd want to be near a little kid, so that I can 'heal'. This went on for about 20 min. Finally, I was put in the front seat with my stepmom of the little red car. She glanced at me every 30 seconds, and finally said, "we're going to go get you some pads, some chinese and a few movies. Lev went with Dad for a bit and they'll be back soon. Dad's going to stay somewhere else and Lev and you can stay in the girls' room." I just stared out the window. Looking at all the people that were doing things my baby would never do. Looking at the rainbow from the rain the day before, thinking, "Riley will never know what it's like to play in the rain." And so many similar thoughts.

That night, the pains peaked, and Lev presented me with a jar while I was bleeding on the toilet, and informed that the dr wanted him to get me to collect the baby and put it into the jar, and take it into the office, to be studied. I was so disgusted with the thought, I thought I would throw up. Here was my baby, just trying to grow and live inside me, waiting to be loved and wanted like every other baby, and my body was rejecting it. My body was draining all the lining and amniotic fluid until the baby suffocated and died, and then it, too, would be 'passed'. I cried all night, I was in pain, but worse yet, my baby was dying.  Women were biologically built to make and birth babies, but not me. I was built to conceive them, and then kill them. I wondered all night, when would it be dead. When would the heart beat stop. Would the heart beat stop before it came out?

Lev got me chinese and rented some movies to try to take my mind off of the whole process. But everytime I saw the characters' dillema's in the movies, I became irate. Who gives a shit if Miley Cyrus' boyfriend is the one who set the church on fire? MY BABY IS DYING. I wanted to die with the baby. I felt like I deserved to. I wanted to. I hoped I'd go to sleep and never wake up again. Lev held me through the night and some time around 5 am, I got up and went to the bathroom, the pains had gotten so bad and I'd soaked a bed, and suddenly the pain let up but I felt like I was going to be sick. I ran to the bathroom, and pulled down my pants.

There she was.

My tiny baby.

Still. Motionless.

I held her and cried for what felt like an eternity. I looked at the jar and wondered, what do I do with her now? I refused to jar her and let people pull her apart for science's sake. I cried for years. For an eternity. I wanted to make her better. I wanted to make her live. I knew I couldn't though, so I wanted even more to just die with her. To just close my eyes and leave, too.

Lev came for me after about 30 min and cleaned me up. He stripped the bed and handed me new clothes, we laid there for an hour or two, just thinking. Week later, we had at least gotten to where we could go into public and I could not have a panic attack. And a year later, I still cry sometimes thinking about it, but I've accepted it. If your going through a misscarriage, just know that it gets better. Not "all" better, but better.