It's been four years since Larissa's birth. It's surreal. It's still raw. It seems so long ago but still hurts like it was yesterday. Four years ago my heart was shattered into a trillion little pieces. Four years ago I never thought I would smile again or feel any joy.
Four years after losing Larissa I frantically work to prepare a monster bash for Austin's first birthday. It's bittersweet...cupcakes, balloons, banners and tears. Happiness and gratefulness for my precious one year old son and my almost three year old daughter. However, sadness lingers. A sadness and a longing for my precious firstborn whom would have been four. It's incomprehensible that I should have a four year old. She would have been four. She should be here and she should be four.
She gave us two little blessings that restored that love and joy that our shattered lives needed. Is it coincidence that Austin's birthday is the day before Larissa's? Or did she want to stop seeing us so sad on her birthday that she gave us Austin to bring us joy again? It's another question without an answer. That's what makes infant loss so devastating. We lost a lifetime with Larissa and are left with so much wonder.
Last year, I remembered Larissa in the same hospital on the same day we met her as I cuddled and nurtured our new bundle. I remember the pain I was in from my second C-section. It was an intense pain but was no comparison to the emotional pain we had endured three years prior. That pain is still there and it never goes away and we will never forget our precious newborn. However, on Larissa's fourth birthday I was sad and grateful. My heart, once again, feels a love so strong it hurts, but in a good way. I spent Austin's first birthday transforming our house into a monster bash so spectacular that there wasn't a monster detail forgotten. In between frosting cupcakes, cooking food and decorating, I remember our precious Larissa and the gifts she gave to us. I reviewed and revised her packets and we, as a family, delivered them to the hospital. We took Ambree to pick out balloons that we left at her grave. We put a cake balloon in the ground that Ambree very excitedly sang Happy Birthday to her big sister. Ironically, there were four candles on that cake balloon that Ambree proudly counted out loud. So yes, tears streamed down my face as Ambree sang to her big sister but I also smiled. I smile for what we have and I long for what we have lost.
Larissa's with us though. She watches over her sister and brother. I know they are the gifts she gave us. Every year on Larissa and Austin's birthday I celebrate all three of my children. However, even with the challenges parenting brings, I celebrate my kids daily. I recognize I have two little miracles at home and I certainly don't need a birthday to have a celebration. Each and every day with my babies is a gift and a celebration in and of itself.
Monday, November 17, 2014
Tuesday, July 8, 2014
Continues to Sting...
It will be four years in November that we lost our precious first born, Larissa, to full-term stillbirth. The loss of a child is a loss so deep that only another parent whom has lost a child can truly relate to that pain. Time doesn't lessen the pain, rather one builds a hard exterior to it. But that pain is carried by me daily. I experience that pain whenever my two living children hit a milestone, celebrate a birthday, make me smile or even when they frustrate me. But sadly, and more irritating than anything, I feel that pain and re-live my own loss with the birth of every newborn around me. It's certainly not because I feel resentment or jealousy toward any of the proud new parents, but because it's different for me.
When a new baby enters this world, I have flashbacks to the night I was scheduled to be induced with Larissa. Visions of the nurse frantically searching for the familiar 'swish, swish, swish' of life inside me as we heard the dreaded words 'there's no heartbeat.' Words and a night I put in a 'safe' place. A place created by me where I tucked that horrific, life changing night, for it to somehow rear it's ugly head every time a new parent welcomes their screaming bundle.
It's almost four years and I've had two more children since then, so people no longer protect me. I'm subjected to the excitement one would naturally feel as a friend, acquaintance and/or family member gives birth and everyone excitedly discusses the details of the birth and admires the new photos. I look and I discuss. Dare I say I'm even happy for the new parents? I am happy for them, but I'm so very sad. With every discussion regarding a new birth and every photo shared, I flashback to the first night I gave birth and what a different scenario panned out. I try to suppress the salty tears I feel flooding my eyes as I get away from the excitement, but those tears I shed for what I have lost. The greatest loss of all losses. We lost our firstborn. We lost the excitement of being a new parent. We lost the joy of bringing baby home, hearing her first cry, giving the first bottle, bath, her first steps...we lost a lifetime with our little girl.
So, when another couple welcomes their baby, I sadly recount all that I have lost. I'm the mom to three children, one which I was robbed of every opportunity to parent. I don't want to feel sad, but it's in me. It bubbles up to a point I'm unable to control and it overflows with those tears that I try so hard to suppress. Tears that represent the sting of losing a child. A sting that never fully heals and is always with us. A sting that may be duller on some days than others but a sting that reminds us of what should have been.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
November 14th 2013
I haven't neglected my blog by choice and certainly haven't failed to blog in light of what would have been Larissa's third birthday. Instead, we were celebrating this year in a new way. I was a day shy of 38 weeks pregnant three years to the date that we learned the devastating news that our precious firstborn had no heartbeat. So, on this sad date, I was in the hospital for a scheduled C-section, following an amnio that was completed two days prior to determine lung maturity.
Yes, three years to the date of the worst day of my life, we were back in the same hospital ready to deliver our third child. We arrived at the hospital with our usual anxieties surrounding our baby's delivery and this year I had a new fear of something terrible happening to me during the surgery. How can I not have a fear? Up to the delivery of this little baby, we have never experienced a 'normal' delivery per say. We entered the labor and delivery unit and passed that awful and familiar room in which I delivered Larissa. We were greeted by my OB and were told we were the only ones delivering at that time. Turns out, I was the only delivery that entire day.
Surprisingly, as they prepped me for my scheduled surgery, I felt oddly calm. Perhaps it was the date of our little baby's delivery or perhaps it was all that my baby had endured and survived in utero that made me feel it was going to be okay. Either way, I was calm and almost felt Larissa with us. The date of our baby's delivery was too ironic to not feel that Larissa had sent us this blessing.
Fast forward three hours after arriving at the hospital for prep before my surgery. We went into the surgery room and at 12:21pm, a little boy (yes, a boy) arrived safely and healthy, screaming (despite the cord being wrapped around his little neck). He was a healthy 8lbs 5oz and 20.5 inches long. We named him Austin...a name we finally agreed upon a few weeks prior to delivery. I had a feeling it was a boy as we never had agreed upon a boy's name with my previous pregnancies. It certainly didn't eliminate any shock from us, however, as during the amnio twice our baby was referred to as a 'she' which really made us ready to deliver another little girl. So, needless to say, we were surprised and had to adjust to having a boy. Boys diaper changes certainly are more of a challenge and man, can that little guy eat.
So, yes, three years to the date of learning the unthinkable about Larissa, we welcomed a new bundle into our lives. I sit and look at my little man in awe. His pregnancy brought with it many 'concerns' all of which turned out to be nothing. He truly is our little miracle and I have a new confidence that Larissa is truly with us. Like I said before, it's almost like I felt her presence during his delivery. She sent us this little miracle and Ambree just adores him. She is constantly giving him kisses and wakes in the morning asking for 'the baby.' If you asked me three years ago what I thought about life my sentiments were "Life is shit." This year, however, I've come to accept that life is filled with good and bad. Right now, things are good. I'll always long for my precious firstborn and miss her daily. However, we have a choice to stay in that horrific cycle of grief or to try to move on and somehow accept what we have been dealt. Well, I owe it to my two living, precious children to be present and alive for them and to embrace the joy that they have brought me. A joy I never thought possible to feel ever again...
Yes, three years to the date of the worst day of my life, we were back in the same hospital ready to deliver our third child. We arrived at the hospital with our usual anxieties surrounding our baby's delivery and this year I had a new fear of something terrible happening to me during the surgery. How can I not have a fear? Up to the delivery of this little baby, we have never experienced a 'normal' delivery per say. We entered the labor and delivery unit and passed that awful and familiar room in which I delivered Larissa. We were greeted by my OB and were told we were the only ones delivering at that time. Turns out, I was the only delivery that entire day.
Surprisingly, as they prepped me for my scheduled surgery, I felt oddly calm. Perhaps it was the date of our little baby's delivery or perhaps it was all that my baby had endured and survived in utero that made me feel it was going to be okay. Either way, I was calm and almost felt Larissa with us. The date of our baby's delivery was too ironic to not feel that Larissa had sent us this blessing.
Fast forward three hours after arriving at the hospital for prep before my surgery. We went into the surgery room and at 12:21pm, a little boy (yes, a boy) arrived safely and healthy, screaming (despite the cord being wrapped around his little neck). He was a healthy 8lbs 5oz and 20.5 inches long. We named him Austin...a name we finally agreed upon a few weeks prior to delivery. I had a feeling it was a boy as we never had agreed upon a boy's name with my previous pregnancies. It certainly didn't eliminate any shock from us, however, as during the amnio twice our baby was referred to as a 'she' which really made us ready to deliver another little girl. So, needless to say, we were surprised and had to adjust to having a boy. Boys diaper changes certainly are more of a challenge and man, can that little guy eat.
So, yes, three years to the date of learning the unthinkable about Larissa, we welcomed a new bundle into our lives. I sit and look at my little man in awe. His pregnancy brought with it many 'concerns' all of which turned out to be nothing. He truly is our little miracle and I have a new confidence that Larissa is truly with us. Like I said before, it's almost like I felt her presence during his delivery. She sent us this little miracle and Ambree just adores him. She is constantly giving him kisses and wakes in the morning asking for 'the baby.' If you asked me three years ago what I thought about life my sentiments were "Life is shit." This year, however, I've come to accept that life is filled with good and bad. Right now, things are good. I'll always long for my precious firstborn and miss her daily. However, we have a choice to stay in that horrific cycle of grief or to try to move on and somehow accept what we have been dealt. Well, I owe it to my two living, precious children to be present and alive for them and to embrace the joy that they have brought me. A joy I never thought possible to feel ever again...
Sunday, November 3, 2013
All too Familiar...
I felt compelled to blog as I have been meaning to log on for a few weeks now as I am approaching the end of my pregnancy, currently at 36 weeks pregnant. This is the time of pregnancy that first time moms are overwhelmed with the typical fears of delivery and bringing home baby. My fears go beyond that and my mind is constantly racing. Sleepless nights, irrational thoughts, constant worry and deja vu to my delivery with Larissa.
This Thursday, we will schedule an amnio to see if our baby's lungs are mature to deliver a few weeks early being that we lost Larissa at 40 weeks gestation. I did an amnio with Ambree, so my fears of something going wrong during the procedure are minimal. Instead, I'm overwhelmed with the fear that something is going to happen to either the baby or me during delivery. It will be three years on November 15th that we were forced to say 'hello' and 'goodbye' to our firstborn daughter on the day we finally got to meet her. Now, with the temperatures getting cooler, Thanksgiving and my due date approaching, I can't help but wonder, "what will go wrong this time?" Three years ago, I had no life in me and would have wished that I could leave this world. This time around, I'm so fearful something is going to happen to me during delivery and that my wish will be granted and I won't be here to raise Ambree and our newborn.
November, to me, is tainted. It's mind boggling to me the number of birthdays celebrated this month. In my head, it's an impossibility that any baby can be born alive during this month. Couple losing Larissa with my trauma and superstitions of the month of November, that I am now convinced I will be taken from this world in order to bring a newborn into it. I'm petrified. I'm hoping its just the trauma of my experience because believe me that trauma stays with you. For example, I'm uneasy when my husband takes Ambree out without me. I always think something terrible is going to happen and I won't be there to protect them. The irony of that situation is that Larissa was inside of me and I failed as her mom to protect her.
People keep commenting about Ambree adjusting to a newborn and Mike and I adjusting to two. What these people fail to realize is that after a full-term loss, those 'normal' fears are not what crosses my mind. Instead, I worry about my baby being healthy, arriving here alive and me surviving the C-section. Flashbacks to November of 2010 keep crossing my mind: being told there's no heartbeat, my husband crying beside me, me in denial and laboring and delivering to have my precious firstborn silently enter this world. And worst of all, cradling our baby in our arms to have less than a day with her before we had to say 'goodbye.'
I'll end this by saying that anyone whom has not walked in my shoes would think its crazy to think some of the thoughts I'm experiencing right down to thinking I should have a will prepared in case something were to go wrong. However, for any of you whom are reading this because you personally have experienced my pain, you know these fears and irrational thoughts are all part of the trauma of giving birth to death. I can only hope that these are indeed irrational fears and that my next post will be one of joy after our newborn's safe arrival.
This Thursday, we will schedule an amnio to see if our baby's lungs are mature to deliver a few weeks early being that we lost Larissa at 40 weeks gestation. I did an amnio with Ambree, so my fears of something going wrong during the procedure are minimal. Instead, I'm overwhelmed with the fear that something is going to happen to either the baby or me during delivery. It will be three years on November 15th that we were forced to say 'hello' and 'goodbye' to our firstborn daughter on the day we finally got to meet her. Now, with the temperatures getting cooler, Thanksgiving and my due date approaching, I can't help but wonder, "what will go wrong this time?" Three years ago, I had no life in me and would have wished that I could leave this world. This time around, I'm so fearful something is going to happen to me during delivery and that my wish will be granted and I won't be here to raise Ambree and our newborn.
November, to me, is tainted. It's mind boggling to me the number of birthdays celebrated this month. In my head, it's an impossibility that any baby can be born alive during this month. Couple losing Larissa with my trauma and superstitions of the month of November, that I am now convinced I will be taken from this world in order to bring a newborn into it. I'm petrified. I'm hoping its just the trauma of my experience because believe me that trauma stays with you. For example, I'm uneasy when my husband takes Ambree out without me. I always think something terrible is going to happen and I won't be there to protect them. The irony of that situation is that Larissa was inside of me and I failed as her mom to protect her.
People keep commenting about Ambree adjusting to a newborn and Mike and I adjusting to two. What these people fail to realize is that after a full-term loss, those 'normal' fears are not what crosses my mind. Instead, I worry about my baby being healthy, arriving here alive and me surviving the C-section. Flashbacks to November of 2010 keep crossing my mind: being told there's no heartbeat, my husband crying beside me, me in denial and laboring and delivering to have my precious firstborn silently enter this world. And worst of all, cradling our baby in our arms to have less than a day with her before we had to say 'goodbye.'
I'll end this by saying that anyone whom has not walked in my shoes would think its crazy to think some of the thoughts I'm experiencing right down to thinking I should have a will prepared in case something were to go wrong. However, for any of you whom are reading this because you personally have experienced my pain, you know these fears and irrational thoughts are all part of the trauma of giving birth to death. I can only hope that these are indeed irrational fears and that my next post will be one of joy after our newborn's safe arrival.
Monday, August 19, 2013
Hope...
Hope, a four letter word that packs a powerful punch. People often asked me how I got through the trauma of losing Larissa. Initially, I always believed I had no choice, but looking back, I did have a choice. I could have succumbed to my grief, refusing to look toward the future and staying in that horrific cycle of grief and despair. However, it was hope that gave me the courage to move on. Hope, that one day we would have another little blessing in our lives. Hope, that one day we would find a new normal. Hope, that one day our house would no longer be so quiet, but rather, filled with the cries of a newborn and later the sound of pitter-patter of little feet.
Without hope, I would have given up on the idea of becoming pregnant again and bringing home a healthy newborn. Believe me, it was easy to lose any hope, especially since we struggled to get pregnant again and everyone around me was giving birth to perfectly healthy babies. Once pregnancy was achieved, there was a huge part of me that felt I wouldn't really be bringing home a child, but it was hope that we would that kept me focused on a happy outcome. So, without hope I wouldn't be sitting here typing this while my almost 18 month old sleeps by my side. Nor would I be relishing in my expectant child's movements inside of me. Hope is what enabled us to welcome Ambree and it is hope that enabled us to be expecting another bundle of joy. It is that same hope that I cling to, that keeps me going during this current pregnancy, refusing to succumb to my past traumas and hoping that all will be well this time around.
I recently received an email from a very inspiring lady, named Heather, who came upon my blog and wanted to share her story of hope. She was diagnosed with cancer when her daughter was just 3 and a half months old and given 15 months to live. She refused to accept those odds, knowing she had to be around to raise her daughter and held onto hope that she would survive. Our minds are a powerful thing...Heather is 7 years post her devastating diagnoses and shares her story on the following link:
http://www.mesothelioma.com/heather/
Her story of hope is truly inspiring. I hope each reader takes a moment to check out her link and are inspired by her journey.
Anyone whom has experienced a traumatic event knows that devastating news is life altering and it's easy to give up hope. Heather mentioned in a email to me that her hope made her battle easier. My hope made my dreams of a family come true, so no matter where you are in your journey, don't lose hope. None of us can predict the future, but we can envision how we would like our lives to be. Envision a brighter future and hold onto that hope, even if it's just a little bit you feel right now...
Without hope, I would have given up on the idea of becoming pregnant again and bringing home a healthy newborn. Believe me, it was easy to lose any hope, especially since we struggled to get pregnant again and everyone around me was giving birth to perfectly healthy babies. Once pregnancy was achieved, there was a huge part of me that felt I wouldn't really be bringing home a child, but it was hope that we would that kept me focused on a happy outcome. So, without hope I wouldn't be sitting here typing this while my almost 18 month old sleeps by my side. Nor would I be relishing in my expectant child's movements inside of me. Hope is what enabled us to welcome Ambree and it is hope that enabled us to be expecting another bundle of joy. It is that same hope that I cling to, that keeps me going during this current pregnancy, refusing to succumb to my past traumas and hoping that all will be well this time around.
I recently received an email from a very inspiring lady, named Heather, who came upon my blog and wanted to share her story of hope. She was diagnosed with cancer when her daughter was just 3 and a half months old and given 15 months to live. She refused to accept those odds, knowing she had to be around to raise her daughter and held onto hope that she would survive. Our minds are a powerful thing...Heather is 7 years post her devastating diagnoses and shares her story on the following link:
http://www.mesothelioma.com/heather/
Her story of hope is truly inspiring. I hope each reader takes a moment to check out her link and are inspired by her journey.
Anyone whom has experienced a traumatic event knows that devastating news is life altering and it's easy to give up hope. Heather mentioned in a email to me that her hope made her battle easier. My hope made my dreams of a family come true, so no matter where you are in your journey, don't lose hope. None of us can predict the future, but we can envision how we would like our lives to be. Envision a brighter future and hold onto that hope, even if it's just a little bit you feel right now...
Thursday, July 11, 2013
20 Week Ultrasound
As I mentioned earlier, we had our 20 week scan today. I don't need to reiterate that with the exception of my bleed, all looks normal. I use that term loosely because pregnancy is not normal after a full term stillbirth. Last night, prior to my scan, I went on my good friend Google researching Trisomy 18 and 21. I somehow feel better knowing as much as possible about potential problems rather than being completely shocked when given the devastating news. The problem with my traumatic mind is that I can't let myself relax. I knew our baby is alive as I am able to frequently feel him or her move, but I didn't know what they would find on the ultrasound. So, I do research to be prepared. Prepared for those words..."sometimes these things just happen." I was told that with Larissa, after my miscarriage in the fall (a secret I kept very quiet, hence why I never posted about it), after my bleed, and when they thought I had an extra placental lobe during this pregnancy. I learned today, I don't have an accessory lobe, it's just my bleed still there.
En route to the maternal fetal medicine, I tried to calm myself down by thinking there's nothing I can do to change any outcome. However, that's just a coping mechanism. Had I been given terrible news today, I wouldn't have been calm. I would have been devastated. I try to emotionally distance myself from any pregnancy since Larissa, but that's hard. After all, my body is changing and my baby is wiggling. It would be against human nature not to feel some excitement and anticipation.
That being said, I'm due November 29th and with an early delivery like we had with Ambree there's a possibility of delivering on or around Larissa's birthday, November 15th. At my 8 week scan when we learned the due date, I was petrified. Now, I calmly try to tell myself we need something happy in November and this is what we were given. But, realistically, I keep hearing the prenatal nurses words stated to me when Larissa passed away...."You are number two. We always have a death in November, December and January." I can't help but think daily, am I going to become yet another November statistic? Will the nurse hand me my informational packet they now pass out to bereaved parents at the hospital?
Yes, 20 weeks pregnant with potentially 18-20 more to go. I haven't calculated that down to hours and minutes but it's a lot of time for me to worry and think the worst. This time around, when I'm thinking irrational thoughts, I admire my now 16 month old daughter, and try to believe that it is possible. She's here and well. We deserve it again so I need to start believing that.
En route to the maternal fetal medicine, I tried to calm myself down by thinking there's nothing I can do to change any outcome. However, that's just a coping mechanism. Had I been given terrible news today, I wouldn't have been calm. I would have been devastated. I try to emotionally distance myself from any pregnancy since Larissa, but that's hard. After all, my body is changing and my baby is wiggling. It would be against human nature not to feel some excitement and anticipation.
That being said, I'm due November 29th and with an early delivery like we had with Ambree there's a possibility of delivering on or around Larissa's birthday, November 15th. At my 8 week scan when we learned the due date, I was petrified. Now, I calmly try to tell myself we need something happy in November and this is what we were given. But, realistically, I keep hearing the prenatal nurses words stated to me when Larissa passed away...."You are number two. We always have a death in November, December and January." I can't help but think daily, am I going to become yet another November statistic? Will the nurse hand me my informational packet they now pass out to bereaved parents at the hospital?
Yes, 20 weeks pregnant with potentially 18-20 more to go. I haven't calculated that down to hours and minutes but it's a lot of time for me to worry and think the worst. This time around, when I'm thinking irrational thoughts, I admire my now 16 month old daughter, and try to believe that it is possible. She's here and well. We deserve it again so I need to start believing that.
Here We Go Again...
On March 22nd my husband and I found out we were expecting another bundle. We had been trying to conceive so it didn't really come as a surprise. However, it was a little bit of a shock when I peed on that stick and two pink lines had appeared. I guess I hadn't been expecting it so quickly. I'm always torn with emotion when I take a pregnancy test. I struggled with my luteal phase defect after Larissa and had to use Clomid to become pregnant with Ambree. Anyone whom has experienced any type of infertility at all knows its stressful peeing on that stick. Combine my history of infertility with loss and things become even more complicated. One pink line makes me think "Am I infertile again?" Two pink lines is followed by maybe five minutes of elation which is quickly replaced with "Oh shit, here we go again."
Yes, "oh shit, here we go again." Clearly, that is not a natural response to an upcoming pregnancy. I would assume only a few women or a pregnant teen experiences those same sentiments. However, pregnancy is terrifying for me. I relish in my growing belly often becoming larger than I should or at least larger than I care to be, but for me with each gained pound I feel reassurance that my baby is okay. Lets ignore the fact that often if 4 pounds are gained in a month, maybe one is my belly region and 3 my thighs, but I'm a trauma victim so it's expected one should gain weight when pregnant so that helps the battle of horrific thoughts racing in my mind.
I'm currently 20 weeks pregnant. I had my 20 week scan today and surprisingly all looked well. However, this pregnancy has not gone uncomplicated. At 11 weeks, I was at work (on a weekend, the Saturday before Mother's Day) and started to bleed. I called my husband and we went to the ER. Another problem with loss is that I hide my pregnancy as long as possible so we had to take Ambree with us to the ER since we couldn't ask anyone to watch her. I was there from 11:30 in the morning till 6:30 in the evening, finally learning at 3pm that our baby was still with us. I was absolutely prepared for the worst but weirdly I knew that at the time it wasn't the end of this pregnancy. I was just able to feel it. Believe me, it didn't stop me from crying or screaming "why me?" en route to the ER, but even through that I had a good feeling. Turns out I have a subchorionic bleed. It's a bleed that forms in the chorionic membrane. I actually had two, one up high by my placenta and one down low by my cervix. Now that I'm 20 weeks pregnant I can say that these typically cause no complications for the pregnancy. However, I bled again at 13 weeks from the bleed lower in my cervix and my bleed higher up is still with us. They typically reabsorb by 20 weeks, but can hang on until pregnancy. Of course, mine is hanging on. It's a little unnerving but I'm really trying to believe that we deserve this baby and have endured enough trauma and all will be well.
So, here it is for the world to read. I'm expecting again. Those are words I have yet to state to my co-workers, some friends and family. Our close family just learned we were expecting a few weeks ago. It all goes back to trauma. Most people pee on a stick and shout it to the world. Not a victim of full term stillbirth. We keep silent until people are gutsy enough to ask "is that a baby bump?"
Yes, "oh shit, here we go again." Clearly, that is not a natural response to an upcoming pregnancy. I would assume only a few women or a pregnant teen experiences those same sentiments. However, pregnancy is terrifying for me. I relish in my growing belly often becoming larger than I should or at least larger than I care to be, but for me with each gained pound I feel reassurance that my baby is okay. Lets ignore the fact that often if 4 pounds are gained in a month, maybe one is my belly region and 3 my thighs, but I'm a trauma victim so it's expected one should gain weight when pregnant so that helps the battle of horrific thoughts racing in my mind.
I'm currently 20 weeks pregnant. I had my 20 week scan today and surprisingly all looked well. However, this pregnancy has not gone uncomplicated. At 11 weeks, I was at work (on a weekend, the Saturday before Mother's Day) and started to bleed. I called my husband and we went to the ER. Another problem with loss is that I hide my pregnancy as long as possible so we had to take Ambree with us to the ER since we couldn't ask anyone to watch her. I was there from 11:30 in the morning till 6:30 in the evening, finally learning at 3pm that our baby was still with us. I was absolutely prepared for the worst but weirdly I knew that at the time it wasn't the end of this pregnancy. I was just able to feel it. Believe me, it didn't stop me from crying or screaming "why me?" en route to the ER, but even through that I had a good feeling. Turns out I have a subchorionic bleed. It's a bleed that forms in the chorionic membrane. I actually had two, one up high by my placenta and one down low by my cervix. Now that I'm 20 weeks pregnant I can say that these typically cause no complications for the pregnancy. However, I bled again at 13 weeks from the bleed lower in my cervix and my bleed higher up is still with us. They typically reabsorb by 20 weeks, but can hang on until pregnancy. Of course, mine is hanging on. It's a little unnerving but I'm really trying to believe that we deserve this baby and have endured enough trauma and all will be well.
So, here it is for the world to read. I'm expecting again. Those are words I have yet to state to my co-workers, some friends and family. Our close family just learned we were expecting a few weeks ago. It all goes back to trauma. Most people pee on a stick and shout it to the world. Not a victim of full term stillbirth. We keep silent until people are gutsy enough to ask "is that a baby bump?"
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