I need to write this out for my sanity even though my emotions are still saying no. My brain has begged to get these words out since the day I miscarried but the task has seemed too daunting. I'm feeling so much closer to being myself and I know this is an important part of my healing.
The afternoon of my "missed abortion" diagnosis was spent at the hospital getting bloodwork for my RhoGam shot and at the Women's Clinic waiting for the hospital to fax over the results of the bloodwork so I could actually get the injection. I sat there for hours in a total daze thinking about my first doula client's prenatal appointment scheduled for that night and writing down everything I would need to discuss because I knew better than to trust my brain to remember any thing important.
Finally got back home and we broke the news to Henry. He was confused. Sad. And wanted to get back to watching his cartoon.......the Netflix crutch began that morning.....
I wrapped my brain around no longer being pregnant. Waiting to miscarry. Hoping it would happen fast. Obsessing over my achey back. Thankful for my healthy babies. Identifying the heavy feeling in my uterus and realizing it wasn't a pregnant feeling. It was a miscarriage feeling.
A sweet friend brought dinner over. We chatted. I felt normal.
The next morning, I woke up a wreck. My back was aching. I didn't know what to think. Mr. Messy decided to go to work and I enlisted my babysitting co-op to find a friend to keep my kids that morning. My instinct said the physical act of the miscarriage would happen that morning but I was so confused.
Lost. Tired. Sad.
As soon as the kids were gone and the house was quiet, I turned on our Mother India playlist and listened to the Hanuman and Shiva chants over and over again. My back cramps were becoming more intense and I was starting to bleed heavier.
I googled "waiting for a miscarriage" and immediately realized googling was not healthy at this point.
So I waited. I knew it was coming. I chatted on Facebook. I waited. I cramped. I bled.
Eventually, the cramps had me pacing the house. I pushed the thoughts of pacing the house during Liza's birth to a far dark corner of my brain.
Bleeding. Heavier. Heavier. Made sure I had my phone with me wherever I walked in the house because hemorrhage horror stories floated through my brain.
Rocking on the toilet. Cramping. Bleeding. Freezing cold even though I was wearing a sweatshirt. Wanting to puke but the trash can was full of dirty nighttime disposable diapers so I held it back.
Cramping. Bleeding. So thirsty.
Finally. A clot passed. Big. Apple sized.
Second clot passed. Not as big. Plum sized.
Praying it was over. Completely unsure of what to expect.
And that was it. I had a miscarriage. I was no longer pregnant and I was no longer carrying my dead baby.
I bled for 7 days and had a few more cramping episodes but nothing serious.
My body did what it needed to do.
Just sadness. Lots of sadness and feelings of being overwhelmed with the normal pace of my life.
And tired. So tired.