When Pregnancy Doesn’t Give You a Baby…

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Mr. D & Me 1982, pre-pregnancy

When I was young and in love,  I didn’t give much thought to having a baby, I just knew it would be “the next step” when Mr. D and I were ready.  Finding out we were going to have a baby was an exciting time!  Pregnancy came easy to me, I was in the best health, young, and eager to do everything “right”.   After all, how hard could this be?!?  Women all around me were sprouting baby bumps, and now it was going to be my turn!

The first trimester of my pregnancy was uneventful, I didn’t have morning sickness EVER, I slept when I wanted to (of course, around my full-time Army job!), and ate anything with abandon.  I bought a sewing machine, dreaming of all the things I would make Baby, changing decor and design ideas daily.  Mr. D and I could hardly talk of anything else, and we were excited to share everything with everyone.  Now, for some of you, it will be hard to imagine doing some of this without social media or internet access, and I do agree that news traveled slowly, but it traveled nonetheless!  These were blissful days for us…

At 20 weeks of pregnancy I was getting used to the “flutters” I felt,  meaning our Baby was growing and well.  Ultrasound showed Baby bouncing around and a strong heartbeat, although the pictures looked like a snowstorm to us, not the high-definition photos we see of our grand babies.  We felt relieved that the first trimester was over, and we got into Baby naming until we were dizzy with the choices.  I was wearing Army maternity uniforms at work, making my pregnancy “official”, and many friends at the Army hospital I worked at kept updated daily with Baby news, as did our families.  Mr. D and I were ready to start buying Baby “stuff” and had started to transform our spare room into Babyland.  Exciting days!

All was good, until….I noticed brown mucous when I used the bathroom.  Alarmed, I spoke to a good friend who had a child, and she assured me sometimes our pregnancy body changes can be daily, so I tried to calm myself.  I didn’t want to alarm Mr. D, so I paid extra attention to my body.  After several hours of no “flutter” feelings, I called Mr. D, who tried to remain calm, and my OB doctor.  He suggested I come into the office for an ultrasound, an easy way to put our minds at rest, so Mr. D picked me up for the trip to Doctor.  We arrived anxious, and we were quickly prepped for ultrasound.  When the ultrasound started, we strained to see any movement or hear any heartbeat.  The technician moved her wand through ultrasound jelly expertly on my belly, and Doctor got closer to the monitor.  Nothing.  No sound.  No movement.  No joy.  Silence from everyone.  I struggled to keep my eyes dry, as I do even now, 36 years later.

The minutes, days, and weeks after that devastating news thankfully are not fresh anymore, but the ache in our hearts hasn’t fully gone away, and I don’t expect it to.  Doctor felt it was best for future pregnancies if I let this “missed abortion” as he called it take a natural path, so we had to wait until I went into “labor” then I could get to the hospital and have a D & C to “clean out the uterus”.   I had to go back to work the next day after the ultrasound news, after all, there was no medical emergency, and I had to get my  Army “leave” time off approved, which took a few days.  Those days at work were agonizing…I didn’t want to see or talk to anyone, after all, I was no longer pregnant, and I was carrying around my dead baby in my belly, waiting for labor.  Friends and family tried to comfort us, but there really was no comfort to be had.  We barely talked, much less about the future, we just cried and held on to each other, the only sureness we had, EACH OTHER.

Ten days later we checked into the local hospital.  The Army hospital didn’t have a maternity ward, thankfully, so I could be “anonymous” and not answer too many questions at the local hospital.  I was put onto the maternity floor, awaiting my D & C, when a kindly nurse recognized that I would be “more comfortable” on the surgical floor, far away from the sound of baby buggies making their way to new parents and the joy that comes with their births.  At some point I was totally alone, Mr. D left in a waiting room, alone with his thoughts, as I awaited the trip to surgery.  I prayed, a real heartfelt prayer to God, not blaming him, but asking for the strength to get up and go on.  I wasn’t sure if he was listening, but I knew I couldn’t get up with my own strength.   When I got out of anesthesia, Mr. D and I were told that all “went well” and that I would spend the night in the hospital then return to “normal activities”.  We drove home in silence, and I climbed the stairs to our bed, but sleep wouldn’t come easily, a pattern that lasted months, no matter how many hours or days I took to the bed.

There was no support group to join for a “first miscarriage”, and Doctor assured me that sometimes “these things happen with no explanation”.  Mr. D and I tried to not hope too much on the next pregnancy, but still it was hope.  I returned to work within a week, and tried to not meet the eyes of anyone.  I knew many pitied me,  and many tried to console with “next time” or “you’re  young” reassurances, but I was numb to it all.  I noticed every pregnant belly everywhere we went.  I tried to be “happy” for other’s news about their pregnancies, but I was so sad.  My body had betrayed me and expelled our baby, and now milk flowed from my breasts with no baby to feed.  I cried over and about everything…I had bought “baby” laundry soap, and now had to look at the label staring back at me, and no baby clothes to wash.  Mr. D gave away the laundry soap, returned the unopened crib and packed away the baby decor trying to spare me.  I felt like a failure as a woman, a mom, and a wife.  I was suffering with depression in silence and felt alone even with others around.  Always a strong-minded woman with a good listening ear myself, I felt that sharing my feelings with a listening ear would show that I was “weak”, and not able to “handle” life’s challenges.  Truthfully, there weren’t many ears I would have poured my heart out to, so I tried to write down my feelings, only to feel more sadness when I reread my thoughts.  I felt that others were afraid to hear my story, afraid that this could happen to them if they got too close to me.  How could I go on?!?  What would be next?!?

Questions I’m sure many of us have had for many reasons…but we CAN go on…asking for help was the first step of many needed to heal myself.  I needed courage and strength to ask for help for ME.  I spoke to God again through prayer, begging Him really, and then I poured my heart out to Doctor, a decision that put me on the path to healing…