Guilt

I did not do much, besides cry on Wednesday or Thursday. Friday was pretty much the same story, but since I still had not started bleeding I called Dr K. She gave me 3 options: wait and see, take a pill that makes you miscarry (which would make me bleed), or have a D&C. Waiting would be ok, no huge risks with my health to wait it out awhile longer. The pill should work, but might end up requiring a D&C anyways. The D&C would be fast and get it done right away, no waiting involved. I had to choose.

I didn't want to wait because I was hoping that if I just got it over with I might be able to start putting the pieces back together emotionally. I didn't want to do the pill because for some unknown reason, it felt wrong. I also didn't want to do either of these options because I didn't want to go to the bathroom and find pieces that I knew were my little baby and have to flush the toilet. I didn't want to have a D&C either because I didn't want to choose to have my baby taken from my tummy. I didn't want to be in this situation, and I didn't have the clear head to make a decision. Luckily, Dr K knows me well enough that she made a decision for me. D&C.

The guilt set in instantly. Why would I have a procedure done to take my baby that I never wanted to give up? Why would I elect to have this baby now when I shouldn't be for another 7 months? But why would I hold onto the tiny little body inside me when it's spirit was already gone? I cried some more and called M to let him know.

My D&C was scheduled for 3:30, so we go to the hospital at 3:00, just as a pregnant lady was waddling out of the doors. I wanted to push her over. I tried to stay strong, but when we walked into the surgery area and the nurse said she would take care of me and she was sorry to meet me this way, I lost it. I started bawling as M hugged me. I'm sure I scared a lot of the patients there, but I couldn't control it. They asked me a bunch of questions, took my blood, and started an IV. Before the wheeled me in M kissed me a few more times. The nurse was really sweet and told me it was ok that I was crying, ok that I was upset because I should be. This was a big deal and not to be taken lightly. I was crying so hard that I entered the surgery room and the anesthesiologist instantly put me under.

I woke up tired and groggy and fell back asleep. When I woke the second time they told me I had to go to the bathroom before I could leave. I really didn't have to go so I drank some juice and got up to try. The cramping pain in my ovary was so extreme I had to sit back down. Slowly I made my way to the bathroom and was able to pee a little. I got dressed and we headed home. Actually, to the store to pick up my pile of prescriptions  then to McDonald's to get some ice cream, then home.

MIL had stayed with the kids when we went in, and my SIL was there with her when we got done. They hugged me and I tried to be cheerful, but I kind of didn't care to be. I know they understood though. They didn't stay long and then it was just us. I laid on the couch, my body numb from pain pills, my mind blank. M got me to go to bed and I slept pretty good, waking once for about 2 hours and finally crying myself back to sleep.

The weekend passed in a blur of tears and pain pills. M got me to get dressed and take a drive on Sunday which was actually nice and I think helped a little. I am trying. I don't want to be depressed and laying on the couch crying all the time. I have a family and people I love that love me. I need to be there for them, and moping around isn't going to help anything.

Its been a week now, and I still cry daily. I think about our baby everyday, all day. I think about enduring the next 7 months knowing that I shouldn't be having this drink, or taking the kids on that fair ride, because I should be pregnant. Of my due date, the day before our 3 yr anniversary. Using the double stroller my mom bought us for Pumpkin and L, instead of L and BB3.

People tell me it happened for a reason. Maybe, but I can't see it, or understand that reason. Why give it to me if you are just going to take it away. People say it wasn't a baby. Bullshit. It was. It had hands and feet, eyelids, and a beating heart. Weak, but beating. People tell me time will help. Yes, it will help, but it will never heal. People say they are there for me, but they don't really want to sit on the couch with me while I cry for hours on end.

I'm angry that life is continuing on around me. I need it to stop for a little bit so I can regroup and start fresh. I am angry that God gave us something and then took it away. I am angry that I will never get the answers I want, or need. I am angry that I no longer have my baby.

And I am sad. Sad beyond words.