You stand atop a mountain top, you take in a deep breath,
and you scream all the air out of your lungs.
What are you left with? A whisper no one heard-Me
^this is how I felt right after my second miscarriage, because I lacked the emotional ability to talk about what had happened that night.
I have wanted to figure out a way
to write about the night I had my, scariest, second miscarriage, but I can
never figure out how I want to word it; a lot of the time I’m afraid to place too
many details, and to be honest, I don’t have a very good memory of what
happened. I do remember losing a ton of blood, and being absolutely petrified.
The pain that came with each gush of blood was excruciating, and I felt like I
would pass out; there came a point I did start to lose consciousness. My
husband started to realize the severity when I lost more blood at one time,
then I had at any other point. (I’m trying not to get too graphic, just so you
get the point.) I was blessed enough to have a friend who could drop everything
and come over to be at my house while our son was sleeping; I will forever be
grateful to her for it. The drive to the ER is a bit of blur of panic and
extreme pain. Upon arriving to the hospital, I was bombarded with an insane
amount of questions. This was the point where I was losing so much blood that
all I could do was just calmly answer the questions to make the process as
seamless as possible; I’m sure my husband was throwing daggers with his eyes at
the poor nurse. I was FINALLY wheeled back into an examine room.
Here is
where I remember being in the worst pain of my entire life, and scared to
death. Can I just take a second to give my husband some serious praise? This
man remained incredibly calm and composed, you would never know how hectic the
situation was starting to become. He stayed by side every second, and made sure
I felt loved and safe. Now, back to my nightmare of a night. This is where
things really started to blur- I remember screaming/ crying for help due to the
pain, and the nurses running around frantically to find something to ease my
pain. I had lost so much blood, and was continuously losing large amounts of blood;
I was no longer able to sit upright without passing out. My nurse, God bless
this woman, began to badger the crap out of the doctors to make them give me
blood. She knew I wasn’t going to be able to produce enough on my own at this
point, and it wasn’t going to happen in a timely fashion either. As you could
tell, she was panicking, too. The doctors finally listened to her, and after
they got my bleeding under control, they came in to check on me. This idiot, I
mean genius, of a doctor asked my husband if this was my normal skin color… FYI:
My skin had completely turned gray, and my lips were blue; you be the educated
one here. My husband calmly, through his teeth, said, “No, she is not normally
gray”. The doctor put on his thinking cap and ordered me an additional pint of
blood.
Upstairs
the, let’s call them the blood fairies (humor me), worked on finding me a
match. Meanwhile downstairs, they gave me my informed consent, and the typical,
“it can be extremely dangerous to receive blood, and you could possibly die”
speech. Thanks… My other nurse was pretty kick butt, too. He told me he wasn’t
leaving my side, and would be checking my vitals every 15 minutes, until my
body had absorbed the first pint of blood. Once again, not the most reassuring
thing, but we will go with it. True to his word, this man never left my side.
Don’t worry, neither did my husband. We can cut to the end of this crazy night;
I am healthy now, but terrified to get pregnant again.
After this second miscarriage, I
struggled on how to wrap my head around what I was feeling inside. The first
two weeks I spent bouncing between needing to work out my anger and my husband
reminding me I had just been through a traumatic event. I was angry because I
lost control of my body, and my body lost the baby; definitely a vicious cycle.
Once I went back for my two week follow up appointment, the loss of the baby
hit me like a ton of bricks. I shut down. I mean I crawled into bed and sobbed
for hours and hours. Crossfit helped me reign in my anger and self-loathing, I
was able to channel my deep hurt towards something productive. There was a day
we had, I believe, 3 minutes to flip a tractor tire as many times as possible;
as I neared the end of my designated time, my friend Lexy yelled at me to dig
deep, and let out. I’ve never pulled from so much fire deep down in me as I did
that day; I can honestly tell you having her yell that at me made me push. I
needed that. That day, I left my anger with the tire, and took back some peace.
Ever since then, I leave my anger on the equipment, and walk away with my
peace. It has taken me a while to figure out how give everything there, and
walk away lighter than I walked in, but I am so glad I have. I owe Lexy a lot
for being there for me, even to this day; she is one kick butt friend.
If you
know me, you know I’m not an overly emotional sort of person.
BUT, I do have to say, that night made me love and care for my husband more
than I thought possible. I distinctly remember waking up with fright, if I
couldn’t feel his touch. He sat in an uncomfortable chair, in the middle of the
night, holding my hand so that I would feel safe. I truly love this man.
Update: Right
now, my loving husband is deployed, and I am left to wrangle my insane
household. There are days where I feel like I am drowning, but the better days
keep me afloat. I’m still terrified to
get pregnant again, and I really don’t want medical intervention to help the
process. I’m getting more serious about Crossfit, and enjoying the physical and
emotional strength gains that come with this amazing sport. Well, this is all I
have for today.
*I’m sorry if this is choppy, but this about how well my
brain held onto the memory of the night.
