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
^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.