I do not like to rehash events, I do not like to show people my true feelings, and most of all I do not like to have sad, unstoppable things happen to me. I tell you this, so that you see that I have been hurt like no one should ever be hurt. I will also tell you, I'm typing this out so as to help myself recover. I'm doing a great job of covering up the sadness I feel everytime I hear someone is pregnant, or I see a baby. I can't help but cry on the inside when I hear these things. Sometimes, I want to scream, "Why me God? What have I done to deserve this?", but I don't. I had done about everything to stop myself from crying, when I found out that my cousin and aunt were both pregnant and due about around the same time I was. I have no idea what went wrong, or why it happened all I know is, is that it did happen . So on to the little flashback.
June First was a great day, it was a Monday, and I had spent the entire day with Patrick. That night was a little bit diffrent. I was spotting, had no idea why, and I was really scared. I knew something was wrong and I had voiced this opinion when I went back into the bedroom to lay down, but as I voiced this opinion I couldn't help but cry. Patrick was my saving grace that night, he did and said everything under the sun to let me know that everything was going to be alright, but I continued to feel panicked and slept fitfully that night.
June Second, Called my cousin up and had her take me to the ER. First time mom here freaking out, needed to make sure everything was ok. So, I walked into the ER at about 9 am, signed in and was about to sit down when they called my name. They already had room open and escorted me there (That's why I love Baptist East's ER). The nurse came in and as she was taking the blood for blood work she asked me why I was in. When I told her, she said that it was sometimes normal and that it would be a great day, she said this all with a very comforting smile. They did their tests (blood work, ultrasound, and pelvic examine) and it all showed signs of defeat. My attending doctor came in and told me that the baby stopped developing at 9 weeks (I was suppose to be 12) and there was no sign of a heartbeat. Even then I didn't break down (though I know that I was screaming on the inside). I let the doctor give his shpeal and while my discharge papers were being drawn up, I chatted about the weather with my aunt. I took my discharge papers and my prescription and headed out the door (about 5 hrs after I entered them). I knew I had to be strong, I knew that I couldn't do this alone, and I knew I need the one person who could deal with a major breakdown. I called Patrick. The day doesn't just end there, no there was definantly more in store.
About 3 to 4 hours after we learned about the baby, Patrick and I were sitting around with a couple of friends when I got a call from his sister, his momma passed away. It felt so unreal, as if this weren't happening too. I knew now that I didn't have time to be emotional, the one person I loved needed me to be strong more than anything else did. I let him drink, I packed a bag, and I kept telling myself, I need to keep thinking straight. By the time Chyna and Joel went home, I had a shot of pain and took the darvacet.
June Third, 7 am arrived awfully early but I still got up. We headed over to Wick's and I let him try and work, but there really was no success there. So we got in the car and made the 8 hour trip to his home.
June Fourth, now here's the kicker, I shouldn't have made the trip, though my OB/GYN told me I could as long as I had a backup plan. I was hoping to God that this would not be an even worse trip then it already was, yet I seemed to had rolled snake eyes. I ended up in the hospital at 9 am (possibly earlier) because I was in so much pain that I was throwing up and could barely walk. They stuck me with morphine (wish I had some of that right now) and I was semi-conscience until it wore off, and then the dosed me again. I spent around 10 hours there they sent me home with a prescription for vicodin since the darvecet wasnt helping and a shot of morphine and told me if it got worse or I bled alot come back. Well, the morphine wore off and before I could even put the vicodin in my mouth I was puking again (nothing but bile and acid). So, off the hospital again we go. They kept me over night and I had my DNC (or Dusting and Cleaning as its known on the streets) the next morning and by 4 pm I was out of the hospital and sitting in a funeral home, popping a vicodin and being told to sit down and not move.
This is where my story ends and I sit back and let a fresh wave of tears consume me. So give me a moment.
Now, I know I am not finished crying but I feel a tiny bit better. How do you cope with something as big as that week? How do you let yourself know that everything will be alright? and How do you know that you are not the reason for losing your child? You don't, there is no possible answers for these questions and there might never be. You never know how strong you are until you have been put in a situation that needs strength. I had not cried all of that week until Saturday night when I finally sat down and had a moment to think about everything. I let everyone else use me as support, they needed it more at the time. I will not post a single thing in the beginning of December for I will be to much of an emotional mess to do any such thing. My little girl would have been here on December 10th but now she is in Heaven and she has Grandma to feed her chocolate cake before bed and to watch over her. She is my little guardian angel. So, RIP Miss Chasity Marie and Grandma Carol. We love you.
Sorry, you guys for the heart wrenching story but I had to get it out of my system, tell somebody and make myself feel a little bit better off then I was. As I have hoped it helped to put it down on paper, well not quite paper. So as to let myself cry, I will sign off with a teary wave and an "I love you guys for listening."