Well, if we're facebook friends, you saw my post about being home and comfortable.
If we're not, you may not know, but I had surgery last week.
I thought about posting a huge play by play explanation. I wrote it out, and then decided to keep it for my journal, but not post it.
So, instead, I'll just give a brief explanation of what happened.
Sorry it took so long, but I'm still healing (emotionally and physically), and everything is still raw.
Last Wednesday, I woke up, feeling nauseous. I had been struggling with an upset stomach for about a week, but it hit me as I threw up while brushing my teeth that this was no normal upset stomach... it felt an awful lot like morning sickness.
I had a pregnancy test in my bathroom closet, a left over from Ryan, and even though I knew I COULDN'T be pregnant I took it. The reason I KNEW I couldn't be pregnant was because I had had what I had labeled my first post Ryan period... and it had lasted for 3 weeks, my doc thought it was because the minipill was loosing ground and had put me on reg strength BC the week before. About when the nausea started... and that was when I had weaned Ryan too.
Well, the pregnancy test was positive. You could have knocked me over with a feather.
I knew that things were obviously WAY wrong if I had been bleeding... heavy... for 3 weeks.
And we WERE NOT TRYING, with no plans TO TRY again.
Seat belt fastened, safety bar locked... let the emotional roller coaster begin.
This was at 7 am, I had to wait until 8:30 for my doctors office to open, and during that time, all sorts of things ran through my head. Mostly the logical, anal retentive planner in me started adding up the cost of daycare, and the fact that our house was too small unless we finished the basement, and HOW BAD WAS it for a pregnancy to have lost THAT much blood?
And to be honest... there was part of me, a big part of me, that hoped that it would just go away. I know that sounds awful. How could I not want my child? I don't know. I honestly can't tell you. I can tell you that I am tired, that I haven't slept through the night since before Ryan was born. I can tell you that I feel overwhelmed right now. That adorable bundle of joy that we added to our family almost a year ago has not found his grove in our family yet... or rather, I haven't found my grove since he came. I wouldn't trade him for the world, but right then, I could not possibly face going through all of this again, not right now.
When I had found out I was pregnant with Evan, who was a birth control surprise, I cried for two weeks. It wasn't until they did an early ultrasound at just 8 or 9 weeks, and I saw his little heart pumping away, that I came to grips with my worries and concerns and started to get excited for a baby.
But while staring at those two pink lines, I couldn't imagine getting to that place again. Not right now.
My whole self hated the part of me that felt that way... and the guilt was almost as strong as the worry and the panic. You can tell me it's okay, "it's normal" to have those feelings, but I'm afraid there will always be a part of me that feels guilty for not wanting a baby that was already growing inside of me.
Not only was I struggling with the very fact that I was pregnant, but there was the worry. Whatever my body was doing, was not right for a pregnancy. Things were horribly horribly wrong, and that worried me. Not just because this was bad for even an unplanned baby, but I also had my boys and Mark to take care of too.
The day was a rush of tests, then waiting for results... The results of the blood work showed I was far enough along to do an ultrasound.
My appointment was at three, and my beautiful loving sister was there with me.
The tech was measuring my ovary (she had labeled it L OVARY on the screen, so there was no doubt where she was looking) when I saw the flutter. It was the same little flutter I had seen 7 years ago when they did an early u/s for Evan. It was the heart beat. And instantly, I knew. I can't explain the weird sensation of sorrow and relief that mixed into some weird emotionless response. I didn't want to press the tech, I knew she wasn't allowed to tell me anything, but there was no doubt in my mind that I had seen a little heart fluttering away,
outside my uterus.
The doctor confirmed it about an hour later as Sara and I sat in his office. I had an ectopic pregnancy. And it needed to be removed. We chose to do surgery because all of my test showed I was WELL into my second month, starting the third. I had a ticking bomb in my stomach, and it needed to be resolved immediately.
The next few hours were a rush of making arrangements. Again, I'm good at planning. It's really what I do best. I was able to squelch most of the emotion deep down as I made arrangements to get to the hospital and have the boys taken care of. I couldn't have done it without my sister and my dear friend Cecila. It is a wonderful thing to have people in your life that you can always depend on. Because of them, I was able to make it to the hospital right on time at 6 pm.
Mark met me there, and as soon as I saw him, I wanted to collapse into his arms... but those of you who know Mark, know that PDAs, in almost any situation, are just not his thing, so I held it together until we were along, and then we sat and talked for just a few minutes before they took my history.
Girls have that class about their bodies in school and are made fully aware of an ectopic and it's repercussions, boys don't. Having to talk to Mark about it was probably one of the hardest things I have done. I just remember the look on his face when he asked, "There is no way they can save it?" It still breaks my heart.
Needless to say, they took the baby. While I didn't want or plan for a baby, it hurts. And it comes at strange times. Mostly when I'm alone and the emotion can just sneak up on me in the quiet. Nights are hard. It hit me hardest on Friday, when I woke up out of a dead sleep with the realization that they had thrown my baby into a bio hazard bin. No baby, even if they are only 1/2 a centimeter long should be put in the bio hazard bin! But if they had asked me, I don't know what I would have done with him. And I think that hurts too.
I heard a commercial for storing cord blood the other day when I was driving home, and that made me burst into tears. I don't know why... and I'm pretty sure it's not ever going to make sense. I am sure that it gets better.
The fact that I can't make heads or tails of my emotions, am I happy? am I sad? am I ANYTHING? is driving me nuts...
My boss asked me how I was healing, and I said it gets better everyday... and then he said, no emotionally, how are you doing? and I said I've decided not to deal with it yet. For now, I'm healing physically, and when the need to cry comes, I cry. I'm firmly rooted in the denial stage right now. Not the denial that it happened, but the denial of the emotional side of it.
Don't worry, I know I will eventually go there... but for now, I just cry when I feel the need, and then push it all back away, into a neat little folder labeled "For Later".
To end on on a more positive note, we didn't really tell Evan what happened, other than mom had surgery. He told my dad that I have FOUR HOLES, but he only gets to see three of them because one of them is on my PRIVATES.
I'm pretty sure he's told everyone he knows this COOL fact about his mom, and her HOLES.
Thanks for all the well wishes. And thank you from the bottom of my heart to Sara and Cecila, for all their help.
Ryan is VERY curious... most curious about the mysteries of the one room he is NEVER allowed in. Most rooms in the house he's allowed to wander into, some only while supervised, but Evan's room is ALWAYS off limits (way to many legos and little toys). This, of course, means it's his FAVORITE room. It's one of the few things that will distract him from the fact I'm holding the camera...
