I know this is only my second blog post, but in lieu of
recent events, I guess the best way to go about writing this is to just come
straight out and say it. It’s difficult to put into words, even though many
people that know me, know I’m quite the talker. ;) I thought it best to talk about something that
happened to me and my family recently, something very serious. My husband,
James and I aren't ones to talk about our personal lives much, least not on
social media. We tend to keep personal
things between us or we just share it with family and friends. I will try to keep it straight to the point and
as clean as possible. There’s a lot that
has happened, so be prepared for some reading. >.<
Not a lot of women (or their significant others) tend to
discuss this often, for fear of…whatever; fear of judgment, rejection or just
fear of the uncertainty of finding the right words to discuss it. Sometimes it is just a private matter that is
kept personal within the family. This
difficult topic is: Pregnancy loss; miscarriage.
James and I have wanted to have one more child…just one
more, to help complete our little family.
We relished the idea of having a sibling for our other two
children. I’m not old, but definitely
not as young as I used to be (I’ll be 37 this year.) I was on the IUD
for about 4 years. I had the IUD removed
in October of 2013. We tried for a whole year and nothing happened. We were beginning to wonder if our window of
time had left us. In October of 2014, I missed my menstrual. At first, I thought it was just from the
stress of trying. I mean, come on…we’re
supposed to enjoy those precious and private moments with our significant other.
;) Well, I decided to take a pregnancy
test…or 3…or 4 (I lost count from the impending excitement). The tests were positive…we were going to be
expecting! We didn't want to get our
hopes up, but couldn't hold in some of the excitement. I called up my doctor and set up our first
appointment. While at the appointment,
they did the usual tests (weight, height and urine…just to be sure I was
pregnant). According to my calculations,
I should’ve been about 1-2 weeks along (3-4 weeks, if you count from the
beginning of the first day of my last menstrual). When I received the results from my urine
test, my HCG (pregnancy hormones) levels were very low. They should’ve been significantly higher. Out
of concern, they had me come back about 48 hours later to retest (my levels
should double or tripled by then), instead, they dropped. We realized at that point, the pregnancy was a
loss. A few days later, I began my
miscarriage. It was a 3 day ordeal that
was not only excruciating physical, but emotionally taxing. It was a huge let down for our family. We were having a difficult time processing
what happened. Only a few people had
known about this. This was in November
2014. Miscarriage is a terrible loss on
not only the mother, but the father and whoever else is involved (in our case,
our two children).
Fast forward to March 2015.
James and I weren't “actively” trying to get pregnant, but we weren't dismissing the notion either. Something
told me in early March, to take a test.
My instincts were calling out to me.
I happened to have an extra pregnancy test and decided to use it. I thought my eyes were betraying me, as I saw
a VERY faint second line. I left, came
back to the bathroom a few minutes later and the line was gone. I thought that I since I had wanted to be
pregnant, that probably my eyes were playing tricks on me. I went to the store and decided to purchase
another box, just to put an end to my curiosity. I took one test the next day
and to my surprise, I saw that faint second line again. I decided to take a
picture (don’t want James thinking I’m going crazy on him). I took the last test the very next
morning…that one was definitely positive.
I threw that stick in James’s face and squealed with joy. Although we had the proof in my hand, our apprehension
about the whole thing was visibly noticeable.
James was unsure on how to handle the whole thing, as he was still
trying to process, emotionally, what we went through in November. We set ourselves up to accept the fact that we
were indeed expecting again. Again, I
set myself up with an appointment with my doctor. Again, I did the usual round of tests. Again, we waited patiently to hear the
news. This time? My HCG levels were where they were supposed
to be (I was as far along as I was when I miscarried in November). Because of what happened last time, the doctor
thought it best to come back and retest just to make sure my levels were going
up appropriately. I came back, retested
and blessings be…they went up! YAY! We decided that with this pregnancy (as it
would be our last) we wanted to be as natural as possible. We looked into a birthing center and
midwife. We found a wonderful one
located less than 30 minutes from our home.
The staff at this center was not only pleasant, but very accommodating
and knowledgeable. We knew we were in
the right place. Our journey started now…
On the 6th of April, I started bleeding. I told James that I thought it would be a
good idea that we head to the ER just to be on the safe side, as I was also
experiencing cramping. We entered the ER
with fear in our hearts. This whole time,
our kids had to come with us because unfortunately, we didn't have the time to
find someone to care for them while this ordeal was going on. The ER doctor and staff hooked me up to an IV
and drew some blood for testing. I had
to give urine for testing as well. I was
then informed that just go be on the safe side, an inner ultrasound would be
needed (as I wasn't quite far enough along for an outer scan…I should been
around 9 weeks by this point). The
ultrasound was invasive, but necessary. I hurt from the cramping and pressure
of the device and I knew it was only making my bleeding worse. The poor technician was doing everything she
could to be as gentle and quick as possible. Obviously, due to the seriousness
of things, she was unable to tell us much of anything. We had to find out results from the doctor
after tests were revealed. Bad news…sac
was measuring only 5 weeks along. Good
news…my HCG levels were still increasing.
At this point? We weren't sure
what was going to happen and what news our future held. I was told by the doctor that I had a
possible miscarriage going on. I just
shut my eyes and held back my tears.
Again? No…not again. Can’t be.
I still held out hope. After a
few hours, we were released. James and I
took our kids and headed home.
I talked with my midwife the following day, about what steps
were needed to be taken next. We
scheduled for another ultrasound the following Monday. We wanted to see what was going on, as they weren't completely sure themselves. When
that Monday rolled around, James, I and Bre headed to our appointment. I had
hoped that I was able to have my husband and daughter in the room with me for
support, but I found out when I arrived, I was the only one who could go back
with the technician. That just made my
heart heavy…being alone. As we were in the room, I tried to keep a smile on my
face and keep my spirits up. I just held
on to that hope. Again, the technician wasn't allowed to share any information with me, which only amped up my
tension, stress and anticipation. I
could’ve strangled hope at that point.
After everything was said and done, the technician told me that she was
going to see if the radiologist would be able to take the time to talk to me
about my results…something told me this was only going to end badly, but
again…there was that hope. The
technician came back (after what seemed like an hour) and told me that the
radiologist was talking to my midwife about what to do and that it would
probably be best to hear it from her.
Great…more waiting? I didn't know
how much more of the waiting I could take. My hope was dwindling. I left with my family and a somber
heart. We decided that since we were
right across the street from the birthing center, I could just shoot straight
over there and see if I can get answers right then. I hate waiting. I chose to go into the
birthing center myself. James and Bre waited in the car while I exited. I slowly made my way to the front door; my
feet were heavy and dragging. I entered the door and right away, I knew. Even though the lovely receptionist was
unable to tell me, I could see it in her face.
When I entered, she told me she would try to get a hold of the midwife
so I can talk to her directly. At that
point, I realized my phone had buzzed. I had received a notification for
something. Uh-oh. Realizing it was just the receptionist and
myself (she already knew the answer, as she saw my information via computer), I
just put the voicemail on speaker. I
heard the words as clear as day.
Everything else around me went silent.
You could've heard…what’s the expression? A pin drop. “Brenda, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry to hear about your loss. I would like to talk to you, please
call me at………..” The rest of the message
just sort of faded out. I just hung up
the phone and sat there. I tried to smile,
I really did. The receptionist knew that
a hug was definitely in order. She stood
up from her desk, walked around and gave me the most comforting hug. I mean, this was the hug of all hugs. I broke down.
Although I knew what the answer was going to be, it was harder hearing
it. We talked a few minutes about the
blessings that I do have; my two amazing, incredible, beautiful and wonderful
children. I headed downstairs, tissue in
hand and walked my way to the car. James
looked up and the look on his face said that he read my body language and
understood. I slowly slid in the car,
buckled up and in the sad silence, we all headed home. Later that evening, my midwife called me and
we talked a long time about everything that happened and what’s expected to
happen in the future. She told me that I
should show signs of miscarrying within the month and if nothing happens, I
need to let my OBGYN or her know. This
way, the necessary steps can be taken to help move things along.
At this point, I had had some nasty morning sickness for
about 2 weeks. It wasn't so bad that I couldn't somewhat function, but it was a bother. The following week, it became so intolerable,
that I couldn't consume anything without it coming back out the same way it
went in. Everything tasted bad. We have well water in our neighborhood and I couldn't even drink that; tasted like saliva and metal, which was making me gag
and throw up even more. So, not only
could I not consume food, I wasn't even able to get a good amount of fluids in
my system. Dehydration was becoming
evident. More saliva buildup from lack
of fluids. Chapped lips. Dark urine. Weak
body. It was just a vicious cycle. The
first part of the week, I was bleeding some, so I had thought that perhaps, my
miscarriage was beginning. Hopefully,
this was the beginning to the end of the whole morning sickness ordeal. I was beginning to get concerned, but kept
reassuring myself that I could persevere.
I WOULD persevere. After a few
days, the bleeding waned off, but the morning sickness only got worse. Not good. I spent about 6 days dealing with
this before I started to notice that something was wrong…REALLY wrong. I was so weak from coughing, throwing up,
lack of nutrients and dehydration that it was VERY evident in my
appearance. I had dark, bruise like
circles around my eyes, my ribs and hips were bruised from coughing and
throwing up. My thighs were chapped from
involuntarily urinating (although I already used the restroom) while coughing
and throwing up. I was an ugly mess and
everyone saw it. I felt horrible. I couldn't take proper care of my children. I couldn't have my tasty homemade meals ready
for my hubby when he came home from work.
I couldn't wash a dish or do a load of laundry. I barely had enough energy to walk from one
room to the other. When I started to
have problems breathing from the indigestion and stomach acid, I realized I
needed to admit something was wrong and I was in some serious need of medical
attention. I lost 5 lbs that whole week,
my hair was falling out and I brushed my teeth and mouth washed every chance I
got, but I felt like my teeth were rotting out from all the stomach acid. I
felt dirty outside and in. I knew
something was wrong. More than anything,
I knew I couldn't fix myself; I needed help.
I told James via text (I couldn't get out of bed) that I
knew that I needed help and it would be a good idea for us to head to the ER
tomorrow. That man is amazing. Did I say that already? Yes, he’s AMAZING. The very next day we prepared ourselves,
daughter in tow, (son was in school) and headed to the local ER. We entered there afraid of what next was
going to be dished to us on a dirty plate.
We went to our room and waited. I
mentioned earlier I hated waiting…I wasn't kidding. I HATE it. Again, that blasted IV. Again, give some more blood and urine for
testing. My doctor came in and I have to
say, it was one of my highlights to the evening. He reminded us a bit of Doogie Howser. I had
no clue doctors could look so young.
Well, he knew what he was talking about.
He laid it out very straight. I
was going to need another ultrasound, an x-ray, a battery of tests and then
we’ll see where we’re at. He assured us
he would do everything he could to make our stay comfortable and that he would
get to the bottom of what was going on.
It helped, not much, but nonetheless.
We needed more hope. I was
running out of that glittery stuff.
To help alleviate my extreme nausea and to try and get some
fluids in me, they hooked up my IV some much needed liquid hydration. I could FEEL the fluids entering my system. I've been on IVs before, but never while this dehydrated. I knew I needed it, because I could feel
where it was traveling. It was an odd,
yet refreshingly cool feeling at the same time.
To help ease my nausea, they gifted me with something called
Zofran. This was liquid Heaven. Within 10 minutes, I could drink water, plain
water and it tasted incredible. James
and Bre headed to McDonald’s to pick up some food. Not the best in the world, but options were
limited and hell, we needed something. During this time, the x-ray technician
came and brought her thingamabob of an x-ray machine. This thing was strange. In about 5 minutes, sitting in my bed, she
did my chest x-ray. I was blown away at
the technology this woman rolled around with her. It’s incredible to see how far technology has
come throughout the years.
By this time, James and Bre returned with the toxic McDonald’s.
I tell you right now, I loathe McDs, but I had those nuggets and it was like
eating a fancy meal. The taste was
INTENSE. I wince saying that, but they were so tasty. (When you haven’t eaten in a week, you’d
think they tasted good too, so don’t judge. ;)) Shortly after, the ultrasound
tech brought in her machine. She did
what she could to make me comfortable.
Of course, couldn’t tell me anything, but at this point, I didn't want
to know. I was scared. Stupid waiting. The ER doctor came in with my
results. I gripped my hands together
until my knuckles were white. He told me that the tests revealed that I did
have the beginning of a UTI. Oh good I
thought. If that’s the worst, I’m still
glad I came in. But… But?
What but? He tells me that
according to my HCG levels and the ultrasound, I have something called a complete
Molar pregnancy. I was like, “A what???” I had heard of the term, but had
no clue what he was saying. Apparently
it’s something that is rare. Not so rare
that it’s unheard of, but rare enough.
It’s where the cells that are supposed to form into a fetus, don’t. They just stay cells and keep
reproducing. So essentially, I have a
bundle of cells in my uterus that just keep reproducing more cells, getting
bigger and bigger. Nothing else is going
on though. This, in turn, causes my HCG
levels to continue to slowly rise. In a
sense, it tricks my body into thinking it’s still pregnant, although there
isn’t a fetus in sight. If I hadn't of come in, the morning sickness would've likely continued and this could've progressed into something worse. The only option? To do a D&C. (For those that don’t know, they basically go
up your woohoo, dilate your cervix and do a clean sweep of your uterus to make
sure all foreign objects are disposed of properly. It is an invasive surgery.) After he left to make the necessary phone
calls, I sat in my bed, stunned at the news.
I was confused. I was unsure on
how to process the information given.
James and I looked at each other and stared blankly. We didn't know what to say to one
another. I picked up my phone and
decided to WebMD the information. What I
read further freaked me out. According
to WebMD, a Molar pregnancy, if not taken care of properly, can possible
progress into a rare form of cancer.
OMG! I saw that word and pulled
my knees up to my chest. Cancer. I could end up with that? I’m so glad that I trusted my instincts to
come in. What if I had continued
thinking I could handle this on my own, just as I had in the past?
OMG…OMG…OMG…
Within 15 minutes or so, the doctor returned and let us know
that surgery was imminent and would be happening that day. OMG…OH…MY...GOD! An ambulance was already en route to pick me
up and take me to the medical center where my OBGYN was waiting for me. I
almost turned blue from holding my breath from the shock of it all. There was so much information to take in at
one time. Since James and Bre had to
pick up Gabe when he arrived home from school, he decided to head out early and
just meet me at the hospital.
The ambulance and EMTs arrived shortly, assisted me up on
their skinny bed (fat people like me don’t fare well on the stick beds), made
sure I was buckled in for safety (we don’t want my rolls getting in the way)
and loaded me into their ambulance.
These guys were awesome. They had
a very caring demeanor and made sure that I was comfortable the entire
trip. (I can guarantee that many people
in the medical field don’t get enough credit these days, so don’t forget to thank
those that give their all to provide you with the best possible care.)
After arriving at the hospital, the staff was already
waiting and ready for me. As I was
checking in at the front desk, James and the kids showed up. They weren't even there 5 minutes and Bre piped
up and said, “Daddy hit a lady on a bike in the car!” I just asked, “What?” I was trying to figure out what she was
saying. Gabe starts to tell me what happened and James is facing the kids and
trying to shush them. Noticeably frazzled
and panicked, James proceeds to tell me how on their way to the hospital while
getting off the freeway, they stopped and were waiting to turn. As they were ready to take their turn, James
and a woman on her bike didn't see each other in time and BAM! The collision occurred. I didn't find out all the details about this
until the following day. James promised
that he was going to return and pick her up so that she could be seen in the ER
for any injuries that she might have acquired.
I couldn't believe our bad luck.
It was just one thing after another.
I felt horrible for the woman. In
the back of my mind during my ordeal, I kept thinking about her, James, Bre and
Gabe and everything they might be going through. I was all over the place…scatterbrained. James and Bre headed on their way as Gabe and
I were led up to the floor I would be residing on.
Gabe seemed somewhat aloof to all that was going on. I hugged him hard and reassured him that the
surgery was a good thing and it was going to help me on my road to recovery. I
missed being the mom that I was. Although the emotional part concerning the
loss of the pregnancy hadn't fully hit me yet, I relished the idea of having
the surgery so we could work towards a recovery. I wanted to feel BETTER. I wanted to HEAL.
Within about 15 minutes of our arrival, they were ready for
me. Slowly, I removed all piercings and
placed them cautiously into the plastic cup with lid that was provided to
me. I looked at Gabe and told him I
would be okay and that James and Bre should be back soon. They wheeled me to the stalls that allowed
them to prep me for surgery. I had the
privilege to don on a beautiful (sarcastically speaking) lavender colored
surgery robe. I answered all their
questions like a pro. One of their final
checks, they asked me if I removed all jewelry.
I felt my ears…check. I checked my nose…check. I checked my hands…OH! I looked down and realized I still had my
wedding ring on. I almost never remove
it, unless I’m making meatloaf. Don’t
want any raw meat getting hooked up on this gorgeous bling. I was going to
remove the ring, when the nurse asking me questions, told me not to worry about
it. She smiled and said that I could
keep it on and they could just place some tape over it so it doesn't affect
anything during surgery. That brought a
huge sense of comfort to me. During the
15-20 minutes that I waited to get into surgery, I talked with the
anesthesiologist and of course, my lovely OBGYN. Their incredible dedication to making sure I
was as comfortable as possible, helped to move things along. Shortly after, they wheeled me into the
surgical room. I looked up and saw
everyone moving around; seemingly like a flash.
The anesthesiologist looked down at me and smiled. She placed the oxygen mask over my face and
informed me that she would be giving my medicine. Slowly and surely, I started to fade into sleep.
I’m not exactly sure how long I was in surgery. I just remember waking up in one of the
recovery stalls, feeling like I swallowed a large rock. A nurse came and removed, what I believe was
my breathing tube, out of my mouth. Ahh,
finally I could breathe. I blinked in
and out of a fuzzy view. I knew I needed
to wake up soon, but it was hard. I hadn't had a decent night’s sleep for over a week. I was sucking this up for all it was
worth. Once I started to rouse, the
nurse removed my oxygen mask and asked me how I was feeling. I was surprised at how alert I was. Darn, I lost my chance to sleep some more.
They let me know that James and the children were waiting for me in my room and
that whenever I was feeling ready, they’ll take me there. I missed those three SO bad. I missed the children and their smiles and I
miss James…man did I miss him. I knew
this was so very hard on him as it was me.
Once they wheeled me back in the room where my family was
waiting, I could see their smiling faces.
I think knowing that I made it out ok, helped set some nerves to
ease. The nurses were so dedicated to
making sure I felt totally comfortable and at ease. They gave me some more of that miracle
liquid…Zofran. I felt like I could
conquer the world! It was almost an
immediate and noticeable difference. I
was HUNGRY. The nurse asked me if she could get me anything and all I could
think of was a sandwich. A little
searching and the nurse was able to bring me a sandwich, chocolate pudding,
orange drink and a few other food items.
I was in food heaven. I ate
almost everything. I thought I was going
to burst at the seams. After eating,
James and I chatted up a bit about how I was feeling and if I was ready to head
home and get some sound sleep. The kids were noticeably tired and I could tell
from the dark circles under my loving husband’s eyes, he had his fill of
thrills for the week. There was only one
thing that I needed to do before I was permitted to leave and that was make
sure I could urinate. Oh no…I still had
to pee. I was scared, I won’t deny it.
My lower region was something to be feared these days. Considering all that I have been through, I
was petrified to do the one thing that should come to me naturally. I bravely entered that bathroom and did my
thing. No problems. Phew.
All was well. With the ok from my
doctor and the head nurse, I signed the necessary papers, dressed myself, put
all my jewelry back in and on and gathered my things. A woman came into the room pushing my
wheelchair. With a great sigh of relief,
we all headed downstairs to the ER entrance so that I could get into the car.
While the kids and I waited a few for James to bring around the car, the woman and
I chatted a bit about travel. It was nice
to think of something pleasant instead of focusing on all the negative that had
happened over the course of the last month.
Once everyone was in the car and buckled, we headed on our way
home. There was a sense of peace that
seemed to resonate within the car that evening.
Once we arrived home, we sat in the car for about 5 minutes,
sucking up the much needed silence. We
got the kids out and got them ready for bed.
After the kids were in bed, James and I stayed up for a little bit and talked
about everything that had happened. I
let James know how much I loved and appreciated all his support. He’s amazing and sometimes he doesn't realize
how wonderful he truly is. His love,
support, compassion for life, perseverance and hard work, make him more than
just a valuable member of society, but a loyal husband and friend and a loving
father. He is truly a pioneer within our
family. During all this, I don’t know if
I could’ve quite held it all together if it hadn't been for James’s support. He is truly my gift from the universe.
A few days later, I have to say, I feel 10 times better than
I had ever felt this past month. I was
able to get up and enjoy my first cup of coffee in 3 weeks. It wasn't the caffeine I needed, but the comfort of something warm and sweet. Comfort.
Home. Family. Freedom . Most importantly, I had my health. This is the beginning on a hard road to
recovery. This isn't just physically,
but emotionally daunting. It will take
time for our family to heal from something like this. I’m not completely out of
danger yet, as I still have to get weekly testing to ensure that my HCG levels
are dropping; proof that the surgery was a success. Only time will tell.
This has been hard on us because we've decided to forgo the
idea of having another child biologically.
We wanted more than anything to have another biological child, but due
to all that has happened in the last 6 months, we realized there’s a good
possibility, that it isn't something within our reach. I’ll admit that I am petrified. I've always managed to have pretty good
health, but these losses were taking their toll on me. After much talk, we knew that even if that
possibility was no longer in reach, we are going to be ok. You know why?
We have a handsome son, Gabriel and a beautiful daughter, Breanna. There are people out there that can’t have
children. We should feel blessed to have
the two that we have. I’m ok with
counting my blessings. These blessings
are simply a beautiful creation that my body made. I can’t forgo that knowledge that I created
two babies with this body.
I will NEVER forget the babies that I had lost through
miscarriage. They will forever be in my thoughts and will always have a special
place in my heart. I just need to remind
myself that there are two special children that are alive and walking around
and they NEED me. I’m good knowing
that.
I know people probably want to know what was going through
my head to make me want to share my inner, most private family moments. It’s okay, I don’t mind sharing. James and I talked long about this before I
even made the steps to actually follow through with doing this blog. I wanted his input and value it greatly. We
realized that this wasn’t just a private experience, but a chance to share
something important with others. I know
as a mother, how hard it is to put yourself first when it comes to your health,
especially if you are used to be on the go, like I am. We also want the best for our kids. I’m so
used to bouncing back when I get sick (getting sick is a rare occurrence for
myself and my husband), that I’m afraid to admit when I do reach a point where
I need to ask for help. My husband has
been there himself with his own health issues.
Its pride, but not the kind that make a person seem selfish or stuck
up. This pride is about wanting the best
for the rest of your family and forgetting to respect our bodies and
listen…listen to your instincts. I know that if I hadn't of listened to my instincts,
I don’t think I would've known or would've been able to have early care for
myself. I trusted my body and listened.
That helped me to understand that when something was wrong, I knew it
and faced it head on. What happened to
me can happen to any woman. Something
like this doesn't just affect the woman, but her significant other (if there is
one) and children (or child…or if there are any). I know now, I would rather take the
preventative care and there be nothing wrong, then wait, thinking it will pass
on its own and then it turn into something worse (in my case, cancerous or
deadly) later on.
Loss and miscarriage is never easy to talk about
anyway. Many people view it as a private
matter and in many ways, so do I. This
one time, I felt the urge so strongly to talk about our experience. Something inside pushed me to make the leap
and share my story with others so they know they’re not alone. Each person has their own experiences and
deals with them in their own way. The
worst thing to do is to hold it in and act like it didn't happen. The hurt, frustration and anger just end up
sitting there and rotting. Don’t do that
to yourself. You owe it to yourself to
talk about it, whether out loud to others or privately, within your own family
or in a journal. Give yourself time to
heal. Most importantly, don’t forget to
love yourself and know it isn't your fault. <3
