3:00am. Another sleepless night. It's normal when you can't sleep on your back like you have all your life, but today I saw a miscarriage on television and it triggered some pain of a secret guilt I've harbored since July 2009.
The news didn't look good when the doctor personally called to tell me my numbers weren't doubling and my progesterone was very low. She told me I probably lost the baby long ago and a regular period-like miscarriage would follow since I was early in the pregnancy. She insisted I still see the MFM to advise me on Lovenox for subsequent pregnancies. I went home, watched Paul Blart Mall Cop while eating Chinese Food and tried to let the pain wash over me. And this part is difficult for me to say but when I took a scalding hot shower, I wanted to hurry up and get the miscarriage over with. I'm going into TMI territory so I'm going to write the following in white and you can highlight over if you want to read it, but I had read that when pregnant you are to under no circumstances douche, I decided to hurry nature up and did so thinking if it was bad for a pregnancy, well it would speed up the inevitable. At the MFM later that week, despite my protests that I did not want to see my dead baby, they performed an ultrasound which showed a baby with a normal heart rate, growing on schedule. The MFM said HCG didn't mean much if a heartrate was there and my baby might be allright.
48 hours later I went to the bathroom and saw blood. We called the doctor's office. Dr. T seemed uninterested but told me bed rest couldn't hurt. I lay in bed for the next 36 hours and the bleeding remained bright red but light. After 36 hours, Jack and I felt like we were losing our minds and decided we wanted to go to the ER to see on an ultrasound that bug was okay. As soon as we got to the ER and I stood to fill out paperwork, I felt a gush of blood. I sat quickly down. It stopped gushing. They wheeled me into a room. I lay down on the examining table. They asked me to get up to change into a hospital gown. I stood up to change and when I removed my underwear, bug fell out of me. I will never forget it. A tiny little sac, so perfect and intact containing the little creature I saw on the ultrasound just a few days ago.
I credit my Bug for my first normal period in years that gave me my little boy who is kicking me as I write this. I try to leave it at that and usually do for the most part. But the truth is, I blame myself for losing bug in the first place. What if I hadn't done what I did in the shower? What if all that baby needed was for me to lie down and continue bed rest and be patient I fucked it all up by my selfish need to see an ultrasound?
When I think of my second pregnancy, I think of my little fighter. That heart that was beating, the little being growing on schedule despite messed up beta and progesterone levels. That baby was a fighter and that baby belonged to me. It kills me to think I might have had a hand in that baby's demise. Ofcourse I never knowingly would have engaged in acts considered dangerous in pregnancy had I known I had a potentially viable pregnancy. I can't undo it but sometimes like today I'm kept up at night wondering if I had a hand in the loss of my second pregnancy.
I'm not sure why I feel the need to share now. Maybe because its weighing on me at this time and this blog is a place I write about things that are sitting on my heart. I don't beat myself up over this on a daily basis since I know that I never intended to lose my pregnancy and that it was the furthest thing from what I wanted and if I could, I would do anything to have prevented what happened from happening. But sometimes, like today, I remember, and I feel a weird smattering of emotions. Gratitude to bug for giving me my beautiful son I carry now, and sorrow and regret that perhaps I played a hand in losing bug too soon. If it was my fault, I hope I will be forgiven.