Our First

This is my first blog post in years and my first time really speaking (typing) about our losses in detail since we experienced the first on October 9, 2017. At that time, I was 17 weeks and 5 days pregnant with what I thought was a perfectly developing, healthy baby. He/she had a gender, though we chose not to find it out. Our goal was to wait until the baby's birth day to find out if we were bringing home a baby girl (Margaret Kay) or a baby boy (Paul Joseph). We were seen by the doctor at 13 weeks and 2 days, who confirmed a healthy baby who would start to "show up" within a few weeks. The doctor said that because I am thin (128 lbs.), as well as fairly tall (5'7"), that the baby might be able to grow upwards and into my back for a little while before he/she started growing "out", so I may not look noticeably pregnant to others until somewhere between my 16th and 24th week of pregnancy.

Three days after that appointment, my husband and I moved across the country (we initially made the move to where we were in May 2017 and decided to go back home mid-September 2017) and announced our pregnancy in-person to our parents at 14 weeks and 2 days. The following Wednesday, at exactly 15 weeks, we announced the coming of our tiny miracle on social media, so that all of our family and friends could share in our joy.

It was around that time that I began to feel different. My already-small belly got smaller, my pregnancy symptoms, which weren't anywhere near "bad" to begin with, all but disappeared. I started to worry because I no longer felt pregnant, but everyone around me just said that I was paranoid and overthinking, as usual.

On October 9, 2017, I began to have some spotting and cramps. I couldn't get in to the the OB/GYN until the following week, so the nurse on-call suggested that I go to the ER. My husband and I were in-between insurance providers at the time (due to him switching jobs when we moved), so we had no coverage. He insisted that we go, just in case. Around 4:30 p.m., we arrived at the Emergency Room. After I got checked in, two nurses attempted to find the baby's heartbeat and couldn't, but told us not to worry because babies under a certain gestational age had a difficult-to-find heartbeat at times. At that time, an Ultrasound Tech came in and administered an U/S (ultrasound), but the monitor was facing away from us. She said nothing, aside from initial introductions, and telling us that a doctor had to look over the images before anything could be said to us. Around a half hour later, the doctor on-call came into our room and said the words that we were terrified to hear: "There is no heartbeat." I tried to hold it together, but started sobbing about five seconds later. I covered my face with the blanket and continued crying for what seemed like hours, but was probably only a couple minutes, at the most. My husband is a textbook, "man's man" . He does not cry, show emotion, or talk about feelings. I glanced up and tears were silently streaming down his face.

The doctor told us that the baby was measuring between 14 and 15 weeks. It was unknown whether the baby died at that time or if he/she stopped growing at that point, but continued to live. We were both completely devastated. Our hopes and dreams for this baby were gone. There would be no baby shower, no nursery, no March birthday celebrations, no first Easter, Halloween, Thanksgiving, or Christmas. There were so many "firsts" that would not happen now, so many amazing experiences that were destroyed when we were given the awful news that our baby died. A D&C was scheduled for the next morning, Tuesday. We were released to go home around 7:30 p.m. on Monday. Going home knowing that I was carrying a dead baby was so depressing. All I wanted to do was go to bed and wake up knowing that the day we just had was a nightmare. Unfortunately, I woke up the next morning, feeling as emotionally empty as ever. I hurried up and showered and got ready for the terrible day that was to come.

The next morning, we arrived at the hospital just in time to start getting briefed for the surgery that was going to take place. The doctor who would be performing the procedure introduced herself to me and told me about what was going to take place. Other medical team members came in over the next hour or hour and a half to explain how they would be involved in my care. I was asked to sign various forms, told about the risks involved in the surgery, and told about funeral arrangements for our baby. Following the surgery, which took about a half hour, I was wheeled into recovery, where my blood pressure and other vital signs were monitored. I felt groggy, as the anesthesia hadn't totally worn off yet. Immediately after it had, the feelings of doom and emptiness returned at full force. I was returned to my original room, where my husband and now best friend, were waiting for me. It was explained to me at that point that I would probably bleed heavily that day and the bleeding would continue to a lighter extent, over the next two weeks. I was given a two-week sex restriction as well, but the doctor told me that any time after that time frame, my husband and I could try to conceive again. I was released to go home within an hour of surgery. Because I was so close to the 18 week mark in my pregnancy, the hospital had to fill out a death certificate and the baby had to receive a name. Margaret Kay was the name we chose, without any guessing. Because the baby was measuring so small, we were not told a gender, so we had to choose the name without knowing whether we had a son or a daughter. My husband and I both had a feeling that I was carrying a girl, so that was our reasoning for going with the name we chose. I went home around 3 p.m. Without a belly. Without a baby. Without hopes and dreams for the future. And that, friends, is the story of the loss of our first baby.