Mary's Story: Recurrent loss and postpartum depression

Thanks, Mary, for sharing your story. I hope it provides hope and healing for others.

Rachel

When I was 17, I was diagnosed with endometriosis. I was told from early on that it would be hard for me to get pregnant. At the age of 20, a doctor gave me the option to have a hysterectomy. I told him no way because I wanted to at least have one child. 

When I was 22, my doctor found that my left tube was blocked and needing repairing. 

At 23 I became very close with a friend of mine and her boyfriend. We all shared an apartment together. She shared her story with me about how she had an abortion and how she mentally suffered from it. I'm not saying I agreed with what she did, but as a Christian I am a firm believer not to judge others because that is for God to do. I was a good friend and supported her emotionally. 

A couple months later I was pregnant. I think my friend was mad at me for being pregnant. I could tell something wasn't right, though, and I delivered my 6-week-old tiny tiny baby in the toilet. 

Before I lost the baby, I had a dream of a beautiful baby boy with blond hair and blue eyes. I still see this image as of today. I believe the image was a gift from God. 

That time was so hard for me. I cried all the time and was so depressed. The doctor gave me Valium, but that didn't even touch the hurt and pain I was feeling. My friend wouldn't talk to me or acknowledge me after the loss. I needed a friend and she wasn't there for me. The depression got so bad I gave up and tried to overdose on my medicine. 

Well, God wasn't ready for me yet. I ended up in a mental facility for about a week. I had postpartum from the miscarriage. 

To heal from the grief, I got a tattoo of a word in Chinese that meant child. Well at least that's what the tattoo guy told me. My doctor at the time (who was Chinese) said my tattoo read "Son." I looked at him kinda puzzled and said, "What?"  He said, "Your tattoo reads Son." 

I was in shock.  It was truly the perfect tattoo for me. When I was 26, I got pregnant again. Again, I could tell something wasn't right. 

I ended up in the emergency room. I had a tubal pregnancy in my right tube and they had to do an emergency surgery due to my tube bursting. 

The second time was a lot easier for me since I had the love and support of the father, but the relationship did not last.  

At that point, I had one tube that was reconstructed and severe endometriosis.

When I was 30, I met a man I fell madly in love with. He wasn't from this country and meeting him must have been fate.  I told him all about my history and how I felt regarding me not being able to have children. He had three all in different countries. 

We got engaged and spoke about adopting. We were together for a year and a half and never used protection. At the end of the relationship he started to get abusive. We were living in New Zealand at the time. I knew it was time for me to go back to the States. 

When I was waiting at the airport I felt like I was possibly pregnant but brushed it off due to the fact that I was convinced I would not be able to get pregnant. 

3 days after returning home, and I decided to take a pregnancy test. It was positive. I was in shock. 

I had a very healthy pregnancy and God blessed me with a beautiful baby girl -- 8 lbs 9 ounces.  Her name is Mazey Grace. I named her after my favorite hymn Amazing Grace, because I was once lost and now I am found. 

She is 6 years old now and every day with her is a true blessing. 

A year after she was born I had a hysterectomy.  I may not be able to have any more children, but I am OK with that.  God taught me that when it is his time to answer prayers he will answer them. 

This is one of my favorite quotes I have found. "God doesn't give us the people we want, He gives you the people you need. To help you, to hurt you, to leave you, to love you and make you the person you were meant to be."

Thank you for listening my story.

Mary

SAS's Story: Four pregnancies and one child.

 

 

 

 

 

Dear SweatAndStilletos . . .

 

Thanks so much for sharing your story. As I was reading parts of your story, friends came to mind who I know could relate. I know there are others who will be touched by your babies' lives, no matter how brief.

 

Your thoughts on failure so relate with me. I felt as though I could have been writing those words.

 

Thank you again for sharing.

 

Rachel

 

 

I’ve been wanting to write this for awhile but haven’t been able to put pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard as the case may be.

 

I’ve written about my last two miscarriages but in a different way. I’ve written more from the perspective of how I felt in the moment, the physical pain and the shock I was experiencing. Today, I’m going to write about my journey through infertility, loss and coping with the cards I’ve been dealt.

 

I never imagined I would have difficulty getting pregnant. I was more concerned about getting pregnant before I was ready. I also never thought having a miscarriage was possible. That’s not exactly a fair statement. I never even gave infertility or miscarrying consideration. It wasn’t something on my radar at all. Perhaps it should’ve been given some family history, but it wasn’t.

 

I was living blissfully in the land of "I’ll start a family when I’m ready and I’ll have two kids. Husband wants 4 but I want 2.  He'll have to figure out how to give birth to the other 2 himself."

 

Now I’ve had three miscarriages. Three. Four pregnancies and three miscarriages. I’ve been told I cannot have more children. Well, actually, I can have more children but it would be a huge health risk and it could cause irreparable issues. How’s that for crappy?

 

I do have the option of doing more costly fertility treatments. Actually having the egg fertilized in a petri dish and then planting it in my uterus. Sounds romantic, doesn't it? Even with that, there is a very slim chance my body would actually accept the egg and carry to term.

 

I’m often asked when we will have more children or some variation of that. It’s an innocent question and typical for society. The other day was the first time I answered with, “We can’t.”

 

I felt a little bad for the person asking as I could tell she felt bad and apologized. For me it was a stepping stone. I was finally able to verbally admit that I can’t.

 

Failure is something hard for me. It’s easy to say this isn’t failure. There’s a gazillion reasons why you would be right. But for me it is failure. My body won’t do what I want it to.  It doesn't matter what pills, exercise, food, wishing or demanding I do, my body just will not cooperate.

 

It's difficult when my son asks why he can't have a little brother or sister.  He's so good with younger kids and he's asked for a sibling since he could talk. He's so loving and helpful and they all look up to him. How do you explain to a 10-year-old that "it just can't happen, that I'm truly sorry and it breaks my heart each time you ask." 

 

You can't. I have to recognize his feelings and try to put it in 10-year-old terms that it's just not something Mommy can do and that adoption isn't something I'm ready for. 

 

I never wanted him to be an only child. I am an only child and I long for the connection I see between siblings. It is truly something special. I didn't want him to ever have to navigate life alone. His Dad and I will not always be here. Hopefully it is many, many years before we leave him, but someday, we will. 

 

When my husband first wanted to try infertility treatments, I fought him on it. I always believed that if we were meant to have more kids, it would happen. That God would make it happen. We had many conversations on why we should do it and I listened to his many reasons and I agreed. 

 

Though I agreed, I still believed that when the time was right, it would just happen. After many tears and devastating months of negative tests, I finally agreed to give it a try. It was not easy, it was a commitment, it was uncomfortable and my body still wasn't cooperating. It didn't produce enough even with the drugs, and neither treatment resulted in a positive result. I was continually reminded of my inabilities.

 

It's so hard to let myself and my partner down month after month. It's devastating to read a negative result on a pregnancy test month after month for years. It got to where I didn't even want to have sex because if I wasn't, there was no possibility of getting pregnant which meant I couldn't let myself or my partner down. (I do not recommend this way of thinking.)  

 

After my first miscarriage, I was destroyed. I chose not to lean on anyone and only told those that knew I was pregnant. I didn't share much with friends and didn't talk about my feelings. I tried to grieve alone.

 

I now see that as a mistake. I should have let someone be there for me. I should have let them hold me up because I could not hold myself.   was broken. I buried my feeling and pulled myself up by my bootstraps and tried to not think about it. I got very depressed but kept stuffing it down. Eventually I stuffed it far enough down that it wasn't constantly there yelling at me. It still affected me by leading to depression and other issues, but it wasn't in my face anymore. It was behind the scenes pulling the strings.

 

It wasn't until my second miscarriage that I realized how much the first had affected me. By this time, I had a couple of friends I told and tried to lean on. Neither of them had been through one and couldn't relate. They tried to be there for me but didn't know how. Who does? I've been through it and I still don't know what to say or do except to admit it sucks and it hurts and you will get through it.  You'll never be the same, but you will survive. 

 

After each time, I didn't know how I would have the strength to try again. Not that we were actively trying to prevent pregnancy, but in my mind we weren't trying to get pregnant either. I had no emotional strength left. I couldn't keep doing this. 

 

At some point I gave up. I don't know when exactly it was but it happened. I fell into an acceptance that this was my life and I could be ok with it.  I write more about this and my ectopic pregnancy here.

 

I still get emails from a site I joined when I was pregnant with my son. I updated it when I was pregnant the second time and the third time. It kindly sends me updates on my child's birthday and information on their developmental stage. I'd go and delete my information from the site, but I just can't bring myself to go to it. So, I just delete the emails, take a moment to reflect on my experiences and move on. 

 

I still get a pain in my heart when I see a pregnant woman, a friend greets me with her exciting news, or a small child is near.  I recognize it but don't dwell on it. It doesn't mean I am any less happy for them. It just means it affects me on multiple levels. 

 

I'm still healing from my three losses and I am forever changed. I'm stronger, smarter, braver and so much more than I ever believed I could be. I'll forever hold those three babies in my heart. I will never have a daughter to plan a wedding with, get a pedicure, and discuss her first love. What I do have is a son that lights up my world, gives the best hugs, whose laugh is contagious and is too smart for his (and my) own good.    

 

So to you reading this, that either is or knows someone going through this type of loss, I urge you to let them know you are there. 

 

Make them a meal, take them a coffee or cookies or anything. Be an ear or a shoulder or just a person that is there. Hand them a Kleenex and make them feel comfortable being a crying mess. They may not feel like talking or even having anyone around but knowing you are willing is huge. 

 

You don't have to have "the right words" just be present. Be that person that says "This sucks and I'm here for you."

Am I having an ectopic pregnancy? My personal story.

Ryan and Maddy, planting Olivia's memorial tree.

 

 

 

If you are reading this blog, you probably fall in 1 of 2 camps:

1) You are my friend, and read my blog. (Hi friend!)

2) You stumbled upon my blog because you are researching ectopic pregnancy -- either thinking that you may be having one now, or you are looking for stories of people who have had one. (In that case, welcome new friend! Although I'm sorry you had to find me.)

I know how hard it is to interpret symptoms -- to know what is normal, and what requires medical attention. I know it's easy to second guess yourself. I know what it's like to wonder if you are just overreacting, or if something is really wrong.

Since many of the symptoms of ectopic pregnancy can mask themselves as a lot of other issues, I thought I'd share more in depth about my story of my ectopic.

If this post sounds a bit clinical or devoid of emotion, I'm sorry. Trust me, going through this experience is probably one of the MOST emotional I've ever had. I've got LOTS of other resources on this blog if emotional support is what you are looking for. (If you are new in your loss, you may want to go through the archives in my blog to December of 2011 when my ectopic was.)

For the rest of you, I hope that somehow you will be helped by reading my story. And since yesterday was the 2-year anniversary of my rupture and loss of our baby (who I named Olivia), I think now is just as good of a time to share as ever.

So here we go . . .

Pregnancy tests and symptoms:

My period was a week and a half late. I had no other pregnancy symptoms, but maybe very, very mild smell sensitivity and a teeny weeny bit of queasiness. The pregnancy tests were negative (I took several), up until I was 5 1/2 weeks along. And I got a very strong positive.

(Now, I also tested positive "late" With Maddy. But I was having way more symptoms, mostly nausea, with her.)

This time, I had hoped the lack of nausea was a good thing. I thought, maybe this one's a boy... Or "every pregnancy is different."

I knew in my heart the lack of symptoms wasn't good news, but I only thought maybe a possible miscarriage. I had no reason to suspect ectopic... Yet.

Cramps:

I joked with my friend that this time my uterus was "cranky." I don't remember exactly when the cramping started. I remember having cramps one day, and I had to lay on the bathroom floor for about 15 minutes. They were sudden and made me stop everything. They were over quickly, but still made me late for work.

I researched cramping in pregnancy, and couldn't decide what to classify this as. Mild? Moderate? Severe?

"Severe" was probably what it correctly should have been labeled, but since it was over so quickly, "mild" seemed to make more sense.

Plus, I was kinda convinced I'm a wus when it comes to physical pain. So maybe the cramping felt severe to ME, but if someone else had felt it, it probably would have been mild, I figured.

About a week after we found out, I had about 1-2 hours worth of cramping. Same scenario. I remember posting on FB "So glad for a daughter who occasionally sleeps till 10.) Well, that was because I couldn't get out of bed from cramps.

I chalked it all up to "normal" stretching and growing of my uterus. I did not tell anyone seriously about the cramping, other than the "cranky uterus" joke.

One day while I was at work, the cramping came back. From the time I got a positive, to the time my tube ruptured, I was having more cramping at greater intensity, duration and frequency. And this particular day, it was so bad I could barely walk.

I was taken to my parents. My dad, who is a PA, did a quick abdominal exam to see if he could locate the pain. Ironically, I felt the most pain when he pushed on my right side, even though we later learned Olivia had implanted in my left tube.

He thought that either I had an obstructed bowel, had an ectopic pregnancy, or I think, appendicitis.

I was hoping for appendicitis.


Ultrasounds:

My parents took me to the ER. They did a urine pregnancy test, which came back negative. I insisted that I was pregnant, and they did a blood draw.

My HCG was around 500. They told me to get my blood drawn in two days to compare the numbers.

They did both an external an internal ultrasound. They did not find anything... No sac, no heartbeat. Nothing.

The only thing was that my lining was thick which would be consistent with being pregnant.

The ultrasounds took forever, and were emotionally excruciating. The technician couldn't say anything, but I knew there was no baby on the screen. I was at the ER for about 4 hours, and most of the pain had actually subsided before I was seen. My dad had insisted I get seen anyway.

I was sent home being told I had either an ectopic pregnancy, a threatened miscarriage, or I was just earlier in my pregnancy than I thought I was. I knew the last option was NOT the case, but as that was the only option that gave me hope, I clung to it.

I was 6 1/2 weeks at the time of the ER visit.

HCG:

My HCG seemed to bounce around. That is the only explanation I can think of as to why a urine pregnancy test was not showing up positive when my HCG was at 500. Two days later, when they retested, my HCG was 850.

The increase was encouraging, but because my numbers didn't double -- they were worried about the placement of the baby.

Bleeding:

I didn't start spotting until I was at the ER I had some slight pinkish spotting.

It picked up a little that day, but not what I would consider to be as heavy as a period. The next day, I barely had any spotting. The nurses seemed encouraged that the bleeding had slowed, although they told me they were still concerned about the placement of the baby.

The next day, after news that my HCG had gone up, the cramping and bleeding picked up. I knew I was miscarrying.

After about an hour or two after everything started, I felt the need to push. I pushed out tissue. It was grayish and covered in blood, but was not a clot. It was about the size of what my ring finger and thumb make when I put the tips of my finger together in a circle.

I saved the tissue. My mom came over, and having experienced miscarriage herself, told me that this was the placenta and baby. We wrapped up the tissue sanitarily, double bagged it in
Ziploc, and put it in the fridge to save for the doctors.

The next morning, we were scheduled to go on a vacation. I called the on-call doctor that night, and asked if I should go.

They informed me that I could go, but must stay close to a hospital and must go in if my bleeding increases or I'm in pain.

The bleeding did not increase, and was about the same as a period. I went on vacation (though it was all very stressful and emotional.) Strangely I felt more pregnant during this time, but I just thought it was from my hormones trying to go back to normal.

Rupture:

For 3 days, I was for the most part pain free. I might have had some period-like cramps to go with the bleeding, I honestly don't remember. Those 3 days were honestly a fog of shock and grief, of believing I was no longer pregnant.

I had "miscarried" on Friday, and my post-miscarriage appointment was scheduled for 9 am on Tuesday.

As I was putting on my coat to go out the door for my appointment, I felt something like a pop, and very, very intense pain on the left side. It quickly radiated throughout my entire abdomen.

I would not classify this as a cramp. It was more like feeling like I had been stabbed in the gut.

I expected it to go away, but it did not. I did not want to be late to my appointment. I couldn't really walk very well. I could make it a few steps, then had to squat down to try to catch my breath. I called my parents and let them know I was in a lot of pain. They offered to come pick me and Maddy up and take us to our appointment, but I was afraid of being late. I insisted I was OK.

You, the reader, should know that I was NOT OK. And honestly, I knew I wasn't OK.

I simply didn't want to be a drama-queen. I didn't want to inconvenience anyone. I wanted to be superwoman, I guess. I just wanted to take care of it on my own.

Getting in the car and driving myself is probably one of the stupidest things I've done. Deep inside, I knew my tube had ruptured. I knew it.

I was in so much pain, it took me 30 min to drive 15 minutes away. I passed a fire station, and debated whether I should stop there and ask them to take me by ambulance. Again, not wanting to be drama (and also wondering if we could afford an ambulance ride), I opted again to try to cope with the pain instead.

I was dry-heaving in the car. The pain was so intense, it was causing me to throw up. I was also bawling. Maddy was in the backseat, and kept telling me not to cry, and that I would be OK. I also kept telling myself I would be OK. The whole drive, in between dry heaves, I was repeating aloud, "I'm OK. I can do this. It's just a drive. I'll be fine."

When I got to my parents, they met me outside. My dad pulled me from the driver's seat, as I could no longer stand on my own. My mom grabbed Maddy and took her inside, then quickly came back out to help my dad move me to the back seat of his car, where I curled in the fetal position. My parents debated which one should take me in. My dad decided that he should since I might need to be carried. My mom then called the doctor to let them know I was in bad shape, and to bring me a wheel chair when I got there.

She also called Ryan to let him know what was going on.

When we arrived at my OB/GYN, they got me in right away. Dad helped me in the wheelchair, and brought me back to the exam room. I couldn't stand or dress myself. So a nurse took off all my clothes, and got me in a gown, while completely supporting my body weight.

I did not want to be moved to an ultrasound room as everything just hurt too much. The dr did an internal exam (excruciating) where she determined that my cervix was open and everything seemed to be cleared out. Then she wheeled in the portable ultrasound machine, where she could see fluid and a mass by my ovary.

She said that the tissue I had passed was likely my uterine lining all rolling up and coming out in one clump.

She told me I had an ectopic pregnancy, that my tube looked like it ruptured, and I needed emergency surgery. The nurse got me dressed, and I called Ryan to let him know to meet me at the hospital as I would be having surgery right away.

It was hard to talk as I hurt so much. To Ryan, it sounded like I was dying. He came to the hospital expecting to say "good-bye" to me forever.

Surgery:

The nurse got me dressed again, and wheeled me out to my dad's car, where he took me 5 minutes to the local hospital. He wheeled me back in to the hospital, where they receptionist was trying to check me in. They briefly left me alone in the lobby for my dad to move the car to a parking space. I began dry-heaving again, and shaking uncontrollably.

They moved me to a room, where I had to go over my medical history several times. The anesthesiologist came in several times to make sure I wasn't allergic to anything. The nurses stayed in my room. They FINALLY gave me a shot (I don't know what it was) to help control the pain. As soon as they gave me the shot, I started throwing up bile. They told me it was the strongest pain medicine they had.

I remember them putting a band on me with my blood type, and told me I may need a blood transfusion.

After a few minutes, I felt some pain relief. The shaking stopped.

It only lasted about 10 minutes. After about 10 minutes, everything (nausea, shaking, pain) would come back, and I'd have to get another shot.

Everyone in our family came to the hospital. I only saw my dad, Ryan and my mother-in-law. The doctor came in and told me what happened. She said the baby died when my tube ruptured. I was 7 1/2 weeks at this time.

By the time I was wheeled into surgery, I was crying from pain again. The shot had worn off. My doctor told me she didn't know what my insides would look like. She said I might have to have a hysterectomy, but she would save everything she could. She said "I'll take care of you baby girl. I'll take care of you."

She gave me the comfort I needed at that time.

I briefly felt fear as they put me on the operating table, and everyone had masks. The anesthesiologist told me he was giving me the medicine. I was afraid to go asleep because I wasn't sure I would wake up. But I was so ready for relief, I gave in readily when sleep took over.

Recovery:

I had a hard time waking up from surgery. It was nighttime (maybe 7 pm) when I woke up in recovery. I kept having dreams that they moved the baby back to my uterus, and I was still pregnant.

 My mom and Ryan were with me. Apparently the nurses had been trying to wake me up for a long time.

I asked if I had anything left in there, and Ryan told me they saved my tube.  I asked if I had had a transfusion. Ryan said they took out the baby and tissue, and a softball-sized blood clot. I had lost a 1/2 liter of blood.

My doctor had (unbeknownst to me) gone out to my family after recovery, and showed them pictures of the pregnancy and clots. She let them know that the baby had implanted in my fimbrials (the fingerlike part of the tube that "catches" the egg from the ovary, and draws it into the tube.) Because that's where she implanted, my tube literally just split down the side when it ruptured, as opposed to worse damage that would have happened if she were in the middle of the tube.

Because of that, they scraped my tube clean, suctioned out all the blood, and were able to cauterize my tube back together.

I had the key-hole surgery, so I have 3 small scars. One in my belly-button, one on my left side by my hip, and one right above my C-section scar.

They discharged me before I felt ready. I had to get my clothes on (which didn't fit after the bloating from the surgery). They packed me up in our car (even though I couldn't walk on my own), and Ryan took me home.

I can't remember how long it took to feel normal. But I felt very weak for a LONG time.  I was bloated, and had horrible pain from the gas they pumped in me. My tube hurt for a long time. One of my incisions got infected and needed some extra TLC.

2 years later:

As a result of my ruptured tube, I still get lots of pain in that area. It usually comes on suddenly, and makes me gasp a little in pain, or suck in my breath till it's gone. The pain is less frequent than it used to be. When I first started trying to conceive, I had panic attacks thinking that I was having another ectopic.

The last two pregnancies I've had have been in an undetermined location. It appears as though I have just miscarried -- but since my HCG was slow rising, and they could not locate anything on ultrasound, I'm not 100% convinced they also weren't in my tubes. But we'll never know for sure. I just refer to those pregnancies as miscarriages.

My periods were also messed up following my rupture. My periods became more frequent, with more clotting and more spotting. My periods interfered with my daily life. Just recently, I had my FIRST (FIRST!!!!) normal period in 2 years.

My scars are barely noticeable. I had a test done on my tubes this summer, and my tubes are clear. However, there is scar tissue on the one that ruptured.

I have a higher risk for ectopic now.

I'm still waiting for a rainbow baby, and hope that one day, we'll have a baby in-utero that is healthy!



I hope that this has helped you. As always, if you want to share your story (ectopic or other pregnancy loss), please email me at renyeart@gmail.com.

Kristi's Story -- A lonely journey through ectopic pregnancy

I'm honored to share Kristi's story of a loss due to ectopic pregnancy.

Her story highlights several factors that are unique to an ectopic pregnancy or other early pregnancy loss:

• A husband often feels so different than the mom about the loss because he hasn't had a chance to bond with the baby.
• His reactions are often NOT helpful to the mom, which can make the loneliness in an early loss that much more painful. (Though I admit that his actions legitimately might be helpful to him.)
• Ectopics are hard for doctors to diagnose. This is why it's so important that we moms are in tune to our bodies and demand the care we (and our babies) deserve. When something is wrong, we have to trust our instincts.
• Medical personnel often don't treat ectopic pregnancies as the loss of a baby. The lack of compassion gives off the the feeling that we are just being "drama" and that "people miscarry every day, so what's the big deal?" The lack of validation for our loss -- and, therefore, the invalidation for our grief -- creates a very tricky journey of grief to navigate.

Her story also highlights what I'm sure all of us in the pregnancy-loss camp would agree with:

• Your loss changes you in a deep and profound way. And no matter how much you want to go back in time and have things the way they always were . . . you simply can't. And that is really hard to deal with.
• Your loss opens you up to a new world . . . a world of grief. A world where babies die. And a world that will probably never feel safe to you again.

On Christmas Eve, I was finishing up work and noticed that my eyes kept getting blurry and I felt dizzy.

Earlier in the week, I had started to wonder if I could possibly be pregnant because I wasn't feeling the usual signs of menstruation about to start, and I was tired more and having some nausea. So after the blurry vision and dizziness started that night, I decided to take another pregnancy test. (I had taken one a few days earlier which was negative, but thought it might have been too early to test.)
When I saw a faint second line on the test, I was overcome with joy . . . as well as full of anxiety about how my husband would feel. I decided not to say anything to him until I saw the doctor on Monday and knew for sure. 

On Sunday, Christmas Day, the spotting began.


It seemed to take forever waiting for Monday morning to come so I could call the doctor's office.  When Monday morning came, my husband planned a last-minute trip out of town to drop off some car parts at a machine shop and maybe to stop on our way out to see one of his daughters who is pregnant. While he was loading up the van, I called the doctor's office and found out that they were closed that day.

On the way to my step-daughter's house, I suddenly had to throw up, and hung my head out of the window to do so. When we got to the house, my daughter immediately told her half-sister about mommy throwing up, and she in turn immediately asked me, "What are you, pregnant?" I just kind of brushed it off, but told her later when we were alone that I thought I might be. 

Later that day, I admitted to my husband that I could be pregnant, and as I feared, he wasn't happy about it. He was constantly being negative about it, saying that he was too old to have another baby (he was 42 and I was 34) and that he had nothing to show for his life.

When we got home, we noticed our pet guinea pig was acting funny and wouldn't eat. I called and made an emergency visit to the vet and found out that she had an obstruction probably from chewing on the string to my pajamas a few days earlier, and she might not make it.

The next morning, the vet called to tell us that the guinea pig didn't make it. Then I went to the doctor and anxiously waited in the room for the doctor to come in and tell me for sure if I was pregnant. With my husband acting the way he was, I didn't know how to feel.

When the doctor came in, I could tell she looked nervous. She told me that the urine test came back negative but would call me with the results of the blood test. I immediately started crying and told her that I wasn't sure if I wanted to be pregnant because of the way my husband was treating me. I had wanted a baby for so long and just wished he could be as happy as I was.

I left the doctor's office and went to the vet's office to pick up our dead guinea pig. The nurse called me later with the blood test result and told me that I was pregnant. According to the hCG number, I was about 5 weeks along. Because of the spotting and cramping, I had to keep having my hCG checked.

The following weekend, my husband actually came with me and my daughter to my parents' house  to celebrate Christmas (which is something he never does.) We had a good weekend . . . we bought a couple of new guinea pigs, and he seemed to be taking the pregnancy news better, even though he never talked about the baby. The spotting had stopped for most of the weekend, until it started back up on New Year's Day.

That next Wednesday, my husband was being a total jerk . . . ranting and raving about everything except what was really bothering him (which I knew was the baby), and then storming out to his shop without even saying goodbye. My cramping had gotten much worse that morning, and I finally decided that afternoon to drive myself to the ER. 

I dropped off my daughter at the shop with him and told him where I was going. I spent several hours alone in the ER waiting to have a transvaginal and abdominal ultrasound. The doctor told me that my hCG levels had been very low for as far along as I was. (The doctor's office had always told me they were rising, but I guess they were never doubling like they should.)

The woman who did the ultrasounds is an old friend of mine, and I could tell from her face that something was wrong. The doctor told me I could just not be as far along as everyone thought (which I knew exactly when I conceived), or it could be either an ectopic pregnancy or an impending miscarriage. With no solid answer, they sent me home.

That Friday, the doctor's office called and told me that my hCG dropped a little and that the doctor wanted to try another ultrasound that Monday. The weekend seemed to drag on forever waiting for Monday to come. When I had the ultrasound, once again I was told that they couldn't see anything on the sonogram, but that my cervix was still closed. The official report came back saying that there was no evidence of an ectopic, and that the radiologist believed it was consistent with an early pregnancy. 

But the next morning, while I was working, I could feel the bleeding start. I ran into the bathroom and saw that the bleeding had gotten heavier. I told my husband I believed I could be miscarrying.  He had a physical therapy appointment he was getting ready to go to for his shoulder surgery, and I told him to go ahead and go. As the bleeding continued to get heavier, I called the doctor's office and they told me to come in and get checked. 

I was devastated to hear that my cervix was now open. It was hard to listen to a baby crying in the room next to me as I waited for my hCG number to come back. My number had risen a little and was told it could be an impending miscarriage or an ectopic pregnancy, or that my pregnancy still could be viable. Again, I was told I should just go home and rest. 

When I got home, I decided to take a bath to help relax. When I got out, I started to freak out when I saw that there was blood running down my leg and that the tub was filled with blood and several clots, including one the size of my hand. I yelled for my husband to come in, and he helped me get dressed and had me lie down. 

I called the ER since the doctor's office was closed and told them what happened and what the doctor had told me. Once they heard which doctor's office I went to (the hospital and a doctor at the clinic are in the middle of a lawsuit and he is banned from the hospital), they told me that I was having a miscarriage and there was nothing they could do for me. They told me to come in if I was bleeding through more than two pads in a half an hour. 

The bleeding stopped a few hours later, but the following night, I was cramping a lot worse. I had taken a Percocet and it wasn't doing anything to help with the pain. I called the ER again and told them that my doctor told me it could be ectopic, and again (once they heard what clinic I went to), they told me that if the doctor really believed I could have an ectopic, they would have done something by now. They inisisted I should just take another Percocet.

The next day, I had another hCG drawn. I was sure that it would be 0, and that I had miscarried. Instead, I was shocked to hear that my number had gone up again. 

The next week, my hCG levels kept rising slowly, but still nothing showed on the ultrasound. My doctor referred me to a gynecologist out of town who wanted to see me the next day. He told me that there was no way that this was a viable pregnancy and that he believed it was in my right tube. He said that on the ultrasound, there was more fluid developing around that tube. The ultrasound also showed fluid behind my cervix and around both ovaries and tubes. 

I told him about all the bleeding the week before, and he was shocked about that, too. Nobody could explain what was going on. My case was not the typical ectopic. 

The doctor suggested that I have the methotrexate injection. [This is a drug that will dissolve the baby and placenta, which would help prevent further damage to the tube.]

I had to wait for the pharmacy to get it ready, so we left to go shopping and kill time for a couple of hours before wereturned. By this time, the wating room was full of pregnant women and women with new babies. I couldn't stop crying as I waited for them to call my name. 

When the nurses brought me back to the room, and I saw the sonogram machine and the chart on the wall showing the various stages of pregnancy, I bawled harder than I ever have in my life. After the nurses gave me the two injections in my hips, they let me out the back way, so I wouldn't have to see all the pregnant women again. 

I cried the whole way home. I had told my husband that it made it even harder knowing this was my last chance to have a baby. At first, he seemed to be more open to trying again, but he hasn't even touched me in so long, like he's afraid I'll get pregnant again.

 I feel so alone. Not a single day goes by that I don't think about the baby. It's my first thought upon waking and my last thought before going to sleep each night. 

Tomorrow I go back to see the doctor who gave me the methotrexate injection to have an HSG test. [This is a test where they inject die into your tubes to see how if there is any blockage.] I am anxious to find out how much damage to my tubes there has been. 

I have had two laparoscopic surgeries in the past, with lots of scar tissue, adhesions and cysts having to be removed. I developed pelvic inflamatory disease after the second surgery, so I am worried what the doctor will find. I don't know if my husband will be coming with me or not. I might be going through this alone as well. 

I just wish I could back in time before any of this ever happened. It's so hard even getting on Facebook now, especially when I see pregnancy updates from two of my step-daughters, some friends, and my husband's cousin. It seeems like every day, somebody else is announcing their pregnancy. I even had to suspend my account for awhile because it just got to be too much to bear.

I don't like this woman who I have become . . . this woman who is angry and hurting all the time . . . this woman who knows that everything that you have ever wanted can be taken from you just like that, and there's nothing you can do about it.


A word to other mommas . . .

I would tell other women going through this that they should not be afraid to let their feelings out . . . that it's okay to be angry, it's okay to be sad. I felt so bad at first that I was angry at God until I talked to my pastor, and he made me realize that it's okay and natural to be angry with God, and that "God's got big shoulders and can take it."

I also have realized that I feel a lot of guilt and anger at myself. I've realized that I sometimes blame myself for being anxious about being pregnant, that maybe somehow my fears caused it. I also have been so angry at my husband for his reaction to my pregnancy and have blamed him, but I know deep down it's not anybody else's fault that this happened, that no one caused it. 

Also, it's very important and helpful to reach out to others who have been there for help to get you through it. I feel so alone with my friends and family, because none of them have any ideas what I am going through, so the support pages on Facebook have been a godsend for me.


Thank you, Kristi, for sharing your story of your baby, and the experience of your loss. I know the loneliness of losing a baby to ectopic -- but know that you are never truly alone in this loss. Thank you for being brave in sharing your story.

I feel like every pregnancy loss story is so important and deserves to be told. If you would like to share your story, please email me at renyeart@gmail.com. We can post your story anonymously if you would prefer. 

My goal in sharing stories on this blog is:

1) To honor our beloved babies and keep their memory alive.
2) To validate and honor the grief of the moms who have lost their little one.
3) To be a resource to women who are hoping to find someone, somewhere out there, who can relate to their feelings of loss. I hope this blog will be that resource.

Angel Baby Rose's Story -- a life lost to ectopic pregnancy

Tonight, I'm honored to share the story of angel baby Rose, whose life was lost because her implantation was ectopic (outside of the uterus). Ectopic pregnancies are so scary because two lives are at stake -- and one of those lives is always lost.

This momma is so brave in sharing her story, in hopes that other women will be able to recognize the signs of an ectopic pregnancy and get help sooner. I know this mom is devastated by the loss of her precious Rose. If you choose to comment, please keep your comments kind, supportive and full of love!

-- Rachel

It started at Zumba class.

I'd gone with a friend of mine, but was unable to do the class because I was getting what felt like crampy pains in my groin. I had to leave the class and sit in the car, it was that bad. My friend came out and drove me home.

The pain got worse as the night wore on, and became unbearable. I was feeling like I was going to faint, and almost did twice. My husband had had a virus the night before with similar symptoms, so I thought I was just catching that. Little did I know . . .

My pain got so bad that I was not able to hold my head up and couldn't sit. I made it to the lounge room chair where I just flopped in it. It was at that point that my husband called for an ambulance.

The ambulance took me straight to the ER and out to a back room where I waited. None of the doctors knew what was wrong with me. They had the nerve to put it down to a bug, and then chlamydia, even though I'd been married to the same man and was with him for 10 years.

It was about 8 pm when I went in to an examination room which held 3 other people. By this point, I was in terrible pain. I was given Panadol, Nurofen and Endone with no effect. (Usually the Endone alone would knock me out.)

The pain was unbearable and I was calling out . . . I kept waking up the poor lady beside me. By 3 am, I'd had enough. I was yelling in pain because the pain was unbearable on my right side and the tip of my left shoulder. (I was later told these were classic signs of an ectopic.) Still, the doctors didn't know. I yelled out at one point, "You are not listening to me!" This is when they actually took notice of what I was saying . . .

I heard whispers that I was pregnant, which I couldn't understand. Then the doctor came back, and I got the news I wanted to hear, followed by what is one of the worst things you can hear: "You're pregnant, but it's ectopic."  :-(

They asked me if I knew what that meant, and I said I did . . . that the baby was growing in the fallopian tube.

I think that was the worst moment of my life, to hear that news. I then asked them, "I will have to have surgery won't I?". . . to which they replied yes. My heart sank and I felt like bawling my eyes out.

It was 3 am. . . I was in a hospital room with only doctors and no family. I wanted my family -- my son, who was 3.5 years old at the time, my husband and my mum -- around me. I asked if I could ring them, which they said I could. I rang my husband, who then rang my mum. They came up . . .

I was tying to be strong, but inside I was dying.

The gynecologist was called in who told me I'd have to be rushed in for surgery at 5 am. . . but I was taken in at 4 am. I remember being so scared in that room full of people, but I was terrified my husband couldn't come in the room with me. I was so alone . . .

They told me they'd count backwards from 10  . . . that's the last thing I knew . . .

I woke up about 7 or 8 am. The doctors came to see me. I'd ruptured and was bleeding inside. If  I'd left it much later, I would have died. I lost my left fallopian tube, too. They did a keyhole surgery so I'd  have a small scar. But the scar was nothing to the emptiness and grief I felt.

The next couple of days were very hard. I was in so much grief. I had lost 2 litres of blood as well, and almost had to have blood transfusions (though luckily I didn't). My husband and mum and sister came in to see me regularly. I had a friend who came in, but she tried to ignore why I was in there. I coouldn't stand that, so I ended up telling to her leave. I was very upset.

They discharged me after 4 days. I felt the nurses didn't care, they didn't want to talk, or listen to me. I still have bad days to this day, but it is gradually getting easier.

But I will never forget her. (I thought she was a girl because, the week before, I'd gone off vegemite -- one of my favourite foods.) Later, we called her Rose.

Rest in peace, Rose. You are gone, but never, ever forgotten. ♥

A word to other mommas:

Make sure, if you're in pain, that you are heard and looked after.

Take each day by day.

 Don't let anyone tell you to “get over it” or that you haven't suffered because you didn't know, or it was barely formed, or not a stillborn baby.

Take as long as you need to grieve.

I feel like every pregnancy loss story is so important and deserves to be told. If you would like to share your story, please email me at renyeart@gmail.com. We can post your story anonymously.

My goal in sharing stories on this blog is:

1) To honor our beloved babies and keep their memory alive.
2) To validate and honor the grief of the moms who have lost their little one.
3) To be a resource to women who are hoping to find someone, somewhere out there, who can relate to their feelings of loss. I hope this blog will be that resource.

Grief in a vacuum

¹vac·u·um

b: a state of isolation from outside influences

<people who live in a vacuum…so that the world outside them is of no moment  — W. S. Maugham>

As a business owner, a wife and a mom, I tend to juggle a lot. But there have been times that I have wished I could just live life in a vaccuum . . . 

Last April, I keenly remember wishing I could put life on hold for just a bit while I operated my business. Or maybe I wanted to put my business on hold while I operated my life.

I was juggling my normal schedule -- 2 full days of proofing at the advertising agency, 3 full days of being a stay-at-home mom, working to finish a promotion, laundry, cooking, cleaning, singing on the worship team -- you name it.

But then a dear friend of mine was getting married.

I was not only a bridesmaid in her April wedding, I also hosted out-of-town guests, was in charge of arranging all the flowers, did the bride's makeup, helped set up and tear down for the wedding, ironed the wedding dress 
(S-C-A-R-Y), and helped arrange and serve food for the reception. 

It was beautiful!

And exhausting.

After trying to balance everything that month, I wished I could just operate life in a vacuum. I would do really well at Arbonne -- if that's all I had to do. I'd be an awesome bridesmaid/flower arranger/makeup artist/friend -- if that's all I had to do. I'd make an excellent wife and mom -- if that's all I had to do.

But life doesn't operate in a vacuum.

That's what makes life beautiful.

That's also what makes it messy.

Lately, I've found myself wishing I could just grieve in a vacuum.

I have a history of depression and anxiety. I have used, and weaned myself off of, medicine for both issues. Last year, when I felt the cool shadow of depression darken my soul, I chose to enter counseling so I could address the root of my depression and not just treat the symptoms.

After almost a full year of counseling, I felt so much better -- that is, until I had my ectopic pregnancy and lost my baby.

Grief awakened the demons of depression and anxiety, and they preyed upon me at whim. (I am not claiming spiritual warfare -- nor am I precluding it -- but no other descriptor fits my feelings. At times I truly felt possessed by my overwhelming feelings).

In one last effort to address my depression without medication, my counselor suggested I take a week off. She instructed me to get rid of all outside distractors as much as possible, listen to my feelings, and do whatever the heck I felt like doing (within reason, of course) in order to express my grief and deal with the emotions it brought.

Enter -- the vacuum.

A week off? Sounds awesome. Except I'm kinda a workaholic -- or, as I like to think of it -- I'm productive. And I don't know HOW to take a week off.

Clearly I still had responsibilities. My daughter still needed diapers changed. (Ick.)  And we still had to eat. Besides taking care of the input -- and output -- and general hygiene, the rest was really filler: stuff I could delegate to my husband, or put off for a week.

I usually cannot relax unless it is in a clean room -- so you can imagine my dilemma. Relax -- but don't clean. Sounded counter-intuitive to me.

It took me 4 days of trying to NOT work -- all the while, thinking of what must be done and combatting the associated guilt -- before I was finally able to relax.

7 days off = 4 days of doing what I wanted and feeling miserable about it + 3 days of doing what I wanted and feeling good about it.

Did it completely heal me? No. Might I still need to consider medicine? Maybe.

But I learned some pretty valuable lessons about myself in the process.

I learned that I can let go of some of the pressure I put on myself, and still be valuable (and productive!). I learned about some really unhealthy thought habits I had formed.

I learned that I am still very, very sad for the daughter I will never know this side of heaven.

I learned that I was hiding behind a busy schedule, behind a smile, behind a facade that I was all OK because the grief and sadness felt just too scary to handle. I learned that I have to fuel my soul, and not just make myself push harder while on "empty." I learned that I really need to take care of myself so I can be a good example to Maddy.

Enter -- life outside of the vacuum.

So, the vacuum is over and done with. I have found myself wondering, "Now what?"  How do I deal with the mess of grieving while juggling everything else?

And grieving while doing life is really messy.

The other day, I went on a playdate that had all of the makings for being an amazing time for me and Maddy. Valentine's Day, delicious cookies to decorate, cute elephant valentines to make and pass out, and an amazing hostess I love very much . . . All good, right?

Except I wasn't planning on everyone attending being either 1) Pregnant. 2) Have a newborn with them. 3) A practicing midwife. Or 4) Nursing. 

One lady came late -- bless her -- that did not seem interested at all in having another baby.

But still, for 2 hours the talk was about babies, nursing, babies, birth stories, babies, gift registries, B-A-B-I-E-S.

So, how exactly do I handle this when everything in me wants to run away and burst into tears? How do I act polite and courteous to these people who I don't even know, while everything about them at that time brings pain to me?

And it's not just hard when I'm around babies or pregnant people. My grief can be triggered at the most obnoxious times.

What about when I get blurry-eyed as I walk past the vitamin aisle, remembering that this is where I got my prenatals? Who cries at the vitamin aisle?

What about crying while getting my favorite coffee because I am so sad I can drink it without having to worry about protecting a baby in me? Pretty awkward for everyone else, right? Really, is coffee something to get THAT worked up about?

What about when a close friend is pregnant, and I love them with all my heart, and I am so HAPPY for their growing baby, but I am so SAD for my loss, that I don't even know how to act without hurting their feelings?

How am I supposed to react when my dad starts counting his grandchildren -- and Olivia doesn't make the list?

What about going on Facebook and feeling jarred every time an ultrasound photo is posted, or a BOY/GIRL announcement is made, or a newborn photo is proudly displayed? I often will myself to "like" their status, even when the truth is, it was really hard for me to see.

What about dealing with the hundred billion reminders out there of the baby I lost, all while trying desperately to not offend or hurt everyone around me, and still, somehow, care for myself at the same time?

I still don't know how to juggle it all.

But I'm starting to think I need to tell my counselor that I need another week in the vacuum . . .

. . . just for good measure.

The beauty -- and pain -- in just letting go.

I'm the kind of girl that has a hard time letting go.

As a kid, that meant my junk drawer was so full it was hard to shut. I couldn't throw any toy away, for fear of hurting its feelings. When I was older, I never wanted to let go of our cars. Yes, you heard me . . . our cars. We would get a different car, get rid of the old one . . . and I would be angry with my parents for putting me through so much change. You can imagine how difficult I was through each of our moves.

I remember when I was 12, I had a girlfriend spend the night, and we shared a bed. I woke her up in the middle of the night because our sheets were messed up. I kicked her out of bed, made the bed, let her back in, and promptly let her know that if she messed my covers up again she'd be sleeping on the floor. Even while unconcious, I just couldn't let go.

As an adult, I struggle to hold on to everything. We just traded in cars this weekend, and I had a hard time saying "goodbye" to a car that I didn't even like. I still get this kind of remorseful feeling when I look at our driveway with the gold minivan and not the white SUV. (Although I have to admit that our minivan's new heated seats are literally warming me over.)

Obviously, holding on tightly to each little facet of my life has at times been annoying, hurtful and just plain painful. But my stubborn determination to hold on has also served me well . . .

I've held on to my faith when I felt like the world (or the heavens) have conspired against me and I can barely get through the day.

I've held on to my business even when I hear "no," people cancel, and I don't see the rewards for my work.

I've held on to my husband even when we fight and "love" could not feel farther away.

I've held on to my dreams and passions even when no one else can see them as clearly as I can.

I'm so used to holding on, that I never questioned whether I should hold on to my pregnancy when all the odds were against us.

I remember the night of my miscarriage, sitting on the couch watching "Finding Nemo" with Maddy. I had been bleeding heavily for 2 hours, and had wave after wave of cramps. We had received good news just hours before that the baby was still alive. If the baby was alive, I should NOT be bleeding. I should NOT be cramping. And this whole thing was just wrong. So, so wrong.

I didn't realize how tense I was, how hard I was trying to hold onto something that was slipping away, until I felt a soft whisper on my heart. Rachel, you need to let go. Let your body work. Let your baby go.

From the moment the bleeding started that evening, I knew deep in my heart it was the beginning of the end. But I still fought against the cramps, against the death that I was sure was overtaking my baby. And then there was that quiet, still moment where I knew that no matter how hard I fought, nothing I could do would save my baby. I just needed to let go.

There was so much release and relief when I surrendered my body, my baby, my hopes and my dreams to the ebb and flow of miscarriage.  Minutes later, I passed what I had believed to be our baby.

I have read that women in labor also must reach a point of total surrender to the work of their bodies. I believe God has created our bodies to work at odds with our minds at times. Perhaps even in this He shows us our frailty and weakness . . . and His omnipotence and strength.

Waving the white flag to God, to my body, to my circumstances has not been easy. And in the weeks since we lost Baby O, I have found so many times where God is calling me to let go  . . . to stop holding on so tight with white knuckles, and just trust Him.

I'm learning to let go of my ideas of success and embrace that I can only do what I can do, and no more.

I'm learning to let go of my pride . . . that there are days where I will not have something amazing or productive to show for my time, and that it's OK.

I'm learning to let go of my need to be in control . . . because, if losing a baby has taught me anything, it's that while I sometimes have the facade of control, it's usually just that. A facade.

And gently, tenderly, He is STILL calling me to let go of my baby. To trust in Him. And surrender to His will, even though I don't understand.

Perhaps, as I move through this life with hands a little more open, I will find that I am no longer just letting go. I'm also opening up my life to the blessings and purpose He has for me. And that is a hope I'm holding on tight to. A promise I will never let go of.

Quick update

This won't be long as I promised I'd actually make an attempt to go to bed the same time as my husband tonight. Hopefully with the melatonin I just took, this will be more in the realms of possible. (Plus I have to get up super early tomorrow. Ok, super early is like 6:30. But considering I haven't been waking up until 10, that feels borderline impossible.)

So here are the quick updates:

• I went to a support group for pregnancy loss. Helpful? Yes. Hard? Terribly. This will take probably an hour long blog on it's own. Just suffice it to say, I'm reaching out for support.
• I've upped my time with my counselor. Same story as the first --another, separate blog is needed.
• Went to the OB last week. She gave us her blessing to try to conceive again in 3 months. Again, I will have to expound on this, but at least I have some small world of hope.
• I'm working through some really difficult but amazing books. Trying to work on my relationship with Jesus. To know Him more, and trust Him in all of this craziness.
• Dealing with insomnia in a ridiculous way. Considering I used to be a narcoleptic, this is a huge feat. Although, it's not a feat I'm happy about. 4 am has been my new bedtime. And I am exhausted.
• Still super weepy most of the time. Nights are the worst. Sometimes it's not even about missing Baby O. Sometimes it's just dealing with anxiety, hopelessness in ALL aspects of my life, and feelings of failure.
• I went to work today, which I AM proud of. My friends were amazing to me, and we even had lunch in the corner of the office so I wouldn't have to see anybody if I didn't want to. Only talked with 2 people I hadn't planned on . . . and they were super supportive. I know people feel bad when they cry around me. But I think that's the best "conversation" I could have right now -- just crying together. I do miss my friends very, very much.
• Ryan and I have been slowly getting more on the same page. We grieve differently. And I'm a different person now, with different roles. It's been an difficult adjustment for both of us. 
• My body is STILL not 100%. I've had 3 other health issues arise since surgery, one of which was so painful I couldn't hardly eat or drink for 4 days. (And yes, I lost the baby weight and more during those 4 days.) Hoping for 100% health soon. (And I ate Chung's, nachos and ice cream tonight to make up for it. But not all at the same time!)

If you want to pray for me, pray that:

• I would grieve well, and give myself permission to do that in whatever way is best.
• That I would SLEEP on a normal schedule.
• That I would have some energy to reach out to others during this time.
• That I would take good care of Maddy and Ryan and our home.
• That I would grow closer to Christ.
• That I would be faithful to whatever God's purpose is in this whole mess.
• Oh, and that I would be able to work through my depression without medicine, if possible.

I think that's it for now . . . got to try to hit the sack.

Thanks everyone for reading my posts. And for all your love and support.

One step forward . . . two steps backward

Today, I took a step forward. I also took two steps backward. Or . . .  make that a dozen.

I actually did an Arbonne party today. Was I ready to? No. Was I ever going to feel ready? Maybe not for a long, long time. But as my mom and my counselor both pointed out, it might feel good to do something "normal." Something productive that usually brings me satisfaction.

Last night was extremely rough, and I thought I was making a huge mistake in trying for the party today. But you know what? I did it. Granted, I made a billion "mistakes." Things I forgot to bring -- things I brought, then left them in the car -- things I did completely wrong. I even called one of the guests by the wrong name. I guess you still get post-partum brain, even when there's no baby at the end of the pregnancy.

In spite of all that, the girls were really sweet. I enjoyed getting to know them, and I enjoyed the party.

Ryan and Maddy drove with me to the party, so I think that made it easier.

But on the way home, I became sullen. We ate at Panera, and I was consumed by remembering my last visit to Panera -- the day after I miscarried and I had emotionally lost it when I got my coffee.

Later this evening, friends of ours watched Maddy so Ryan and I could have a date. It was super, super nice of them. I was looking forward to our date earlier in the day, but now? Now I was paralyzed by emotion. We ended up at the movies watching Mission Impossible. But I couldn't focus. I read blogs and texted. I just felt disconnected from everything -- Ryan included. Nothing felt right.

My mood had gone considerably south by the time we'd gotten home. Anxiety about going to church crept up. Ok, it didn't creep. It clawed at me, making me feel like I was on the verge of a panic attack. I wanted to go to church, but I'm not ready for attention. I feel like I'll just cry through worship. Not be able to focus during the sermon. And I feel like I'll want to make a beeline out of there if anyone talks to me.  Ryan assured me I didn't have to go if I wasn't ready. But I almost feel like the longer I procrastinate, the harder it will be.

Then there's the anxiety about more "firsts" coming up this week. (As in, "Last time I did this, I was pregnant. This will be my first time doing this/going there/talking to this person since I lost the baby.") Last time I went to church, I was pregnant. Now I'm not. And later this week, I will go to my work to collect my things and have lunch with my friends. But last time I was there, I was pregnant and I began cramping and this entire nightmare began.

I decided to try to sleep off the anxiety, but decided to open my mail first. I opened up a sympathy card. The first thing I read was, "There are no words that are appropriate right now." How true. This whole situation was inappropriate really. When is it appropriate to lose a baby? And what words could a person say?

The truth of this overwhelmed me. The woman who had penned those words was the first to see me in the bathroom at work, curled up on the floor in pain. She was the first that brought it to my attention that I might be losing the baby. Until then, I was in complete denial anything was truly wrong.

Remembering that day sent me into flashbacks of the events I've gone through in the last three weeks.

Trauma 1: I was at work, enjoying a Christmas party when the cramps started. A week before, I had been joking to a coworker that I had a "cranky uterus" this time around. We both laughed. But on this particular day, the cramps were sudden and awful.

It became obvious to others I was in pain, but I didn't want attention. So I excused myself to the bathroom, thinking that in 15 minutes or so, they would pass and I would be able to eat the yummy Indian food that was waiting for me.

That was definitely not the case. I found myself needing to breathe through the cramps, and eventually, I curled up on the floor (albeit, as far away from the toilet as I could possibly get. And yes, I know this is really gross. But I was just trying to get through the pain.) Coworkers came in, and I insisted I was OK . . . but deep inside, I wanted someone to come help me. Finally, my friend Deb came in and saw me crying in pain. She said, "That's it. We're driving you home, or to the hospital. Which is it?"

They drove me to my parents' house, and my dad believed I had either an ectopic pregnancy, an obstructed bowel, or appendicitis. My parents took me to the ER. Before I got to see the Dr., much of my pain subsided due to pain meds and I wanted to go home. My dad insisted that I be seen.

Trauma 2: I had a very kind, compassionate Dr. He seemed to care very much for me and my baby, and spent a lot of time with us. We discussed how far along I might be, and when my due date is. And then, he reviewed my paperwork one last time before leaving the room to order tests and said casually, "Oh, wait a  minute. The pregnancy test here says you're not pregnant."

And with that calm, casual statement -- as if he was announcing something as trivial as my temperature -- a part of my heart died. Just died. I knew there was no reason for the pregnancy test not to be positive unless the baby had died, or was going to die. And the despair that filled my entire being was so consuming. Crying didn't help. Nothing helped. During that time, I was almost numb to physical pain. They put in the IV lock, and I didn't notice. I almost wanted some physical pain at that time to take away the heartache. To give me some distraction from the raw emptiness inside. (Eventually I got it as my arm ached from the IV.)

I had to have an ultrasound, and I watched the image of my empty uterus wave across the screen as the technician searched for a baby. Nothing. There was nothing. I know what my pregnant uterus should look like. And that was definitely empty. At one point, she turned up the sound and I heard a familiar "whoosh whoosh" of a heartbeat. I think the technician saw hope flick across my face for a brief instant, because she quickly made note that that was MY heartbeat -- not a baby's.

It seemed like the ultrasounds lasted 30 minutes (I had two). All during that time I was despondent. The technician was also kind, and told me over and over, "I'm sorry." But she said she couldn't tell me anything about the ultrasound. She just said, "I know you think you know what this is, but it might not be." But then in the next breath, she would look at me compassionately and say, "I'm so sorry."

By the time I saw the Dr. again, I had been in the ER for 5 hours. And I had begun to bleed. The Dr. said the blood draw came back positive for pregnancy with very low HCG levels. I had to wait until Friday for the blood draw to find out if the numbers had doubled, which would indicate that the pregnancy might be viable. He told me that he wasn't willing to give up on my baby. That he's seen crazy things happen before, and he was holding onto hope.

I felt a little bit better. But I also knew it would take a miracle from God for us to keep this baby.

Trauma 3: On Friday (two days after the ER visit), I had the blood draw. After the blood draw, I came home and could finally sleep. I was worn out from praying, crying, reading about miscarriage/ectopic pregnancy, and the like. It was as if after the blood draw, there was nothing left for me to do. A friend recently blogged that we women fight to keep our babies alive in the uterus. I definitely felt as if I had been in a battle. Now it was up to the numbers to tell us the fate of our baby.

The nurse's call woke me up and she said we had good news. The numbers had gone from 560 to 840. So that meant the baby was still alive and growing. When I informed the nurse that I hadn't bleed at all in 24 hours, she was encouraged. She, too, said she was holding onto hope for our baby.  But she also said that because the numbers didn't double, she was still quite concerned about the placement of the baby.

So much hope was given to me then. I began texting and calling with the good news. But still, I did ask friends to pray that if our baby was ectopic, that I would pass the baby naturally so I didn't have to make any hard decisions.

Five hours after the nurse's call, it seemed that God was answering my prayer. Well, at least the prayer that I had hoped He wouldn't have to answer.

The bleeding began, and the cramps. We were supposed to have dinner with Ryan's grandpa that night -- but I didn't think I should go. We were supposed to go out of town on vacation the next morning, but I didn't know what I should do. Ryan and I were on opposite pages as far as what we should do at this point, and emotionally, we were both heated. But I knew this was the end. I wanted to pass the baby as peacefully as I could at home.

[Please excuse the next part -- it's a bit more graphic, but I really feel I need to write this out.] During the cramping, I was constantly in the restroom checking my bleeding. It was definitely as heavy as a period. Once, when I stood up, I felt something in me and felt the need to push. I sat back down and did, and this large clot with tissue forcefully came out.

As soon as I saw the clot, I began weeping, clinging to the toilet. I knew it was our baby, and she was sitting in our toilet. I felt as if this caged animal inside of me was let loose. There was no rational thinking. No logic holding me back from just feeling. Honestly, I had no choice but to let this grief possess me in a way I had never let anything take over. I was no longer felt like Rachel -- I couldn't even recognize this person who was wailing on her bathroom floor. In truth, I don't think Ryan recognized her either.

Trauma 4: The next few days were so hard. I felt expected to be normal. To go on vacation, and be socially acceptable. To enjoy shopping and eating out. To enjoy our hotel. I couldn't. I didn't know how to be normal. I no longer cared if I made others happy or uncomfortable. I didn't know how to be this new person I had become. I didn't know how to grieve. I didn't know how to live.

Trauma 5: The following Tuesday, as I was putting on my coat to leave for my post-miscarriage appointment (that was originally scheduled as my first prenatal appointment), I felt very sharp cramping in my abdomen. Within seconds, I could no longer stand the pain was so intense. I eventually walked to the car, taking many breaks to squat. (I imagine I was a sight to the neighbors.) I called my parents and asked if one of them could watch Maddy, and the other accompany me to my appointment as I could not go alone . . . I was in too much pain. They asked if I needed them to pick me up. I declined. I didn't want to be late for my appointment.

I could hardly walk, but somehow I got Maddy into her car seat and began driving. The pain was unbearable, and made me nauseous. I kept telling myself outloud I was OK, in between dry heaving. Maddy was in the back telling me over and over not to cry. The truth is, I knew my tube had ruptured. I knew I was bleeding internally. But for some reason, I still thought I could handle it.

At one point, the logical part of me said, "You need to stop here at this fire station and tell them you need help." The illogical part said, "They'll take me by ambulance and we can't afford that." I took probably 30 minutes to make a 15-minute drive. My mom was so worried that I had gotten in an accident. (She later told me she had to get on her knees and beg God to forgive her for letting me drive like that.) As I crawled along the highway, I recieved many dirty looks from the people that passed me by. It's hard to drive fast when you hurt so badly.

By the time I reached my parents, I could officially no longer stand. I broke down in tears of relief when they took Maddy from me and helped me into the backseat of their car. My dad took me to my appointment because my parents figured he would need to carry me in.

My mom called Ryan to tell him I was in pain. She also called the office to let them know that I was coming to them in bad shape. They brought out a wheelchair and both my dad and the nurse helped me in. I sobbed as quietly as I could in the fetal position as they wheeled me through the waiting room. I was relieved the room was not full of onlookers.

My poor nurse was smaller than me, but she had to fully support me standing and had to undress me and get me into a robe as I could not. My normal self would have been humiliated -- but this new me didn't care. My OB immediately came in and did an exam. Again, nothing was in my uterus. She wheeled in the ultrasound where she saw fluid in my abdomen and a mass by my ovary. She told me I had an ectopic pregnancy and that I needed surgery right away. She said I had not passed a baby on Friday, I had passed uterine lining. The baby would have died when my tube ruptured.

She was going to try to save my tube and ovary, but she could make no promises. She didn't know what shape I was in until she opened me up.

After the nurse redressed me, I called Ryan. "I'm in pain. (Long pause). Meet me (long pause) at Harrison. (Long pause). I have to have sugery." Ryan could barely make out my words. Later he told me he thought he was going to the hospital to say a final goodbye.

At the hospital, the receptionist had me go in the backroom to fill out paperwork. Really. She wanted my insurance info. At this point, I was shaking from the pain. She asked my dad if I needed a blanket from being cold. He pointedly told her I was shaking from pain, not cold. She infomed him he needed to move his car. For a few minutes, they left me alone in the room . . . and I began dry heaving again. Finally, after seeing me try to throw up on her nice carpet, she realized maybe this was not a good idea. Paperwork could be done in the hospital room. (I can't believe it took her this long to realize the absurdity of me doing paperwork in the shape I was in.)

The nurses were really kind. I mumbled out answers to a billion questions about my health and previous surgeries as best as I could, and FINALLY they gave me pain medicine. After the shot, I began truly throwing up at this point. Ryan was finally in my room, and was trying to comfort me. Each shot for the pain lasted about 15 minutes, but it was enough to finally stop the shaking and I could rest just a bit.

Family arrived at the hospital out of nowhere. It was nice to have everyone there supporting me, even though I didn't see them.

I got wheeled into the OR, and my OB kept telling me, "Baby girl, I'm going to take care of this for you. I'm going to fix you and make you feel better." At that point, I could have cared less that she was talking to me as one might talk to a toddler. Her words gave me much comfort. I knew she cared about me.

The shot had worn off, so I was quite ready for the anesthesia. The fear I felt toward the surgery was overcome by my need for relief. The gave me the anesthesia, and I just nestled my head into the pillow as I might have if I was going to bed. Sleep was most welcome.

It took me several hours to fully wake up after surgery. At one point, I dreamed that the baby had floated down my tube into my uterus from the surgery. When I woke up, I thought I was pregnant again. It took me a while to realize that was just a dream.

It was disorienting to wake up from surgery, not knowing what had gone on. How long had I been in surgery? What time was it? Did I have a tube still? Did I have an ovary? Heck, did I have anything left in there? Did I lose blood? Did I have a transfusion?

Ryan came back and told me I did still have a tube, and that I had lost a half a liter of blood and had a huge clot, but that I did not have to have a transfusion. At some point, I thought I heard that I had a cyst on my ovary they had to take out. But I found out a week later that was just something I conjured up on my own in my anthethesia-induced stupor.

They sent me home that night. And my family and friends loved on me and took care of all of us. And I guess that's the silver-lining in this whole thing -- I've experienced other people's love and concern -- even from strangers -- in amazing ways.

Back to today -- I finally feel some relief after writing this all out. I apologize again for the more graphic nature of my post. :(  The memories of pain and fear were welling up into anxiety -- and from my past, I know the only way for me to release that is to write it all down.

Tomorrow, maybe I will go to church. Maybe I will be able to take another step forward. And maybe tomorrow night, I'll only have to take one step back -- and not two.