Whenever the question of how many pregnancies I have had comes up, it catches me off guard. Giving them the answer is like pushing on an old bruise. One that never goes away.
Four five pregnancies. How many living children? Two. For anyone who hasn’t caught on yet, I am currently pregnant with Pirate M.
People handle these sorts of stories differently so I will say upfront that I may get too detailed for some people.
Homemade Daddy and I had decided that we wanted to try getting pregnant again soon after we moved. Since the doctors said that it takes time for birth control to work out of your system and the average time for couple to get pregnant was 6 months, we decided to go ahead get my birth control taken out a little early. I had one small period immediately after and did have one again until Christmas. Early December we found out I was pregnant. This came after several weeks of taking home pregnancy tests thinking that I was pregnant but they always came up negative. We. Were. Thrilled.
I bought a t-shirt for Big M and took video of HD coming home to see Big M in his Big Brother t-shirt. I had an appointment with my OB set up already and everything was going great. Until I started spotting. My facebook mommy group assured me that spotting can be perfectly normal and some women spot their entire pregnancy and deliver perfect healthy babies. Then the spotting got worse. I called my OB nurse line. They assured me that everything was okay and we moved my appointment up to be right after the weekend.
Friday night was HD’s work Christmas party. I got all dolled up in a new top and pearls. At the party we started telling his co-workers that I was pregnant. The night was going great. Until I noticed that the spotting had really picked up. I called an on-call doctor’s line (not my OB) and talked to them. A small part of me is grateful that this doctor was so frank with me but another part of me still hates how she told me what she thought.
This doctor straight up told me that I was probably miscarrying and I needed to go to the ER that night to get checked out and make sure I wasn’t hemorrhaging. Not an ounce of sympathy in her voice. I walked back to the ballroom and broke the news to HD. We convinced a co-worker to take Big M home with her and after the party we headed to the ER. I was taken back right away and checked out.
The news was good. There was little fresh blood and everything was still closed. To be sure, they ordered an ultrasound. Hands down this doctor was one of the best doctors I have ever had. The ultrasound revealed a little peanut with a heartbeat and I instantly felt hope. The news wasn’t all good though. The heart rate was in the low 100’s. He sent us off with orders to try and rest until Monday. We didn’t make it to Monday.
Sunday I was in enough pain that I could sit still and couldn’t move. It was sapping my energy to the point where I had to use a motor cart while grocery shopping. Soon after we got home the unthinkable happened. I passed a larger clot on top of the bleeding getting worse. We packed up Big M and headed back to the ER. I didn’t make it back to a room before I had to pee and ended up passing a clot so large that I instantly knew. My baby was in there. I was sobbing so hard and so loud that a nurse came in to check on us and took me straight back to a room.
The same doctor from the night before saw us again. Things didn’t look so good. There were more clots and everything was open. An ultrasound confirmed what we already knew. The baby was gone. Back in our room we named it Shiloh. We will never know what went wrong or why this happened to us. All I know is that I went into labor at 8 weeks and delivered my sweet baby Shiloh the week before Christmas and three days before we were supposed to take a big family trip to Walt Disney World.
The doctor wrote a prescription that HD needed to take the rest of the week off to be with me. That was the biggest gift he was able to give me. I just didn’t know it at the time. I went on our family vacation and allowed myself to cry after we got back but perhaps not enough. I focused on getting pregnant again instead. During the day I would sob on the couch and at night we worked on getting pregnant. . .