the look of silence

Have you ever stood in the middle of Toys R Us surrounded by the crying, the pleading and the laughter of children? Have you ever stood in the middle of Toys R Us and all of its atmospheric madness whilst knowing that you were having a miscarriage?

I have.

Although I’ve been pretty open about things here, I’ve never gone there. Unfortunately, that is where I am right now. A zombie with a short temper, painful stomach aches and all consuming nausea.

It’s almost funny. The exact things I am feeling now that are letting me know that my body is ‘cleansing’ (as the registrar put it) itself, are the exact things I felt when I was pregnant with Noah. Only at that time, the midwife was reassuring me that the sicker I felt the better it was because it meant things were ‘working’ and that the sicker you are, the stronger the baby is.

So when we found out about this baby, all of my nausea and dizziness made sense. The inability to travel in a car without wanting to throw up and crying at everything on television. Even the commercials. And we let things sink in for a couple of weeks before we truly accepted that this was our new reality and our life would change, but we’d figure it out and although I struggle at home with Noah and Amy I’d convinced myself that I’d be better with three. It makes no sense, no, but the fact that I wasn’t scared was a relief. It wasn’t a feeling I felt through the pregnancies that resulted in Noah and Amy, or the ones that didn’t result in anyone.

Sure, I panicked at first. We didn’t believe it. We held the test under every different light source we could find, turned it sideways, shook it like it was an Etch-a-Sketch and finally gave in and went for the one that would say it in words. And it said it. We didn’t know how to tell anyone, because we knew that the excitement that most people had when we announced BoB and Cheese wouldn’t be there. That made me sad. But I got over it and had moved on mentally because something kept telling me that things were all going to be fine. Even if it meant that all of our holidays from now were going to be taken in the car .. to public parks .. or dumpster diving.

Sadly, my confidence was based on rubbish theories that mean absolutely nothing. Without crossing into the way too much information territory, I ended up at the doctor on Saturday, and from there I went to the hospital for an ultrasound. The last time I had an early scan it was not good news. I knew right away and I accepted it quickly. Helped only by the fact that my grief levels were maxed out already. At the doctor’s office they did a urine test to confirm what I knew and she said that the levels weren’t low at all so I went off looking to be told to go home and stop worrying.

When I got to the assessment unit there was a mother, a mother-in-law, mommy to be and daddy to be all looking at their scan photos and talking about how they could relax now and were so grateful to see that everything was alright. I took it as a good sign and went into the scan room confidently. They tried the normal route and we could see the baby, but the registrar said sine it was early there was too much interference and he needed to scan internally. I was already thrilled because at the last early scan we saw where the baby was supposed to be, but wasn’t. As soon as he did the internal I looked at the screen and I didn’t have to look at his face. He started to say “If you look here; there is the baby, there is the fetal pole and this…”, but I cut him off. I looked at him and said “But there’s no heartbeat”.

I should have been a doctor. When there is something wrong to be seen on an ultrasound, I can see it right away. He kept trying, and I couldn’t stop looking, but we knew. He apologised, I cracked a joke, he left the room and I broke down to the nurse while I got dressed again. It’s funny how uninhibited you are in front of someone when it comes to babies.

Due to the long weekend and the fact that I wasn’t bleeding, I was sent home to see if “this cleared naturally” though I had to book an ‘official’ ultrasound for the coming week because they were only the assessment unit. Thanks. Exactly what I needed after seeing what looked like a perfectly formed, blueberry sized, human with paddles for hands. Another chance to take a peek to see what if anything is left. Can you think of anything more exciting?

Especially as in the meantime I just get to go on cramping and feeling like I am going to throw up everywhere, without much of anything else happening .. all whilst trying to make sure everything is in order so that Amy has a super awesome 2nd birthday on Saturday like she deserves!

I think it is safe to say: Worst Long Weekend EVER.

*and once again a massive thank you to Lee who picked up ALL of the slack (and there was a lot of it) around the house and made sure that The Midgets didn’t really lose out on having fun with their parents both at home. Obviously not the easiest time for him either, but he totally stepped up while I totally turned into a giant ball of moaning grump on the sofa. You totally deserve to have a secret girlfriend, so go ahead and get Garcia’s number!

Comments
4 Responses to “the look of silence”
  1. Cathy says:

    Kirsty, even through this terrible journey you can still make us laugh…as I have already said – I wish I was there to go through this with you – but I am always here for you…love you lots…

  2. Mama says:

    I feel your grief and I mourn with you, my baby.

  3. Robin says:

    Dear Kirsten, I am so very sorry. My heart is aching for you and Lee. Please know that you are both in my thoughts and prayers and you will get another chance. Much love from me coming your way. Stay strong! xo Robin

  4. Kirsty says:

    Thank you, guys. I guess I should consider myself lucky that having a very active 3 year old and his 2 year old sister leaves little time to think/dwell/cry/shower/function, so I’m soldiering through. I know that these things happen, it just sucks when it happens to you. Well me, though I am sure it would equally suck if it were either of you.

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