I've decided not to write about nutrition today. Food and nutrition are the last things on my mind right now actually, unless it involves ice cream or unhealthy, greasy food.
Ok, not even that.
Instead, I've decided to step WAY out of my comfort zone (I'm talking WAY) and talk about something really personal. Something that has rocked my world recently and something that is real. Something that many women unfortunately have to experience.
You may find it weird or inappropriate that I'm sharing this personal news on this platform, or it may touch you in a deep way. Either way, here's a glimpse into my world right now...
I found out, right after my birthday (a couple days ago), that the baby I was supposed to deliver in early February was no longer growing. I am going to have a miscarriage. It hasn't happened yet, but it will. And I'm dreading it. Even though miscarriages are incredibly common, and it's just mother nature's way of ending a pregnancy that wasn't viable anyway (blah, blah, blah), it still hurts in a painful way that is hard to put into words. Maybe that's why I'm writing this—in attempt to express how I'm feeling at this point in time and maybe as a way to reach out to other moms who have had a loss like mine. Who knows?
I went for my first midwife visit and was beyond excited. My plan was to have a completely different labour and delivery experience than I did with my son (side note: thank God for my son!) this time. Instead of suffering from another painful pelvic floor injury which, by the way, still hurts, and a nasty 3rd degree tear, I was going to have a much more peaceful, non-traumatic experience.
That was my plan.
But, when the midwife took her doplar and carefully nagivated around my belly, only to find my own heart beat, I knew that something was wrong. She assured me that it was probably too early to hear baby's heartbeat and that I should wait until my first ultrasound on August 1st. As much as I wanted to brush it off and wait, I couldn't. So she sent me for a dating ultrasound that same day.
So, with my bladder full and my hopes high (sort of), I went to my ultrasound. My eyes moved back and forth from the ultrasound screen (where all I could see were circles and a small black sack) to the technicians perplexed face and I asked "Is there something wrong?" and then looked at my husband with fear. I could see that he was scared too. "When was the first day of your last period again?" she asked. "May 11th" I said. Then she told me that "things are looking a little smaller than expected at this stage."
My heart dropped. I knew.
She left to consult with the Doctor and I immediately burst into tears. Thank God my husband was there—he almost didn't make it to the appointment. As soon as the Doctor walked in and gently told us that, unfortunately, our baby didn't make it past 7 weeks, I broke down. She confirmed what I never thought would happen to me. It was true. It was the worst hurt.
Even though "it wasn't a baby yet," and even though "this happens all the time" and that "I can start trying again soon!" it still hurts more than I ever would have imagined. At 9 weeks pregnant, I was getting excited that my nausea had subsided and that I was starting to develop a tiny bump. I was excited that in 3 weeks time I could finally share my news with the world. And that Ben was soon going to be an older brother (and an amazing one at that). Now I'm left with an unborn, unviable fetus, or whatever it is at this stage, inside of me, and the most empty feeling I've ever had.
I know that it will get easier. It's just a bump in my road. And I now know that I'm not immune to having a miscarriage, as perhaps I once assumed. None of us are. I'm trying not to analyze every bite of food that I took and every milligram of caffeine that I consumed during that 7th week. I'm REALLY trying hard not to do that. And I'm trying to be thankful. I'm thankful for a supportive and loving husband, for my son Ben, and for loving family and friends. I'm also very thankful for the ability to become pregnant in the first place, for the ability to deliver a healthy baby and for the chance to try again.
And here's where I give a huge virtual hug to all of the moms out there who have had to go through what I'm going through right now. xo
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