***If you are faint of heart, this may not be a post for you. It contains frank and graphic descriptions of blood and loss. ***
Up until last week, my family and I were happily anticipating the opportunity to announce the impending arrival of our third little one. We wanted to wait till I was a little further along to let everyone know. Unfortunately, my news today is not the happy announcement I was planning. This is part four of our story.
A Miscarriage and an Unexpected Turn of Events, Part 3
Soon, I was transferred to the ICU where my nurse put in another IV. This was at least the fourth attempt – since my veins were hiding. I had them in both arms and both hands. She started the blood transfusions and continued the pitocin and saline.
Then she got a phone call and left the room. Rob returned from talking with a friend who couldn’t come into the ICU and gasped because there was blood pooling on the floor. The nurse had not hooked up my transfusion properly so it was spilling out instead of replacing what I’d lost.
He called her back in and I could tell she was panicked about what had happened but I was too tired to care. All I really wanted to do was to use the bathroom instead of the bedpan. It had been something like 12 hours since I’d used the bathroom normally.
For some reason, my nurse let me try. I sat up for a moment to use the chair next to the bed. But as I sat up, I passed a red mass the size of a grapefruit and immediately felt lightheaded. As my nurse hustled me back into a prone position, I asked her if it was my placenta but she said it was a blood clot. She kept saying, “You’re going to be ok,” over and over.
Before my surgery, my father-in-law came to the ICU. I was so relieved because Robert was being so strong for me and I knew he needed support. Our friend Jim had already come while I was in the ER and another friend, John, came as well. But, having Rob’s dad there was good.
I could tell my father-in-law was very upset. Blood kept seeping through my blankets and staining the bed, despite the nurses changing the pads regularly. I’m told my face was a tad on the pale side – even for a girl of Irish descent. I tried to joke with Rob’s dad to let him know I was ok but he didn’t laugh. I was bummed I couldn’t get him to smile.
My surgeon came by to prep me for the D&C and I loved him right away. He was confident but not arrogant and I felt a strong sense that I would be ok. Robert and his dad prayed with me and off I went.
I closed my eyes all the way to the OR. I didn’t want to see bright lights or tables. Instead, I pulled up the picture of the beautiful night I’d seen right before arriving at the hospital and as I crashed to sleep, assisted by the anesthetics, in my mind I was holding tight to the trunk of my favorite pine tree.
I intended to stay grounded to earth.
When I woke, it hadn’t even been an hour and two nurses were standing at the end of my bed discussing my next room assignment. “No. She doesn’t have to go back to the ICU,” one nurse said, “She’s been downgraded from critical.” “OK,” said the other, “I’ll call the floor and let them know she’s coming.”
Oddly, despite the crazy blood loss, I hadn’t realized I was in critical condition.
Soon I was in a normal room with a roommate who apparently loved American Idol. It was like listening to cats being tortured but I didn’t care because I was so glad to be alive. Robert was there and I rested for the majority of the afternoon.
That night, I was glad to get visits from family and friends. It lifted my spirits – and Robert’s – and kept me from thinking too much about our loss or how frightening the experience had been.
Rob had to go home that night since I was rooming with Ms. American Idol and I confess, I was a little afraid to fall asleep. My BP was still hovering in the 80’s and 90’s but I just trusted that I would be ok, and tried to rest. It was the first real sleep I’d had since Monday.
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| Thursday morning. Hey, I look way sexier than I did the day before! |
The next morning was Thursday and my doctor came by to chat. He encouraged me and said there is nothing wrong with me. He said that while 70% of women have miscarriages, most are not this extreme (trust me to take the dramatic route!). He encouraged us to try for another baby when my cycle returns to normal and I feel ready.
He said that I could leave the hospital and go home. He encouraged me to sit up, eat what I could and walk. I’d been afraid to walk during the night since I’d not sat up without fainting in almost two days. But, my blood pressure had cleared 100 by early morning. I felt ready and wanted to go home.
My tech helped me walk around the halls after removing the catheter. I couldn’t wait to use the bathroom! What a funny thing to care about, right?
When I saw my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I was shocked by my appearance. My eyes were nearly swollen shut and my face was as pale as a Twilight character but not as sexy.
My fingers and arms were swollen like sausages from the saline and pitocin and there was still blood in my nails from the miscarriage. I couldn’t seem to scrub them clean without a brush. My eyes filled at the memory but I pushed back the tears because I didn’t want them to swell shut.
Robert came in time to bring breakfast (thank God because hospital food is awful!) and after lunch, we were ready to go home. When I arrived at home, it was quiet. My sweet sister came over to clean up leftover traces of Tuesday’s trauma and spruce up the rest of the house for me while I rested.
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| Home! |
Being home has been surreal. But, I am writing this from a place of profound gratitude today. I am so grateful to be here, sitting up (without fainting – yay!!) to write even this sad story.
I am not going to lie to you. Writing this was not easy. Little flashes of the last few days have been running through my head like a nightmare I can’t wake from.
Remembering the cool tile of the bathroom floor on my face while the paramedics checked me, seeing the blood in my nails, feeling the flatness of my abdomen, hearing in my head the thoughtless words of someone who apparently meant to comfort me by telling me I’m now a “statistic”.
I hope that writing the thoughts down will be therapeutic. I will keep what is helpful and let love soften the pain of the rest.
Partly I’m writing this for those of you who didn’t know how serious it was. I don’t want to have to repeat it over and over or explain why I’m so very tired now. It wears me out to think of it too much. I know it will take a few weeks to get my strength back.
I’m not far enough past the trauma to deal with the grief of the loss we suffered. Right now, I’m focused on small thoughts like, “I’d like a glass of water,” or “Isn’t my two year old funny?!”
This experience is yet another that has changed the landscape of my mind – and heart. I am still the same person in some ways – but forever different too.
One thing that remains – is that as usual…I am grateful.
I am grateful to be alive. I am so, so grateful for my family. I am grateful for the amazing people at the hospital who not only saved my life but were kind to me in the process – the paramedics, ER staff, Jennifer, Evelyn, Steve, Dr. M, Leah, Julie, Dr. P., Joanna, Sheretta and those whose names I don’t know or don’t remember.
I am grateful for you – my friends. For your prayers and the many expressions of love you have shared in meals, hospital visits, magazines, kind words, flowers, watching my children, calling and listening, sharing your own experiences, cleaning my house.
I and my family have felt your love and it has made and continues to make a difference. Thank you so much. I promise I am ok and getting stronger daily. It’s ok to call or write. And please know that if I don’t write back right now, I am feeling your love and appreciate you.
Losing a baby can leave us feeling isolated. I shared my experience in the hopes that it will help other women know they aren’t alone. If you know someone who would be encouraged by this post, please share it.
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