Mommy is in Timeout

Suffering a miscarriage was a crippling experience. However, in the end it brought me one of my greatest joys.After the loss, I had overwhelming feelings of guilt. What did I do wrong? Could I have prevented it? Did I cause it? It was hard trying to cope as I watched other bellies grow, knowing that mine should have been doing the same.I knew that I still yearned for another baby.Four months later, my body was willing to give pregnancy another try. Would it fail me again? Initially, I didn’t have confidence to move an inch. Driving down a bumpy road was enough to send my head into a tailspin. What if that slight movement made something go wrong?Midway through the pregnancy I was overcome with anxiousness, questioning what I was doing differently this time? Could I have prevented the previous loss?Toward the end, I began to realize it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t cause it before.Calm was immediately restored the moment I safely delivered a healthy baby.At one time, I laid on an exam table, with my doctor standing in front of me. I watched as she fought back tears and fumbled her words, finally finding a way to say “I’m sorry.”One year later, almost to the date, I laid on a table, with my doctor standing in front of me, saying “Congratulations. It’s a boy.”

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This post was for The Red Dress Club. The prompt was to recall something in your life that seemed terrible at the time, but looking back, brought you something wonderful. Concrit is welcome!

It took all the courage I could muster to get up on that exam table. I lifted myself and sat near the edge of the table, with Charlie right at my side. My lap was draped with what doctor’s offices somehow consider to be a comfortable, covering material.

My hands were clutching the white paper that lay underneath of me.The nurse took my blood pressure and then listened to my lungs. Letting deep breaths in and out for her was the first time I actually concentrated on something other than this situation all morning. It was a bit of a strange relief.

My doctor walked in and asked me to lay down. As she began the exam, I turned my head toward the window. The blinds were barely cracked, but I found a small hole that let me peek outside. I watched the rain pour down on the burnt orange and yellow leaves on that gloomy fall morning.I was determined to do anything I could to avoid looking at that monitor. I kept thinking to myself if I don’t look, it won’t happen.

Gazing out the window allowed me to stay in my state of denial.I rolled my head to my left and looked toward my husband. As I turned, he instinctively squeezed my hand tighter. I felt the tears start to stream down my temples, then into my hair.

A few minutes into the exam, the doctor still hadn’t said a word. This was a moment where I knew silence wasn’t a good thing.My doctor removed the device and held her hand out to help me sit up. She confirmed what I already knew.

It was 8 weeks and there was still no heartbeat. The baby was gone.I sat there on that table while everyone else in the room faded away. I couldn’t hear or see my husband or doctor. It was just me with my thoughts. All the moments from this 8 week pregnancy started flashing at rapid speed…

Back to when I first found out about this pregnancy and how initially I wasn’t excited. Back to the guilt I felt for having these thoughts. Why after 19 months of trying for our first son, didn’t I welcome a surprise. I didn’t have to check my basal body temperature this time. There were no trips to the fertility doctor.

Back to how I picked LJ up out of his crib one night and rocked him while he slept. Telling him how sorry I was that this happened so soon. That I didn’t give him more time just for just the 3 of us.

Back to how I was in such shock & denial, I told my husband in the most non-chalant, cold way. I blurted it out as I walked out the door to a Madonna concert. I treated it just like any other order I constantly bark at him. We need milk, oh and by the way, I’m pregnant.

Back to how my initial sadness & fear quickly faded away. And then the pregnancy began to fade as well.Back to how I blamed myself for causing the bleeding. It was my karma due to my negative reactions.

Somewhere in this haze my doctor told us she would leave the room to give us a few moments. The poor thing. I could tell she was nervous. She was fresh out of medical school and this was the first miscarriage she’d ever had to discuss with a patient.

I was begging, tugging on my husbands shirt, for him to make it comeback. Make there be a heartbeat. I knew by the look in his eyes that if there was something he could do, he would’ve made it happen.

I didn’t want to get off this table and leave the room. I’d have to tell my mom that the baby was no longer. I’d have to go home and wait for it to naturally pass. I’d have to tell my son, who I held just last week whispering in his ear that he’d be a big brother, that it wasn’t going to happen right now.

In this room I didn’t have to face anyone. I didn’t have to explain what had happened. We were protected. We could mourn. It took all the courage I could muster to get down from  that exam table.

This post was linked up with The Red Dress Club. The prompt was to giveyour readers a snapshot of a room from your past.