confessions of a grieving mother

I knew on July 31, lying in a hospital bed.

"I can't do this again." But at the time, John rejected the idea of adopting. He still does.

I can't do this again. My body doesn't do pregnancy right. Miscarriage and stillbirth have nothing to do with each other. They happen for different reasons medically.

Great, so I have two things wrong with me. I don't have a womb, I have a tomb. I am a walking funeral procession.

I was frozen yesterday. Yesterday?! It's been less than 24 hours since I found out. Time, once again, is creeping by. Seconds last hours. Hours last days. The one day it has been feels like the 8 months since I lost my Kathlyn.

Frozen. I laid on the ultrasound table, still undressed, feet in the stirrups, for a long time. Maybe it was only a minute, since time creeps by, but it felt like forever. I pulled the sheet over my head and imagined myself dead... like they pull the sheet completely over a dead body. I did not cry. Both ultrasound rooms at that office are ruined now. In one, it was "I'm sorry, there's no heartbeat." In the other, yesterday, it was "I'm afraid I don't see a heartbeat." I knew before she said it though. She went straight to the ovaries again. The baby was the same size as last week, and when she turned on the heat sensor, there were no colors on my precious. No heat, no life, no movement, no heartbeat, no growth, no hope. So let's measure the ovaries to delay the inevitable.

Eventually I was moved to a different room. No mommies of dead babies allowed in ultrasound. Move out of the way so the happy mommies can lay there. The room I was moved to was all the way at the end of the hall. I'd never been in there before. It had an NST machine in it. I wont be needing THAT, I wanted to say outloud. There was a tiny strip leftover on the paper, someone's baby's heartbeat. I wanted to rip it off and keep it. Pretending.

I said almost nothing to my doctor. Stupid. Asked no questions about what I should do, what does he think happened, nothing. I stared at the wall and never saw his face. He asked how I think I will do with my emotions, and I said "probably something like this"... lying on a bed with a sheet over my body and tissues in my hand, staring at the wall. John locked up his gun when we got home.

I don't know what I should do. A D&E just feels like an abortion. What if the baby isn't really dead?! I would hope they check before the procedure. I would make them. I've already been hospitalized twice this year, and three trips to Emergency. I've paid my out of pocket max with insurance (stop fucking with it, Obama), so money isn't the issue. Buy 5 hospitalizations, get one free.

Sitting here waiting to pass my beloved, drowing in a sea of blood and clots, into the toilet, while bent in half with debilitating cramps... THAT'S my other option?

What the fuck is up God?! I'm listening, ok?! I'm not turning away from You although I'm tempted. You've got me, so DO SOMETHING. I'm supposed to believe that You are right here with me.. aren't You tired of comforting the same person?! Why are You not intervening?! If You know my babies are going to die, why am I getting pregnant in the first place?! All these people are saying I'll have a baby when YOUR time is right... is it really worth letting me get pregnant only for them to die then, if that's the truth? I don't understand You. I'm really starting to believe that prayer is fruitless, because I know a lot of people have been praying for me, and it's done no good. WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED?!


I am glad that I bought an Easter basket for the new baby and a sweet little yellow duckie to put inside. He's in our bed now, with the lambie that's embroidered "We miss you Kathlyn", and the bunny my mom gave us years ago at Easter, and we put her on the bed because she makes a good pillow. As I slept and wept yesterday, duckie and lambie laid with me. Right now, next to me, John has the bunny.. he uses her as a pillow to support his shoulders.

Having my laptop on my lap.. is that what killed the baby? I didn't drink caffeine, use artificial sweetener, eat hot dogs or deli meat or large fish or unpasterized cheese. I didn't take care of infectious patients. I took my prenatal vitamins and baby aspirin and weaned off of one of my antidepressants. And the baby still died. "It's nothing you did." What do you mean it's nothing I did?! Two, possibly three of my children have died inside of me... do we not see a pattern here? You cannot prevent something if you don't know how it happened. This is not cured by folic acid or a cerclage or genetic testing. My babies just die for no reason in particular. I'm always on the losing end of odds, no matter how low the risk.

Thank you for the comments and text messages, and for not flooding me with too many voicemails, though I'm not quite as harsh as I made myself out to be. I dont mind if you call, text, send written messages, I just never get around to listening to voicemails for usually a few days. I would rather just see your name on my missed call list... I know what you'd probably say on voicemail, so you dont need to leave one. Knowing you called is enough. I have my phone on silent. I dont feel like talking on the phone. It took me MONTHS after Kathlyn died to want to talk on the phone, and even then, it wasn't that often. I dont feel like talking on the phone. Writing and reading is easier for me. And since my phone is on silent, you won't wake me, as I'm back to sleeping more hours than not. I need my sleep. I am grieving.

I've made it a habit of writing out my deepest thoughts uncensored.. but please proceed with caution when commenting on faith and God, especially if you believe differently that I do. The above rant on Him was just that... between ME AND HIM. I dont understand what happened, and neither do you, so please dont presume to know what He wanted for my life or for my children. I let you in on the prayer because it comforts me to know that people know exactly what I'm thinking, and because I know there are people who feel the same way, and it comforts them to read something that they feel too, but couldn't quite put into words.

I'm angry at Him, at myself, at the universe. But I also thank Him for my supporters who understand me, respect me, love me, and let me grieve the way I need to grieve.