Faces of Loss, Faces of Hope

Heidi

Mom to Twins

April 18, 2008

While it was still dark the morning of March 19, I woke my husband up to the sight of a positive pregnancy test.

My first prenatal appointment was scheduled for April 16, a month later, and we decided to wait until then to share our exciting news with the world. It was my first appointment with this doctor and she seemed really nice. At the end she said that my uterus felt kind of small, so she wanted me to get an ultrasound. They couldn't see me for another two days, but until then I convinced myself that everything was fine.

I went to the ultrasound by myself because I didn't want my husband to miss work. There was an image up on the screen and I asked the tech what we were seeing. She pointed out the baby, but said there was no heartbeat. It only measured at 7.5 weeks, when I was supposed to be around 9. She also pointed out another sac, that started out as a twin, but only developed to 5.5 weeks. I couldn't hold back the tears. I couldn't believe it. She apologized and went to get a doctor, who proceeded to tell me that it was a good thing, because most likely, it had chromosomal abnormalities and I would probably conceive and carry a healthy baby next time.

I don't care about "next time!" I wanted this baby! And how can you expect me to believe "this is a good thing?" It is not a good thing! It is incredibly sad.

It is heartbreaking.

I cried everyday for months. I also bled for months.

I opted to let my body pass the "products of conception" on its own (in the unlikely event that God might heal my babies and restore them in my uterus - pretty absurd, I know) instead of having a D&C. It wasn't until two weeks after we discovered the babies were gone that I started bleeding - a total of four weeks after they passed. Then I bled off and on for three months, passing tissue on three separate occasions.

Finally, on Sunday, July 20, while we were watching Dark Knight in IMAX with a bunch of friends, I started cramping worse than I've ever felt. I had to leave the theater multiple times to just sit in the bathroom. The movie ended and I met up with everyone, immediately burying my face in my husband's armpit and crying to go home. He helped me hobble to the car and on the way, I called my friend who had been through this too, because I had no idea that I was going through a "mini labor." My husband did everything he could to help me be comfortable while my body finally let go of the baby that it had held onto for so long.

Three months of wearing pads and never knowing when you're going to bleed is a long time to have a physical, daily reminder of what you lost. But those three months allowed me to fully grieve in ways I wasn't expecting and process emotionally all of the questions I had for God. It took me about a year, moving through disbelief, anger, and acceptance, but I am finally at a place where I can say that I am grateful for what I've learned through it. Even though I would still choose those babies over knowledge any day.