Saturday, January 9, 2010

Things no one prepares you or your heart for...

1. Losing a precious tiny one.
~ simply put, there is no way to prepare your heart. You can only balance the damage after the loss.

2. Balancing ~ Piercing my own heart.
~ forgiving oneself, for decisions necessary to live. In that I mean, I had to sign a piece of paper giving the doctor permission to remove my baby. My living wiggling tiny guy. His heart was beating when I signed. I cried saying "I don't want to", several times, even as I had to sign my name. My precious tiny was alive when I was put under general anesthesia and was no longer when I awoke, crying.

I understand there was no other choice. The doctor actually did not give us a choice, they simply told us we had to have emergency surgery. (my heart knows I could have walked AMA)

Our tiny could not have continued living and growing there. He was not in the womb. His placenta would have grown through and ruptured my tube and then he would have passed away, the tubal rupture possibly causing me to bleed to death during his death. I understand there is no way the baby could have lived or been moved (and why can we not do that yet?) to the right place.

It does not make it any easier to live with. The fact he was still alive is haunting me.

Many women with ectopic never even know they are pregnant until they rupture. We knew we were pregnant for over 3 weeks. We were so excited to find him moving his head and arms around, and so sad to see him in my tube. Knowing we were pregnant caused us to find him before my tube ruptured. Fortunate in some ways, harder in others.

3. Still being pregnant after losing my child.
Seriously. I have been pregnant now since October 14th. I've known since early November. My body continues to make HCG hormone and I continue to have pregnancy symptoms. Nausea, sensitivity to foods, smells, frequent urination, tender breasts, pretty much every single feeling. My body is even trying to make milk for tiny.

November 20th : HCG level at 10,800. December 1st : Surgery

December 24th : HCG level at 204. December 31st : HCG at 121. January 4th : HCG at 40.

5 weeks after the death of my child; and my body still thinks it is pregnant. Seriously?!

HCG level of Zero is not pregnant. Anything >5 is Pregnant.

HCG is being monitored and going down slowly.

I just never knew it could or would do this. It feels like a cruel joke to my body and my emotions.

Update to when I composed this (it took a week to be able to post it)... my HCG level must finally be down below 20. The symptoms have all but disappeared. All of them except fluctuating hormone levels!

4. Contemplating Infertility.
Even as my body thinks it is pregnant. Can this really be happening? Is this my last pregnancy? (Insert 3 million rapidly moving thoughts here about this topic) Not Funny. Will another pregnancy be an ectopic one? Will my other tube work?

5. Grief = Forever
For someone who typically moves at the speed of Paige, this is taking forever.
And it feels nauseating, oh wait, maybe that's only the hormones.
Forever to process, forever to feel better. I wake up some days and it all hits me like a ton of bricks, others I am walking around feeling fine and the next second I am shouting or weeping.

6. I know Him who has the answers, the comfort, the love. I still have to process all of this as a human. That just doesn't seem right, even though it is.

7. I should say... I have joy. I have blessings. I am simply an out loud processor and these are things on my heart and on my mind. All the time.


Don said...

There are no words I can say that can do anything for you except to let you know that there are many who are thinking about you today and sending you strength and kindness.

Paige said...

Don, thank you.

I sincerely appreciate you.

The hardest thing about speaking with someone who is grieving is knowing what to say.

You did well!

~ Paige

debbie said...

came across your blog and wanted you to know i am lifting you and your family up in prayer today - and i will continue. you are not alone.