My Rainbow Baby
My Dear Follow Friends,
It has taken me a long time to choose to process what happened to be my very first pregnancy experience. When I started this blog, I made a commitment to myself — that I will trust my gut and always put myself out there if I got that feeling that what I had to say could help others. So here it goes, raw, unfiltered honestly about my experience.
It was almost four years ago and I was so excited to finally be on the same page as a couple and try for our first child! I have always known I wanted to be a mother. I can’t really explain it. It was just this overwhelming peace and excitement that washed over me every time I thought about it. I had already stalked Pinterest for the cutest ideas on how to let our family’s know when we were lucky enough to get pregnant with the excitement I could only describe as the happiest moment of our lives aside from our first kiss. (We both knew at that moment we were meant to be together.) So when that test showed two little lines and my husband had confirmed it (Then I reconfirmed it with four more tests—side note: those commissary pregnancy tests that cost a little more than a dollar work just fine!) I jumped at putting together our care packages for our parent’s surprise. If I had known of the heartache that would follow or at least educated myself on the realities of pregnancy, I am not sure if I would’ve acted that same way.
It happened around 7 weeks. I was home alone, we were stationed in Oklahoma City far from family and I was going about my normal morning routine when a pain hit me. I somehow made it to the bathroom to discover the heartbreaking reality that something was very wrong. I tried getting a hold of my husband, but being in logistics at Tinker AFB meant that you were in the basement with horrible service and he was not answering the work phone because of course. I called my doctor on base and left a message. For what seemed like forever I just sat there, stunned, confused, in pain and alone. Thankfully, my doctor returned my phone call and explained she what she thought was happening and that I needed to get to the emergency room immediately. I pulled myself off the floor, got into new clothes and hopped into my car.
As I was driving to the ER, there was still hope. I was in denial about what was happening. In the back of my mind I knew that my mother had had a very difficult and traumatic time trying to get pregnant. Is this genetic? This was my biggest fear that I was doomed the same fate. Maybe nothing is wrong—I heard bleeding was normal during the early part of pregnancy. But I knew in my heart that it was over. I knew in my bones that that feeling was gone.
At the ER I checked in and thankfully my husband came rushing in soon after. We held each other while we waited for the test to confirm what was now obvious. After making sure that I was able to go back home, I got in the car and as if my pain had set off a secret bat signal, my mom called. I answered and just sobbed. I told her don’t open the package I sent. Just throw it away, it’s not worth keeping. I could hear in her voice how her heart broke for me. Sometimes, you just need to be in your mother’s arms but the reality of military life is that that is something that doesn’t always happen.
I remember curling up under my covers and sobbing. That deep, guttural painful cry that seems to come when there is any kind of traumatic loss. I wasn’t home long when my husband came bounding through the door. I assumed it was for lunch but it was for a more pressing matter. The ER had been trying to reach me for an hour now. If I did not go back and receive a shot, my body would start to turn on itself. I then learned that I am RH negative and that because my spouse has a positive blood type the possibility of my baby having a different blood type as me could cause my body to make itself extremely sick in order to expel the foreign objects. So I had to go back, get a shot in my butt and then the ordeal was over.
The last thing I would want to come from this post is that it evokes fear. My two healthy children are proof that there is life after loss. I share my personal experiences in hopes that it helps those experiencing heartache, trauma, loss, and life’s frustrations. To help anyone know that they are not alone. As a society, I feel we tend to act as if the painful realities we experience alone or as a whole need to be shunned. That if we do not talk about them, it is better in the long run. I want to shout “NO!” with the emotion my tiny little human tornadoes seem to have on a daily basis. Speaking from personal experience, acting like pain doesn’t exist or simply not opening up about things does more harm than good. I propose we begin to lean on each other again in a real human connection. That we be transparent with each other and that through doing so, we can all form a village that we desperately need.
With all the love,