Funny how when things are shit there is so much blogging material. Maybe I should start a Happy Blog and only post about the good things in my life each week.
Misery loves company I guess.
Anyway, I’ve made the horrendously difficult decision to have a surgical removal tomorrow. My options (if you can call them that), were:
a) wait and see (last time I ended up almost bleeding to death)
b) take tablets to induce expulsion (comes with an increased risk of heavy bleeding – hmm, maybe not), or
c) let the hospital suck everything out in a blind procedure that may leave me with scarring or a perforated uterus.
Not much of a choice, is it? I promised myself, 19 months ago, while I was in hospital recovering from a massive haemorrhage, that if I ever suffered another miscarriage I would opt for the surgical procedure. So here I am, good to my word. I daren’t risk a natural miscarriage again – as a mother of two my place in this world needs to be as secure as possible.
The nurse said in 6 years she’s never seen anyone bleed so much in surgery they needed a hysterectomy… Not that statistics help me as they are not exactly my friend in all this.
Anyway, I am mostly feeling calm, interspersed with bouts of extreme panic over uterine scarring.
On the plus side, they will send the baby (well, what’s left of it), off to their lab in Salisbury for analysis, so we may get a reason for this one. The sonographer did say this morning that there was a level of extra fluid around the skull, which (I later discovered), is a soft marker for various chromosomal issues. I’d feel better knowing something was wrong from the start and it wasn’t that I didn’t eat well enough, or I got too stressed or something.
I do wonder if the progesterone I took delayed the inevitable.
In general I am actually doing OK. Not too much in the way of crying yet. I was really angry on the day I found out, but it has subsided. It’s been easier this time around as we caught it early. I didn’t carry a dead baby around for 3 weeks thinking everything was OK. It seems less ‘messy’ somehow. I’ve not been made a fool of quite so much, by my own body.
But there was a tangible pain deep in my chest every time I passed a tiny baby or a pregnant woman at the hospital today.
I’ve been taking the boys out and just watching them with awe and love in my heart. I think in the middle of a crisis I tend to keep it together, it’s always afterwards (when others seem to be moving on), that I finally break down and feel the pain and the sadness.
So, I guess I need a plan.
I always need a plan when things go wrong – I can’t sit and do nothing.
Doing is my grieving.
I’m just not sure what the hell to do on this one yet.