The Baby That Never Was

I've been quite nostalgic lately. As I remember days gone by, I keep thinking a lot about my baby that never was. I tend to be overly analytical by nature, over thinking every little detail a hundred times until I've completely covered every single possible outcome, and I hate that about myself. I wish I could just let things slide, to live day to day, enjoy the present, and let things go and just happen. I think that's why I find so much solace in and agree so much with the Buddhist, Taoist, and Hindu religious doctirines; they just make so much sense. Anyway, over the past week or so I've been thinking how sad it is that my babies are almost a year old, and I don't even remember the first year of their new little lives. Don't get me wrong, I barely remember anything from Gwen's first year, let alone her second, without photo or blog props, so I'm not expecting to have a photographic memory of it. I do feel bad that I didn't allow myself to get absorbed in it; I didn't allow myself to enjoy it. My therapist says that it's not all my fault, that the PPD had a lot to do with my inability to get engrossed in my babies, and that depression in general also makes it difficult to make memories. So now because I overthink it and can't let it go, I build myself a castle of guilt... UGH!

Then, those times when I start getting overwhelmed and I start thinking, "I wish I still had just one; maybe two", I think about my baby that never was. That was way back in like, 2004, but it was a horrible experience. I don't know if I've ever told anyone this story, so if you don't want specifics, or are squeamish, don't read ahead. But I feel like because it's been on my mind so often I need to write it out so I can get it out of there. Besides, I feel like telling my stories, no matter how personal or weird they are, there will always be someone who can relate and maybe learn from them, so why not share and let other's benefit from my life experiences? So here it is:

When Tony and I first started trying to have a baby we tried for a long time, 15 months or so. We went on vacation to San Diego to visit my brother and lived it up. I took Xanaxes to get on the planes without anxiety attacks, I drank and smoked (a couple different things ~ hey, it was vacation and I was in Cali with my younger brother) through the vacation not even wondering where my period was. When we got home my period was about 2 weeks late so I bought a pregnancy test. Wouldn't you know it came back positive. We were elated!! About two days later I started spotting. I called the OB's office, they got me in for 8 week blood work and in-take about 3 weeks later. I told them I was spotting but they said it was no big deal, essentially. A week later I was still spotting so I called back and asked for an appointment. They did some blood work and a transvaginal ultrasound that found the baby with a strong heartbeat. The OB told me that once you have a heartbeat the chances of miscarrying plummet, and that the spotting was probably just implantation bleeding. When I went back for my 8 week appointment, still spotting, they did another ultrasound. "Everything looks great! We don't know why you're spotting but as long as it's not red blood, don't worry," they said, and gave me every excuse in the book why I could be spotting. My next appointment was set for 12 weeks and off I went, trying hard to relax and believe that everything would be okay (after all, they were the doctors and knew what they were doing), though I knew in my heart it wouldn't. At 11 weeks gestation, 3 days shy of 12 weeks, I started bleeding at work. Red blood. I went to the OB but this time it was a different story. I had another ultrasound, and the baby was still alive. The diagnosis they gave me was "Missed Abortion," though I was never told that. It was on the medical code form they gave me to turn in at the front desk. What the doctor told me was, "These things may work themselves out. Let's wait and see what happens over the weekend." I kept bleeding intermittently, and the next morning I woke up at 4 am with the worst cramps I'd ever had in my life. I knew they were contractions because they were more intense and painful than anything I had ever experienced before. I made Tony get me up and bring me to the bathroom, not knowing what to do. All I could think was that I wanted to save my baby and for some reason the bathroom seemed to be the best place to do so. My contractions were swift and excruciating, and within 30 minutes I miscarried. I don't know what I expected to happen but as I turned around to look, there he was. My baby, completely intact, in the toilet. I had heard and read a lot about a miscarriage baby being unrecognizable, just tissue, and didn't at all expect to see a 2" baby. He was perfectly formed; legs, arms and all. I sat next to the toilet and bawled. I didn't know what to do next. I didn't want to call the OB's office; a lot of good they did me in the weeks before that. I didn't want to scoop it out of the toilet with a spoon; what would I do then? Bury it in the backyard? I didn't want to flush it; this was my baby. Flushing seemed so heartless and medical. After the sun started to rise I decided to let him go, thinking that I couldn't take all day to make a decision. A few days later I went into the doctor's office to see if I'd need a D&C, and after telling them that I miscarried the entire baby at once, they said that I probably wouldn't need the D&C and advised that I should have put the baby into a baggie and brought it to them for pathology, to see what happened. I just kept thinking, if that damn OB wasn't such an asshole then he'd have told me what to expect and I would have been able to handle the crisis better. I blamed myself for what happened because of my bad behavior on vacation, and still do to some extent. But come to find out, my progesterone levels dipped, which is naturally what brings on a period. I'd been on suppliments, but by the time they found the discrepency in my levels, I started them too late. I think I dealt with it well, all in all. I realized early on that I had it easy compared to a lot of other moms who longed to meet and hold their baby, only to miscarry it at 20 weeks, or worse yet be stillborn, or even worse, that their baby dies of SIDS or some other horrible fate, the type of things that make me question faith and God, and I lucked out. It is what it is and for the most part I don't think about it.

But what if...? What if we had that baby? Would we have Gwen? Probably not. Would we have the triplets? Probably not. Things would have been different, but not better. I love my little guys (95% of the time, anyway... hehehe) and thinking about my baby that never was is bittersweet. It makes me sad to remember, but in the present it makes me happy. Everything is as it should be. Destiny, fate, karma, God, whatever you want to call it, brought me my family. I chose them and they chose me. I've read that we aren't just souls that randomly bump into each other in a sea of people, but that every person you meet has a direct purpose in your life that was meant to be. Every soul you come into contact with is a soul that's been with your soul throughout eternity, in some form or another. Essentially, we don't have just one soul mate, but every person we meet is our soul's mate, from past lives and times, and they stay with us forever. I like that. So maybe my baby was a soul fleeting in this life, but who was very close to me in a past life, or will be close to me in a future life. It came to me to bring me more children, different children, healthy and happy children.

I am blessed to have lost a baby. How weird is it to say that???

Much love,