23.5.09

This is probably a mistake

Don't write it. It's too horrific.

What do I do with it then? What do I do? I didn't know what to do.

You should have left it there. Let them send it to pathology. Then there would be nothing to tell.

But I would know. I couldn't forget. I was all alone in that room, and there was all the blood everywhere, and the smell. I didn't have a phone to call anyone.

You shouldn't have looked. You should have just let it go. Now what are you going to do with it?

But it could have... I might have seen... I had to know.

And now you know. Is it any better?

Than not knowing? It's too late to find out.

You were laughing before this. You were getting through.

I thought it was a funny joke. An OB who couldn't find my cervix. I thought it would turn out to be a big deal over nothing.

You didn't notice how nervous she was? She just kept talking and talking...

I had never met her before, how was I to know?

and the cupboard doors banging and the scrambling around to find things.

Well, I did notice that, but I still thought we were in a comedy. There was the speculum hanging out of me, and her having no idea what to do. I thought it would be one of those uncomfortably funny posts. Where we all have a good laugh at my discomfort. And when I mocked her for her terribly technical use of terms, "Some stuff hanging out of your cervix", I thought that would be funny too.

when did you know?

When she asked for the specimen jar.

You didn't have to ask...

Yes I did. I needed to know if it was a... a body.

And now you know too much.

Yes.

Now you have a mental image that haunts you.

It was not a good time to have the background in birth that I do. Because now I understand what could make an impassive OB almost lose her cool.

Her voice kept cracking. She kept saying necrotized over and over. She ran out of there as soon as she could.

She left all the bloody things lying around.

Did it hit you then?

No, I was too busy trying to decide what to do with the specimen jar.

Why didn't you leave it? It's not your baby any more.

No, but it was for a while.

And now you have a half rotten fetus in your fridge.

Yes. We're going to bury it.

Where will you put it that the dogs won't dig it up? The balloons you released as a memorial were a much nicer image.

But this is true. I would have figured it out anyway.

True. Your baby spent a week dangling from your cervix and rotting away inside you, you kept wiping away black rotten strands of your own child's body until you realized that it wasn't just blood clots and called someone. True is ugly. How will you go on now?

I don't know. I will, because I have to. Beautiful is true as well. Little's downy head with her fist tucked next to her cheek also came through my cervix. I can think of that instead.

It doesn't always work.

But it helps. Life and death hold hands sometimes.

You still can't say it without crying.

No. Not yet.

Don't publish it, you're being melodramatic.

That's what kept me from calling the doctor for 3 days, the thought that I was imagining it because I knew it was possible, and that I was being overly dramatic.

Well, if you had waited much longer you probably would have gone septic.

See, melodrama might have saved my life.

Now you're being dramatic again.

I guess, except that it's true.

No one wants to read this. It's too horrifying.

But it's true. Do I just pretend like it didn't happen? We're not good at pretending things, you know that.

Maybe, just this once, it's better to let it be.

Maybe... I... I don't know. I can't sleep. Maybe writing it will help me to let it go.

23 comments:

  1. I hope it helped. I at least read it. And even though we don't really know each other, I feel like I know you from reading so much about you and loving the Charis Project so I wish I could be there in person for you.

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  2. baltimoremom5:26 AM

    I'm so sorry for your loss and grief you must now grow through. I went through this myself. My first miscarriage, there was no body left in my uterus because the doctor had waited so long to confirm. Even now, I wish we had found out earlier so there would be some closure. My second miscarriage, I had a D&C at a Catholic hospital that offered to hold on to the remains for the twice annual burial service they perform for miscarried babies. Attending that service was a great comfort that I rarely think back on that particular time with great sadness anymore. So I hope and pray you and your family receive consolation during this difficult time with some kind of burial service to commend your baby to God.

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  3. Praying for you, friend...
    Hugs

    Mary

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  4. Oh, honey. I'm so sorry.

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  5. Of course you had to write it.
    That is how you start to deal with what you have been through.
    That is why we read it.
    Hugs

    xc

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  6. I am so sorry. I pray you feel the Lord's embrace round about you.

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  7. Sometimes you have to write these things. Things that are not pretty but things that are real. You need even to publish these things and let them out into the universe to let them go. To write it was not a mistake. To grieve is not a mistake. And now we are all holding you in our hearts.

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  8. Oh sweetie!!!!! Lots of hugs and prayers. I think it at least helps to talk about it.
    I'm here anytime you want a shoulder to cry on.
    Debbie

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  9. I'm so terribly sorry for your pain. And it's good to process however you need to process, don't ever think you need to apologize for that!

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  10. We have never met, but I have miscarried twice and as a fellow mother and miscarri-er I promise you, there are people who want to read it. And it is, in that bizarre haunting way common pain has, a comfort to me that others have suffered losses they cannot find words, or tears enough or ways of understanding. And yet we go on, because we must. I'm sorry you lost your baby. I will be praying for you.

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  11. graham and i are asking that the heart of the Father comforts you all. i know He is holding your shiloh. love, esther

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  12. You're such a beautiful mom...Shiloh would have been lucky to have a mother like you.

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  13. You have helped so many women who are desperately searching the Internet for understanding of their own pain and grief. When I miscarried, all I wanted was to hear my own story reflected in someone else. Not a sanitized version, but the reality of what our bodies can, and can't, do.
    God bless.

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  14. I'm glad you wrote it. It's really, really sad. But not horrifying in the kind of way that we don't want to know. Just really, really sad. You poor, sweet, mama. I love you. And you're right. That's not your little Shiloh anymore. Shiloh is waiting for you.

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  15. I'm so sorry for what you've been through and are going through. I don't think it's a mistake to post it... it's a terribly harsh reality, but it doesn't make sense to hide the truth, painful as it is. I don't know you, but I pray today for God's comfort and strength to go on. His Kingdom come!

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  16. I can't imagine having to confront this reality in such a stark and sterile place.

    Carrien, I admire your courage.

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  17. It wasn't a mistake, because you needed to write it, for you.
    I'm so sorry to hear that you had to go through that - I can't imagine.

    I hope writing it out helped you feel just a little better.

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  18. Chuck,
    I am so sorry you had to go through that. I wish I could be there to hug you and love on you and not so far away. I understand to some extent having lost 2 myself, both at 3 months. Do i think you should have written it- of course I do. Do i think you should have posted it? well, i guess my opinion doesn't really matter since its your blog :) It made me sad for my babies again. I love you and pray for you.

    C

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  19. I'm so sorry for your loss. Thanks for sharing. Sharing keeps us from being alone in our sadness. You and your family and your little Shiloh are in my heart. ~Heather

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  20. I am also glad you wrote and published this. Yes, it's hard to read. But life isn't all gumdrops and roses.

    I had to read through a couple of times before I understood what the italicized lines were. (I can't tell you how many times I've had that same voice telling me what to/not to do. like posting this comment.)

    I think if you hadn't looked, you'd have always wondered. For myself, . . . i thought it was gas pains until I saw the baby. This keeps coming back into my mind's eye. There are some things that are so emotionally painful that we can't get them out of our minds.

    (BTW, my youngest also came through with her hand to her cheek.)

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