I’m tired of grieving, friends, but I cant help it. I never know when it’s going to come, and it is getting exhausting. I want to be over it. Will I ever?
Dont let the title of this post fool you. I had an ultrasound today, not because I am pregnant, but because I have a Brody.
My OB thought it best that I get, Brody (my fibroid) checked out before Brett and I start trying for a baby (OR BABIES?!) again. Though the girls have come and gone, I still carry around my stupid Brody. The jerk sits right on top of my bladder pushing into it much like a fist would do to a balloon.
I didn’t expect the emotions I felt when I walked back to the ultrasound room with the Tech. I hated the awkwardness between myself and the Tech. (Does she know? Maybe she doesn’t know. I hope she doesn’t know. Is this awkward for her? I hate that this event causes other people feel awkward!). She knew. It is in my report.
I didnt expect the flood of tears and emotions that bubbled out of me as the Tech placed the ultrasound wand on my womb. Ironically, she was also the same tec who first announced my twins to me, way back when they were only 5 and a half weeks old.
As she placed the wand over my womb tears came trickling out of my eyes. Honestly, I was hoping to see some sort of life forming in my womb. I was hoping that maybe, just maybe, there would be a little baby only 5 weeks old growing in my womb who I wasn’t expecting. In fact, I held off taking a pregnancy test yesterday just incase. When she placed the wand on me, and no life was inside, I began to cry. I tried to be silent, I didn’t want her to see the tears streaming down my face. I didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable. I also (stupidly) thought that, maybe, just maybe, the girls would still be in there. The last time I saw an ultrasound, they were in there. It was so weird not to see anything but a stupid fibroid. It was heartbreaking. The heart just hopes for impossible things when it faces trauma and grieves, like, “Maybe this miscarriage really didn’t happen, and my girls are still there.” (It’s the denial part of grieving I guess)
On top of that, the Tech saw some leftover placenta chilling with Brody. I named it Désirée, which is the female form of Desiderio, which means, yearning; sorrow; desired. Well, Desiree can not stay there if Brett and I want to have another child so I was told that I have to get a D&C. It is a common procedure but I still don’t want to have to do it.
The good news is that Brody had nothing to do with my miscarriage. My twin specialist, who was also there today, was the one wh0 confirmed that.
You know what? A wise friend of mine Sandy R, (I’ll out her cuz she is so wise!) told me to feel free to call my “miscarriage” what it actually is: a fetal death. You are right Sandy, I did not miscarry, I delivered two babies, alive, who died. It was a fetal death, infant death even, not a miscarriage.
Aren’t they beautiful? My little girls. You are missed and desired.