The Little Green Spoon

Two months ago, after being a day or two late with my period that I could honestly set the moon and the stars to, I decided to take a pregnancy test. It was a test I had never taken before, one that you couldn’t really study for or truly prepare for the pass/fail ramifications. After emptying my bladder on something the size of half a piece of gum, I finished up my bathroom stay and waited. When “Pregnant” popped up on the screen I thought for certain the “Not” would be hidden somewhere in there. I tilted, I searched and nothing. Holy shit, I was pregnant.

Of course I took the test right before I went to bed and while hubby slept peacefully, my mind reeled with all of the possibilities. What does this all mean? I’m so happy, ecstatic really, it’s what I’ve wanted for so long and now um it’s here. The next evening hubby and I ran out to find any and every baby book that could tell me what I could expect while expecting. I even bought cute little “my belly books” and baby books and began devouring them, trying to glean any ounce of knowledge I could from those pages.

I am type 1 diabetic and therefore any child I pop out will have been up close and personal with medical staff from the beginning. So I called my nurse and got in right away the next day. Weight: check, pee: check, all of the rules and regulations with having a high risk pregnancy: ugh, check. We were good to go, all future appointments set and even though nothing was really discussed other than when this kid was planning to make its debut, I felt like they were telling me it was all real – giving me the affirmation I needed that this wasn’t just all in my head.

The next big step was getting ready for a long weekend with family. It was still pretty early and I didn’t want to tell them but my actions spoke louder than my words. The first night at our family’s cottage I refused beer. I guess it’s unlike me to refuse adult beverages and everyone gave me a strange look. I covered with, “oh I’ve had a headache all day” which seemed to suffice till morning. At breakfast, I declined my favorite beverage of all, coffee. I passed it off as nothing and was just waiting patiently till my parents came into town so they would be the first to know.

I began spotting and turned immediately to my bibles to see what it all meant. They all said spotting was normal, not to worry unless experienced with painful cramping…which I did not have. My parents arrived and the good news just spewed out of my mouth. They were so happy, the look on their faces was equivalent to that of four Christmas’ in a row. Now, going against my better judgment I HAD to tell everyone – it was diarrhea of the mouth yet the spotting continued.

The next morning, I couldn’t ignore the spotting, it had actually increased and I was in the middle of nowhere, far away from my regular doctors – now what do I do? I called the nearest hospital and they suggested I come in. Little did I know that I was walking into Deliverance. I have worked my way through some large hospitals but never though such a small operation as I did that morning. I waited for my number to be called and once escorted to my room, told to put on a gown and have a seat. As I was disrobing, the door was briskly opened and I stood there, nearly naked and speechless a nurse walks in as if nothing was going on. Startled, my husband and I reprimanded her for not knocking and having some decency while someone is in the room. The whole ordeal was traumatic and as I left, I knew, it was certain, I miscarried.

I felt like a failure, a disappointment to my family, my husband, my self. I sucked it up the rest of the weekend and tried to make the best of my vacation. The following weeks were filled with depression, anxiety, stress and just an all around feeling of loss. Everything in our lives was set on this path to baby and it’s all gone. Now what? It probably didn’t help that my body had begun to overload on hormones and those needed to be washed out of my system. The shear sound of a little child or baby was like fingernails down a chalk board. I knew I would rebound, but when? I turned to some websites that had support communities for those that have miscarried and that really seemed to help. It put into perspective that losing a baby isn’t my fault, rather natural selection at its finest. Things always could be worse and I read some of those stories.

My husband and I decided that it was a victory that we could get pregnant and we will keep practicing till we are ready again.