We finally got released Wednesday afternoon. That was a great feeling. I couldn't be happier going home. As soon as we got home, around 3 or so I guess, I went straight to bed. I was exhausted and still felt pretty bad. Not nearly as bad as the previous week, but not the greatest either. I slept for probably 2-3 hours. I think I woke up somewhere around 5:30 or 6 that evening. And when I woke up, the pain was different. I was more crampy than I had ever been. I tried to eat some dinner that Patrick's mom brought us but wasn't really in the mood. I just couldn't get comfortable, so I came back to bed. I had Ilyssa come in my bed with me to read to me. I love to sit and listen to her read; it makes me happy. She's the sweetest and I was hoping she would help me feel a little better. But the cramps kept getting worse, and honestly, at this point I wasn't thinking anything was going wrong. Just a few hours before, at the hospital, we heard the baby's heartbeat one more time before we left. It was in the 150's and strong. It sounded great! I kept thinking everything I was feeling was related to the infection going away. So you can understand the absolute shock I went in when laying in bed a gush of water came pouring out of me. I seriously thought I had just peed on myself. But the only difference was that I couldn't control it or even begin to stop it. I ran to the bathroom, sat down on the toilet and hollered for Patrick. He had been in the room with us while she was reading but he stepped out for whatever reason. He came in the bathroom and by this time the "cramps", that we now know were contractions were so strong, I could barely stand it. The water kept pouring out of me, then it turned into blood clots. I told Patrick through tears that this was it, we were losing the baby. I'm not sure if he was in denial, or if he really thought everything was gonna be okay, but he told me nothing was gonna happen. That we had had so many scares this pregnancy and this was just another one of them. Through many tears and lots of pain, I tried to tell him that this was really it this time. I told him my water broke and I was having contractions. Before the blood clots started coming out, I called my doctor. Of course we got the answering service since it was after hours, but the doctor wasn't calling back. Things just kept getting worse. I think Patrick finally began to understand what was going on because he started turning white and the look on his face is one I will never forget. He was terrified and sad and confused, just like I was. About 20 minutes went by, and we still had not heard from the doctor, so we called back. When I was on the phone with the answering service for the second time, I realized that my life was beginning to turn into a living hell. It was horrible...a true nightmare. It was the thing that haunted me every time I stepped foot in my room and bathroom for five months after. It was the thing that kept me up at night for many weeks. It was the reason my bathroom door had to stay shut while I was in the room. It was the thing that made me feel like I was going to be crazy for the rest of my life, that I would never be a good mom or wife again. That I would lose all my friends because I couldn't get past it. It was the reason I lost 15 pounds and slowly started sinking back into an eating disorder that I had control of for many years. It was the reason I cried myself to sleep and sat on my front porch after I took Ilyssa to school every morning until I had to pick her up in the afternoons. I cried then too. I cried all the time. Uncontrollable tears drenched everything I touched. I was traumatized beyond belief. It was the reason I barely stepped foot in my bathroom much less even sat on my toilet for almost 5 months. It was the reason I almost lost everything I ever believed in and why I felt so overwhelmed to open my bible and read it much less believe anything it said. It was the reason I became angry at the world, angry at all the other women who still got to be pregnant and not lose their babies. It was the reason why I distanced my self from everyone in my entire support system other than Patrick. No, I couldn't get enough of Patrick. He was there with me when our lives fell apart, he was with me while my worst nightmare came true. He was there when I felt something different come out of me. When I reached down to wipe it away because I thought it was another blood clot. He was the one I screamed for when I realized it wasn't a blood clot, but our baby's foot. He was the one who caught me in his arms when I threw myself off the toilet after I realized both of our baby's legs were hanging out of me. He was there, right there with me when the next contraction made me push the rest of our baby's body out of me. He never left me, not even when I lay on the floor screaming for help, for somebody, anybody, to help me. He was there the whole time our baby's poor body was lying helpless, hopeless and lifeless on our bathroom floor. He was there when my body began to hemorrhage so bad I thought I was losing all of my blood and dieing. He is the man that never left me, who cried with me and who held me. He was the man that stayed as calm as possible even though I knew he was a complete wreck on the inside. I'm so glad I married him; there is no one else on this earth that could ever complete me the way he so flawlessly does. I love him more now, than I ever thought possible. It's so sad that such a terrible tragedy could bring two people closer together than ever before. That night was by far the worst night of our lives and I am so thankful it bonded us together the way it did instead of tearing us apart like it could have.
Somewhere in the midst of everything that went on...my sister and Patrick called 911 at the same time I think. Apparently, I was screaming so loud, I woke Ilyssa up. Unfortunately, she heard everything going on. I am so thankful my sister was here taking care of her for me when everything happened. Looking back I know God took care of all the small details that we wouldn't have been able to take care of ourselves. When the ambulance got here, I was laying in a pool of blood in my bathroom floor, covered in it. Terrified and in shock at all that was happening. I was still having severe pain from the contractions, and still crying and rambling on and on about my baby. They had to cut his cord; and when they separated him from me...I lost it all over again. They carried me to the stretcher in our hallway and I remember looking down at the floor at all the droplets of blood thinking this can't really be happening to me. The baby was perfectly fine just hours before. How is this even possible? As soon as they put me on the stretcher I told the paramedic that I needed to push again. I told her I thought the placenta was trying to come out. So I pushed and it came out. It was horrible. I had to ride all the way to the hospital with it under me. The saddest part of the entire night to me was seeing the other paramedic carry our baby out of our bathroom in a see-through, plastic evidence type bag. I was so upset. He was a human being and didn't deserve to be put in a plastic bag. He was my baby who was just alive and well inside of me only a few hours before and that dingy, cold, plastic bag was no place for my child. It was heartbreaking and gut wrenching. Then to know that he was right behind me, hanging on the bar of the stretcher, in that God awful bag with the plastic hook at the top, and not in my belly thriving anymore was too much for me to handle. I technically had a miscarriage because I was under 20 weeks, but I'm telling you, I delivered a baby that night. He looked just like a real baby only much smaller. He was only about 4 or 5 inches, but he was my baby that I will never get to hold, or kiss, or watch grow up, and brag about to other moms. He was my baby that I will never get to bring home from the hospital and show off to everyone around me. He will never get the chance to ride a bike or go to school. He will never learn to walk or talk or pick on his big sister. That was my baby I never got to really say hello too, so then, how in the world am I supposed to say goodbye? How am I supposed to picture him in the arms of Jesus instead of lying on my cold, dirty, soaked with blood bathroom floor? How am I supposed to get the nightmare of that night out of my every thought? How am I supposed to go on living a normal life when life is by far anything but normal anymore... and anyways, what does "normal" even mean? How am I supposed to stop feeling guilty and ashamed that my body failed us and let go of him way too soon? The questions could go on and on forever. These are just a few of the questions I asked myself over and over again. And one by one, I started getting answers to them. Trust me, it didn't happen over night. In fact, it took months before I opened myself back up to receive any of the answers. I can't tell you how many times, I literally cried out to Jesus. I would scream at the top of my lungs for him to take the pain and the memories away from me. I fought a very hard battle; I'm still fighting to a certain extent. I still get really sad from time to time and I probably always will. The only difference now is that it's a lot easier to handle. I miss that sweet baby so very much. We didn't have much time together, but I loved him with all that I was from the moment I found out he was inside of me. Nathanial, (yes he was a boy), will always be in my heart. That's as close as I can get him to me. I will always be waiting for the day that we finally get to meet, for real. With no blood, no sadness or heartache. I know he is waiting for me and I can finally see him exactly how he should be...perfectly whole, happy and in the loving arms of Jesus!
I couldn't wait to get the pathology results back. I was hoping for some kind of answer as to why the pregnancy ended. When the doctor told me that Nathanial was perfectly fine and that my placenta had a severe infection...I lost it. All of those feelings of guilt came flooding back. I couldn't quit blaming myself for all that went wrong. It was my body that failed him...if it weren't for my stupid body he would still be alive. My body killed him because it literally couldn't hold on to the placenta anymore. I know that really bad things could have happened to me too, but at the time I didn't care. I just couldn't believe that it was me...that I was the reason for everything. These were a lot of my thoughts when we found out. It did help us understand why his heart rate was normal and his heartbeat was strong. My doctor said that he didn't die until my water broke. Because I was just shy of 15 weeks, he couldn't survive yet outside of the womb. Looking back, I'm glad we found out, because at least now we know. Now I know that the pain I was having in the center of my stomach in the hospital was because of the infection. And looking back, I know the reason all the pain was gone after the placenta came out was because that was the source of the problems. At the time though, it was not easy hearing the news. It's just all so sad to me...even to this day.
To all the people I shut out of my life....so sorry for that. But now you kind of understand what we went through the night that sent me over the edge. I'm coming back...I'll never be the same, but when has God ever wanted us to stay where we are? Thank you for letting me share our story; it means a lot!