The Brady(cardia) bunch

So, it's time for an update on my physical health.

About a week after I had stopped actively passing tissue, I had a visit with Dr Z.  She had told me to book an appointment with her for a few weeks down the road, regardless of what happened after meeting her in the hospital.  She is really nice and it would have been cool to have her as my obstetrician... Oh well.  So, in I went.  The nurse took my blood pressure three separate times; the first time she thought something was wrong with the machine because an alarm sounded due to my low heart rate; the second time she didn't trust that the blood pressure result was accurate because my legs had been crossed, which evidently interferes with a proper reading; the third time she stated that my blood pressure was quite low and would be informing the doctor of my results.  Hmmm.  After discussing the miscarriage and the symptoms I was  experiencing (Symptoms being- blacking out and falling to my knees, extreme dizziness, headaches, head-rushes, exhaustion, memory problems, difficulty concentrating, challenges with bending over without blacking out, and generally just feeling lightheaded), she told me to get a blood test, ECG (Electrocardiograph) and ultrasound.  I was able to get the first two done once leaving her office, since she works out of the women's health unit at the hospital.  Even with her assistant calling for me, it would take about 2 weeks to get the ultrasound done. In addition to the tests, she ordered me to consume more salt in my diet and to resume taking prenatal vitamins for the iron benefit, or get some over-the-counter iron supplements.

This past weekend, I felt a little more "alert" than the past few weeks.  It took me awhile to pick up some iron supplements, since I wasn't leaving the house all that often, so it may correspond with taking the iron.  It could also be because the deep depression I'm in is lessening its hold a little...  I don't know.  So, it would seem there's a little progress.  Saturday was a busy day with Matt, out running errands.  I could not believe how exhausted I was when we got home.  I knew I wasn't 'out of the woods yet'.  I'm still having a lot of dizzy spells and feeling lightheaded.  Moving too quickly, bending over to pick something up or buckle E's carseat, changing positions from seated to standing, headaches and exhaustion when I overexert myself, trouble concentrating and remembering things are all continuing to persist.

Just under two weeks has gone by since my appointment with Dr. Z.  Yesterday, Tuesday, the ultrasound was completed.  I had really dreaded going to the appointment because of the bad memories associated with that place.  While waiting, I had started to chat with a ladies in the waiting room.  When the nurse called me to change in the back room, I heard one of the ladies ask Matthew if we were pregnant.  I had kind of hoped to avoid that question, because it often makes things uncomfortable for people when I'm honest.  Matt later recounted to me that he'd been honest about our visit and one of the ladies had commented she was surprised by how much more common they seem to be becoming.
Meanwhile,  I had changed into the little gown and was freezing in the little cubicle, waiting to be called in.  When the radiologist called my name, I told her that I was to let her know my husband was in the waiting room and that I'd like him to join me.  Without missing a beat, she told me they don't allow guests in the room during the exam.  When I asked why, she said that I was having a medical exam and only obstetrics exams are allowed guests.  I looked at her and froze  Time, for me, stopped as I stood there and stared at her, with thoughts rushing through my head: 1)Sadness and grief that this stranger was so clinically reminding me that I was no longer pregnant, and therefore not deserving of any kind of special treatment, 2)Not wanting to be rude if that's the clinics policies, 3)Being ticked off at people telling me I can and can't do things because of their stupid policies, while they seem to  forget that each patient is a person with feelings, and finally 4)Done being a pushover and letting someone tell me what's going to happen and feeling helpless about it, deciding instead to advocate for my rights.  So, there I stood, looking at this girl while all these thoughts flew around in my mind.  I told her that, no, I would like my husband to be with me.  I didn't care what their ridiculous policy was, I was going to have my husband with me.  I was prepared to leave that stupid office if she didn't agree, rather than let someone else tell me what to do when I wasn't comfortable with it.   Does that make sense?  Either way, she kind of huffed to herself and showed me to the room.  She asked me why I wanted my husband with me.  I know she had looked at the work order, and seen why I was there and couldn't understand that she was so unfeeling about it.  I told her I had just had a miscarriage and wanted him with me.  I feel like that was enough of a reason.  She was snotty about it, but went to go get Matt.  Poor Matt, he could tell something was wrong when he came in the room, but I couldn't exactly tell him this girl had been rude and unkind to me, while she was right there.  It was an awkward exam.  I was torn between wanting to cry and tell her off.  When she'd left to have the doctor on staff review the results, I told Matthew what had happened.  
>>Honestly, people, what is my luck with health care workers?  Why do I always seem to have more than my fair share of the bad apples?  I believe that the majority of people who go into health care are genuinely kind, compassionate people.  I know many nurses and other healthcare practitioners, and could never imagine them treating someone this way.  What gives?!?!?!<<
Thankfully, the doctor came in and said that the results looked good, and that it seemed that everything had passed.  Very relieved to hear that news indeed.  I made a point of picking up a comment card on my way out of the office, and fully intend to kindly let them know of my experience and let them know that a little sensitivity to my situation would have been much appreciated.

Later in the afternoon, I got a phone call from my family doctor's office, telling me that the results from my ECG had come in and they would like to see me.  I booked an appointment for the following morning, today, and went in.  My assigned doctor is on her own maternity leave, so I saw a different one named Dr Ghauri. .  The nurse came in to take my vitals, then asked me whether it was normal for me to have low blood pressure?  Responding affirmatively, the doctor soon came in.  He said that the results had came back showing that I had bradycardia, which is basically an abnormally low heart rate.  He inquired whether I had any outstanding medical conditions he should know about, to which I replied no.  Continuing on, he said that he wanted me to see a specialist ASAP. The combination of my low blood pressure and the results from the ECG concerned him and he wanted to make sure I was taken care of right away.  Luckily, the clinic has an internal medicine specialist on staff, and while Dr. G. stepped out of the room to call to get me an appointment for today, he had a nurse come in to test my blood presssure while standing and laying down.  After he finished his phone call, and unfortunately half a cigarette (blech, so smelly), he came back in and said that the other doctor would squeeze me in today.  Dr G said that the test the nurse had done confirmed that things were not as they should be.   Darn.
I really appreciated the candid nature Dr G had with me, willing to answer my questions and be so personable and reassuring.  I asked him if I could switch to him as my family doctor, since part of the reason I haven't been to the doctor for so long was the experience I had with the other one at the clinic.  (If you can't remember, read this post)  He said I could if I wanted to, but just to make sure I went through the proper channels that the clinic has set up. Sure!   I'm starting to become more comfortable advocating for my rights as a patient.  My only concern regarding him is that he's a smoker, which is off-putting since my sense of smell is so acute.  But his bedside manner and approachability were so awesome.  He was very kind and engaging with E as well, which made me like him more.

As I drove home, thinking about our visit, I felt like I may have accidentally withheld some information.  No, I don't have any major health issues or concerns, praise God, but I still have had quite the year.  In the last 12 months I have: gotten a whiplash from a mva; gotten a severe concussion from a stereo falling on my head; fallen on the ice and badly bruised/broke my coccyx (tailbone); hurt my knee from dance and fitness classes; battling depression; and had two miscarriages.  It has definitely not been my best year, health wise.  Thinking about it all is overwhelming and kind of incredible.  Holy crap, what a crappy time my body's had lately!  I hadn't really looked at the big picture.

My appointment for this afternoon was for 4:30, but I didn't actually get into the exam room until 5:30, due to the doctor running quite late.  It was frustrating waiting so long but grateful that I was able to be seen so quickly.  Dr Aslam came in while the nurse was completing taking my vitals.  The nurse had also asked me whether it was normal for me to have a low blood pressure.  Being asked it so often is making me feel as though I need to forewarn anyone who's about to take it; "Just to let you know, don't be alarmed if my blood pressure is low.  I'm basically a walking zombie".  We discussed my symptoms and what has been happening just over the last few weeks.  When I mentioned the two miscarriages within six months, he made an exclamative noise, to which my automatic response was to say "it's okay" in an attempt to alleviate his discomfort.  He was quick to say that it wasn't okay, questioning why a healthy young girl like me would be having miscarriages.  After some more questions and drumming of his knuckles on the desk, he said I needed to go for an ECG as soon as the lab opened tomorrow and that I would need to have a full workup of blood done.  Handing me the form, and noticing how many of the boxes were checked off, I asked him how many vials of blood they would be taking.  He answered that it would probably be 6 or 7.  What?!!?!?!?  
This is what I don't get.  When a patient has a low blood pressure or is bleeding, why would they take so much blood, thereby decreasing the blood in their body and further lowering their blood pressure?  It seems counterproductive to me.  I understand why they have to do it, it just seems strange.  
After handing me the work orders, he then gave me instructions.  I am now ordered to be on complete bedrest, being allowed to travel from my bed to the bathroom and my bed to the dinning room table to eat, etc.  Any other activity is prohibited, especially anything that has caused me to feel dizzy or lightheaded, such as bending over and going up and down the stairs too often, and any form of physical exertion.  He says that I am to stay in my bed unless someone else is with me.  He advises that I not drive anymore, especially if I feel lightheaded.  He said that if at any time I start to feel worse, I can come to the clinic and he will see me right away, or if the clinic is closed, to go to the hospital.   He said that I need to drink at least 3 litres of fluids a day, preferably a combination of water and Gatorade, to help increase my blood volume and electrolytes.  I was flabbergasted.  I told him that I had been on bedrest for 2 weeks, and that this week I was going to try and get back to normal.  After questioning who had said I could be off bedrest (um, me?), he reminded me that I need to listen to my body and allow it the time it needs to heal from the miscarriage, and to not ignore what's going on.  He emphasized that, as my doctor, he was concerned for me and wanted to make sure I'd be safe.  If I feel better and my symptoms suddenly disappear, I don't have to be on bedrest anymore, but otherwise, he strongly suggested I follow his orders until we see each other again.  Well phooey.  This sucks. 

There we have it.  I am trying to remain calm and level-headed about this.  Maybe this is all a big mistake...  The results of the first ECG could just be a one-time thing.  I could somehow have an amazing cardiovascular system, one to rival any professional athlete.  This could all just be stressed-induced... I don't know.  I just don't want to make this a big deal yet.  I don't want to be freaked out and super emotional.  I was talking to Moiya, my MIL, prior to my second appointment this afternoon.  After I'd explained what was going on, she was very optimistic and upbeat about everything.  She helped me by pointing out the blessings that were happening; the fact that I was getting seen so soon by the specialist, the fact that tests were being done and that there were concrete tasks and steps that could be taken, and so on.  My reply was to agree but wish it wasn't happening at all because it sucks.  Quickly she replied "Yep.  Having diabetes sucks." Moiya helped me remember that everyone has hard times and struggles, and that our health is something that shouldn't be taken for granted, and when things aren't as well, at least we live in a time and place where we can get help and answers.  I won't lie and say I'm not nervous about what the results may be, but I am trying to keep things in perspective and not get too emotional. 

Post Script
It felt so strange to be constantly writing the word "blood" so much in this entry.  I would wager there are probably over 20 times I reference the word blood in this post...

Post Post Script
Try taking one or both of these quizzes to find out which character you are.  Can you guess which one you think I was?

http://www.quibblo.com/quiz/9H7UwrN/Which-Brady-Bunch-character-are-you?view_quiz=1

http://www.quotev.com/quiz/295001/

The Incomparable E!

I have an amazing daughter.  She brings so much joy and happiness to my life.   I've been wanting to record some of my thoughts and memories about Miss E for awhile; I'm realizing how it doesn't matter what my intentions are, my memory just isn't working the way I want it to, and I'm forgetting some of the incredible moments of being this sweet girl's mum.  I want to make sure I have a record of all the unique and fun things she is doing.

She is changing and growing at a crazy rate.  Each day brings new discoveries. As I mentioned, I've had some drafts waiting to be published on the blog, and this is one of them, with some updated parts.

September Long weekend-

She has become so brave!  When we first went out to the lake, E was hesitant to go in the water, and would cry when we put her in her boat to float around with us.  This time, E was much more comfortable about jumping off of the dock into our awaiting arms.  She still wasn't crazy about being pulled around in her boat, but would "participate" in our family swims (from dock to dock) with minimal fuss.  It was so fun to see her becoming braver and enjoying the water.  She began to tease us by hesitating, flapping her arms, bending her knees and other tricks before finally falling into our arms.  She honours me by placing such faith and trust in me that I will catch her and keep her safe; it's my goal to always do so.  It was really nice to be out at the Lake with just Matt, E and myself; a completely different experience from how it normally is.  I really felt like we could just play and do things on our own schedule.  Don't get me wrong, I love going out and visiting all of our family out there, and that E gets some great time to play with her cousins, but the atmosphere this time was really laid back.  E would often want to walk down to the Lake, but when she was done, she was done; crawling into her stroller to let us know in no uncertain terms that it was time to go back up to the house.  Matt and E would go out into the garden to pick the raspberries and strawberries that were growing.  E never wanted to eat them, preferring to give them to me instead.  What a silly goose.   

Walking back up to the house after a fantastic sunset swim!

We love the Lake so much!  I love how E is sticking her tongue out in this one.

Mummy and Me Trip
Well, the trip out to the Shuswap by myself with E was eventful.  I will probably never be willing to drive at that time of night by myself again.  I had bought a portable DVD player to set up in the car for E while I drove.  I thought this trip would be a piece of cake; 1, maybe 2 movies for E and we would be there.  Nope.  We left in the evening, which was the first mistake.  The highway was actually really creepy and empty, which is so RARE. I almost hit numerous wildlife, and right around Golden, E threw up all over herself, twice.  She had been kind of whimpering throughout the drive, especially after I put the movie on.  I thought it was just because she was maybe scared or upset about what was happening in the movie (Tigger can be scary when he first shows up!), or that she was tired.  I had turned off the DVD about 30 minutes prior to Golden.  So, with my upset, tired, and sick baby, plus my stress over crazy wildlife on the road and feeling pretty tired, we made an unexpected stopover in Golden for the night.  It was quite the night, with E being unsettled and rolling around in her big bed.  I tried sleeping with her for awhile but it was too much; she kept popping her head up to say "hi" to me, rolling all over, crawling on top of me, and just having a really hard time of sleeping.  It was a rough night for both of us.  
We finally made it to the Lake the next day after another bout of throwing up on E's part.  I determined, after consulting with friends and talking with Matthew, that it's likely E gets car sickness.  Major bummer, considering we had bought the DVD player hoping that it could make trips our a little more bearable.  Oh well...  
E and I were alone at the house.  It was a tiring yet nice experience to be with E on my own for so long.  I quickly realized how important it was for me to get to bed earlier because I was the only one with E the entire time; there was no tag-team action happening with Matt, where I would be able to catch a break.  It gave me a whole new perspective on how hard single-moms have it, and I wasn't even working outside of the home at another job!  Either way, it was such a great experience to have that time with E.  She was so fun and easy to please.  We would wake up in the morning and just kind of take it easy, have our breakfast, then get ready to go down to the lake.  Once down at the ramp, E would play with the sidewalk chalk, bubbles, water toys or rocks until "we" (I) was hot enough to warrant going into the water.  Entering the water for E consisted of me carrying: her in her life-jacket, a bucket, her boat, possibly my camera out to the dock, depositing the said items on the dock, then bending down and scooping up a large handful or two of rocks.  The first game would consist of E then throwing all the rocks off of the dock while I "tried" to catch them.  She would run to different sides of the dock to get past me, laughing each time she tricked me.  Our next game involved me standing on the edge of the dock near the drop off where she  pushed me into the water, using both hands, laughing at having pushed me into the water.Then the jumping would begin.  She liked going on a certain part of the dock to jump from.  While preparing to jump, she would point at all the minnows swimming in the water around my legs, while I said and signed the word "fish" to her.  She was always so excited to point out the fishies to me.  She would then creep up to the edge of the dock and after counting to three, sometimes unnecessarily  since she wouldn't always jump on '3', she would lean forward and fall into my arms.  She hasn't quite mastered the "jumping" part, but a free-fall forward is still loads better than the beginning of the summer.  After catching her and letting her lower body dip in the water, I would then guide her to the ladder, where she learned to climb up the rungs to get back onto the dock, with my help.  She would kind of panic when left in the water, regardless of the fact that I was holding onto her, and I would have to help her get up sometimes, but she definitely made improvements.  She would then repeat the falling game until I HAD to stop, usually getting about 20-25 jumps in each day.  She never seemed to get tired or bored of falling into my arms, it was usually me suggesting we move onto the next activity; swimming.  Putting her boat into the water, I would lower her in, and we would "swim".  She wasn't as crazy about going in the boat, so they were always relatively quick swims, oftentimes just heading from the dock to the ramp.  Once on the ramp, E figured the lake portion of the morning was done.  Holding onto her towel, she would crawl into her stroller, or later in the week when we were worried about the bear on the property, the car and we would go back up to the house to change, have lunch and take a nap.  After a nap, we sometimes went back down to the lake, or sometimes just hung out up at the house, playing with all the toys Grandma and Grandpa Choo-Choo have there.  Some nights we would take a dip in the hot tub before going for her bath.  She loved playing in the hot tub, and was always very reluctant to leave.  She loved the trains passing by, and would always run to the window to see them and point them out to me; often escaping out onto the deck and waving at the conductors.  E also really loved buckles while we were out there, feeling the need to constantly buckle up the high chair restraints and her life jacket buckles, over and over again. She loves buckles!  Luckily she only knows how to do them up, not undue them.  (Coincidentally, since returning, the buckle obsession has continued.  She can't walk by her booster seat or be put in the car without doing up her own buckles.  It takes a lot longer to strap her in now, but I've found it's better to let her try doing the buckles on her own, then check them when she's done, rather than me take over and deal with the possible emotional fall out.)

Doing a great job of blowing bubbles

Bear-Aware!  Ready to go down to the Lake for the day

Loving our time together, relaxing and enjoying the beach

Prayers
While we were out at the Lake, I also started having E 'say' the prayers for our meals and at bedtime.  When I first asked her to say the prayer for our super, she immediately folded her arms and started 'talking'.  As I sat there listening, thinking it was mostly gibberish and she wasn't really saying anything, I heard her clearly say "Daddy".  E was actually saying her own little prayer, I have no doubt about it.  I might not have been able to understand most of what she was saying, but I believe that she was fully praying and speaking to God.  It was a humbling and touching moment.  My heart was full as I listened to her finish her earnest and sincere attempt to pray.  How wonderful it must be for Heavenly Father to hear and know the words and intentions of her gentle little heart that she spoke that night.  Since that first time, she has gotten so good at it!  The prayers she says are relatively simple, but she is able to repeat the last word for each phrase you say (Ex- Thank you for the FOOD).  I think what I love most about her prayers right now is how she pronounces Jesus Christ.  "Jesus" is actually a pretty tricky word to say, and when she says it, it sounds more like "she-shush" "kwi-st" but who cares?!?!?!!!  Also, when you try and coach her to say "Jesus Christ", you can't break them up into the individual words.  For example if I prompt her to say "Jesus", she will repeat that back just fine.  When I try to prompt her to say "Christ", she often chimes in with a chirpy little "amen", rather than repeating back "Christ".  Oh, she makes me laugh.  I love this girl.  We have noticed that E becomes very shy about praying in front of people other than Matt and myself, often not doing so.  I know she is shy, which is fine.  It reminds me of how Tracey Hogg, the author of The Baby Whisperer book, says that you shouldn't expect your child to perform like a circus animal.  Duly noted.  I don't care if she doesn't pray in front of others yet; I'm just so proud of her for learning how to pray.  I hope it continues to be a lifelong habit; communing daily with our Heavenly Father.

Talking
E's vocabulary has really taken off.  I remember being worried when her doctor asked at one of her wellness checkups how many words she was saying, and that she wasn't doing as well as she could have been.  Again, Tracey Hogg's wisdom helped me to feel less anxious.  E is developing in so many ways right now: physically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually.  I just need to be patient and keep doing what I've been doing with her since she was born; talking, talking, talking.  Matt and I learned quickly that she has understood a lot more than she could communicate for a quite awhile.  Even though she may not be able to speak as much to us, she definitely understands and is learning.  We try and talk to her and with her as much as we can.  She whips out words we didn't even know she knows, at the most random times.  As she and I were leaving the gym one day, she pointed up at the sky and said, clear as a bell, "plane".  Following the direction of her little finger pointing into the sky, sure enough, there was a plane flying by.  So cool.  She will point at pictures and label the things she sees.  She will point out the car window as we're driving at the trucks and the moon.  Walking outside, running errands, watching cartoons, eating meals, playing with her toys, she is saying more and more words.  It's really cool.  It seems that its really exploded in the last few months, her vocabulary, and we are so loving it.  

Puzzles
E is a whiz with puzzles.  We have a basket of puzzles, all different kind.  She often pulls them out and spreads the pieces throughout the house.  On any random day you can find puzzle pieces tucked between the cushions, in her play kitchen, under the couch, in her purse, on her booster seat and anywhere else but the basket they belong in.  One night, I pulled all the pieces together, organizing them into piles beside the puzzle boards, and had her attempt each puzzle.  Amazingly, she was able to quickly complete all the puzzles, over ten of them, without any hesitation.  You could see her scan the open spaces, then find the corresponding piece on the floor, and then easily fit it into the correct spot.  I was blown away.  She had trouble with one puzzle piece, a starfish that was tricky to figure out which way it went because of its shape, but that was it.  It was so neat to see how she's progressed so much since the last time we'd done puzzles together.  I thought she only liked the puzzles for the fact that she could spread them all over the house.  Very happy to say that I was wrong.

Books
I started reading books to E since she was probably a week or two old.  I have a deep love for books, and reading in general, and I really want to pass that passion onto my children.  E has always had books around to play with and read.  She will sometimes go into her room, grab a couple of books off the ground, climb up into the rocking chair with her teddy, and then sit and read aloud to herself.  Being in the other room, hearing her reading aloud to herself is so great.  True, she can be a little destructive with her books, ripping of the covers, splitting pages, pulling off tabs and so on, but she loves her books.  Reading books to her has changed as well, in that now for each page we have a conversation about what's happening in the pictures, which animals or objects we can identify, counting things and describing different colours or emotions.  It's a much more interactive experience with her when we read now.  I'm so glad that she's seeming to enjoy reading as much as I do, seeking out books on her own to explore and read.  Also, recently every adult female and male in her books is "Mommy" and "Daddy" respectively; so sweet.

Who doesn't love falling asleep while reading a good book?

 E and the miscarriage
I know this time has been rough for her, in different ways.  We haven't played together as much, gone to the park or other fun places as much.  She's been carted around to different people's houses on a daily basis, seeing very little of me.  She's become much more clingy to me when we're at home together, even when Matt's around.  It hasn't been the easiest or most predictable of times for her.
Yet, she has really impressed me through all this craziness.  Even though she's been moved around from pillar to post, she is still happy and kind.  Everyone who has taken her for a morning or day has said that she was really, really good.  When they come to pick her up, after her initial shyness, she will hold their hand and walk out the door with them, waving and saying "bye bye" to me.  She has made this so much easier in that I know she's being taken care of and not too upset.  Truly, I feel that this has been one of the most apparent blessings throughout this trial, E's willingness to go with others and be so happy and well-behaved.  
During that first week of my miscarriage, when I was still actively miscarrying, the healing balm for my soul at the end of every evening was going into her room, picking her up and rocking her for as long as I needed to.  She would continue sleeping, not disturbed by my crying or rocking, stroking my fingers through her soft hair and just being her mommy at that moment.  Each day was really hard, and I was grateful to make it to the end of each one.  
Physically, she has helped me to heal.  My body has gone through labour, with all of its accompanying hormones.  I can't hold the babies I've lost, but being able to hold E has provided me with the way to still receive the hormonal benefits of holding your baby.  By being able to hold my sweet little girl, I am still able to have the benefits of "baby love", namely the release of oxytocin and dopamine, two important hormones that assist with decreasing stress hormones, relieving pain, healing and also act as an antidepressant.  Holding this little girl each night has helped me feel the benefits of baby bonding that I've lost out on.  If you don't believe me, I would encourage you to research 'attachment parenting', baby bonding, and the bodies release and response to oxytocin and dopamine.  Holding her has healed me and helped me so much. 
Emotionally, she has also helped me to heal.  As I mentioned, E has become quite clingy the past few weeks, in that when she's home with me, she wants to be with me, like, RIGHT with me, often putting herself into my lap, sitting beside me or just crawling all over me.  Even when Matthew's home and taking care of her, she is finding her way to me, climbing up into the bed and snuggling down into my arms beside me, pulling the blanket up over us.  If I'm sleeping, she will wander up the stairs, calling out to me, wanting to be with me, forcing Matt to take her back downstairs while she cries.  He has put her to bed countless nights lately where she will just lay there and cry.  As soon as I go in to hug and kiss her goodnight, she quickly falls asleep.  She has made me feel so needed and loved.  Helped me stay away, most of the time, from the dark places in my mind I might otherwise be traveling to.  She is my reason for continuing each day, even though they may be only small things like brushing my teeth that day, or taking a shower.  She makes me want to try.

Once again, I will proclaim to all that I have an amazing daughter.  She is my joy.  I thank God for her each day.  She has blessed my life.  

Just love this girl and all her crazy antics!

E's beautiful pumpkin painting

Hair removal

So, today was my first day out of the house, and basically out of bed since Sunday.  I had asked Matt to go to Costco, but decided I wanted to go too. As we were driving in the car, I realized I hadn't brushed my hair since Monday... Well, at least I've showered most days and brushed my teeth regularly, so I figure it was better than nothing.  Today E hadn't fallen asleep for her nap, instead choosing to play in her crib for the past two and a half hours.  So of course, she started falling asleep on the drive, and was basically fully asleep when we arrived.  Rather than trying to force her to sit up in the cart, I offered to carry her (and get some nice snuggles) while we walked. We had a quick return to do, than went around to the entrance.  Before even getting into the store, I started lagging behind.  She is a petite little girl, but surprisingly heavy for any extended length of time if you're carrying her.  I tried resting her on my arms, while they rested on the handle, but it didn't help.  Thankfully she had kind of woken up by then, so Matt transferred her into the cart, and I got to push it around the store, wishing they had wheelchairs. Like, for real, Costco is huge and I was knackered by the time we got home, actually passing out after putting E down for the night.  

This miscarriage has been a lot different than my last one.  A way to describe it would be by using a hair removal analogy, which I know most of my readers will understand.  My first miscarriage was like having a Brazilian wax done.  Now, I need to be honest in saying that I've never actually had a full Brazilian wax job done, but have waxed in that general area and have an idea of the sensations involved.  The first miscarriage was like a Brazilian for a number of key factors: the pain was very intense and sharp but relatively brief in time; lasting probably for around 8-10 hours total.  Now, I'm talking about the pain you experience when you're actually passing the material.  It's basically labour, with contractions and everything, just relatively smaller items as compared to a full term baby.  But once the pain was over, except for that secondary blip a few days later for the last large portion, passing all the material was over and done relatively quickly. These features are all true of a Brazilian; sharp and intense pain but it's over and done quickly. 

This miscarriage , on the other hand, was like shaving with an old, dull razor; you know the kind, where you have to go over multiple spots again and again to get everything?  The pain was a constant, dull and persistent deep ache in my lower back and abdomen, similar to intense period cramps, which lasted from Sunday-day to about Friday morning.  The only relief I could find was in the T3s every four hours,  my hands or a pillow putting pressure on my lower tummy, and my heating pad pressed firmly against my lower back.  Now the annoying thing about my heating pad is that it has an automatic shut off every 30 minutes, which meant that I was constantly having to turn it back on.  My sleep was really impacted because I'd either wake up from the pain because the Tylenol had worn off or because the heating pad had turned off.  It was horrible. The length of time it took for everything to pass through and out of me (at least I really hope it's all gone!) was a LOT longer as well.  I started passing material on Sunday and didn't stop until Thursday afternoon; 5 whole days!  Somebody had tried to suggest, I'm sure from a position of being loving and caring, that I go for a walk and get some exercise.  This was entirely impossible to do because of the randomly timed pieces of tissue coming out, requiring I be in close proximity to a restroom,the need to be attached to my heating pad to find relief for my back pain and the fact that I was really woozy from the medication, and in the later days, from the blood loss.  I was really surprised that it was taking so long, and ended up calling health link Thursday morning for advice.  Now, anyone who's ever called health link will know that their knee-jerk reaction is to tell a person to go see a doctor, and this call was no different.  The nurse was very concerned about how long it was taking and said I needed to go in to the hospital right away, especially when I'd told her about my other symptoms, and that it was very likely they would need to perform a D&C.  But I just couldn't do it. I did not want to go back to the hospital because of how the last experience had gone.  I just really couldn't face that.  I made a deal with myself that if nothing changed, I would go first thing Friday morning.  Luckily, the last piece of tissue I passed was late Thursday afternoon, and I did not have to go back to that horrid hospital.  So, just like using a dull, old razor, this miscarriage took a long, LONG time and although not as painful as having a Brazilian, the "razor burn" was still intense and entirely unpleasant.  

About the middle of the week I'd started noticing how extra tired I felt, getting winded quite easily.  Walking up and down the stairs takes considerable more effort and I have to use the banister to help pull myself up.  I have to be careful when I stand up to not move too quickly, otherwise I get super lightheaded and need to sit down again.  I've had lot of head rushes from moving too quickly, and have had to sit down on the floor randomly to get back control of my body.  Bending over, moving around and concentrating on tasks is tricky. I just really can't believe how worn out I feel.  It's frustrating feeling so useless. When I was talking to a friend who'd come to visit, she mentioned that I probably needed to go to the doctor for iron supplements because of all the blood loss.  Duh!  That made so much sense. That will be one more thing to do next week.

I have been so blessed during this experience because of the good people in our life.  We have had delicious meals brought to our home, yummy treats and snacks, flowers sent, cards and notes dropped off, and countless messages and phone calls of support.  I truly have felt each day the prayers of my friends and family buoying me up.  I've been especially grateful to those good sisters who have volunteered to watch E for me during the days.  Getting her out of bed in the morning and dressing her leaves me exhausted.  Walking down those stairs,often with her in my arms since she seems to be in a phase of wanting to be carried down, leaves me on the couch for at least twenty minutes just trying to recover.  Then, getting up and pulling together a healthy breakfast takes up the last of my energy.  Matthew, the good man that he is, has often been doing a lot of the prep work for her breakfast the night before, leaving me with fewer steps in the morning.  I just feel so bad that I can't get up and play with her, or take her out to the park.  Having these good women come and help me has meant so much to me, and made me feel so supported.  It's been really frustrating and overwhelming, how I'm feeling physically, and I feel bad about asking for help because I don't want to inconvenience others and force them into doing something they might not want to do.  It's really tough asking for help, for me, and it makes me that much more grateful that my most of my friends have responded so lovingly and without judgement.  Thank you, truly. 

As well, I need to say how grateful I've been for Matthew through this whole experience! That man truly is an exceptional human being and an amazing partner,  I feel so blessed that The Lord saw fit to let me have him for my husband.  He has been by my side and with me through it all.  He has cried with me and shared my grief, lamenting the loss of our baby.  He has been my champion and guardian.  He has done everything he could think of, and everything I've asked of him, to help me find comfort throughout this ordeal.  He's gone out in search of my beloved cherry Danishes, he's rubbed my back, held me while I cried, massaged my feet to help me sleep, handled all the household chores, taken care of E as soon as he gets in the door, left work in the middle of the day when I needed him,  and just all around been an amazing guy.  He is a good man.  

I do have to say that I'm really nervous about the upcoming week.  I kind of set a goal in my head that I would try and get back to my "normal" activities starting Tuesday, but if today has been any indication, I'm not sure if I'll be there. I'm going to try a do a little bit at a time and just do my best.  I think the thing that will be hardest to do will be giving myself permission to say no and take the rest that I need, rather than just pushing through. 

Faith

We left the hospital at 11:35 that night, over 6 hours after first entering the building.  Remembering the pain of my last miscarriage, I knew I would soon want the T3s.  We traveled the maze of streets and detours that has become the deep part of south Calgary, trying to traverse the construction happening on 22X.  We made it to the Shoppers Drug Mart with mere minutes to spare; Matthew popping in to fill the prescription as I sat in the car and tried to record everything that had happened.  We sent a message to Erin, letting her know we were on our way home and could pick Miss E up.  We probably could have left her there overnight, but I needed to hold that sweet girl in my arms after the emotions of the day.  Not hearing back from Erin right away, we got home and had no idea what to do.  How do you carry on in any kind of regular routine when you're waiting to lose your baby?  The text came in a short while later that Erin was up, so Matt left to go pick up our little girl.  
And there I sat, on our couch, crying and trying to wrap my head around what was happening, when I felt an overwhelming surge of anger.  Gathering all the air in my lungs and pain in my heart, I SCREECHED at God "Why?" multiple times.  It was the kind of scream that made my throat match the pain in my heart, as it ripped and shredded its way up from the deepest part of my soul.  Dimly I wondered if I should be concerned about my neighbours hearing, but I was beyond caring at that point.  My heart was hurting and it just felt so wrong that this was all happening again, so soon after the last miscarriage.  I pulled myself up from the couch and started to drag myself up the stairs, leaning against the railing as I talked to God, angry, hurt and desperately needing answers.   Why would He allow this to happen again?  Why couldn't I be spared this pain?  Why was I being punished?  I talked to Him, yelled at Him and pleaded with Him as I moved up the stairs and into our hallway.  I knew I didn't want to go into my bedroom, so I wandered to one of the other rooms, not sure where I was supposed to be or what I was supposed to be doing, but knowing that I wouldn't survive this kind of agony for long.  I somehow ended up in the bunkbed room, on the floor, crying.  And I prayed.  With everything I was feeling, I prayed to the Lord seeking to know, to understand, to wrap my mind around what was going on.  Pleading with Heavenly Father to "remove this bitter cup," to grant me the soothing balm of Gilead, to remove this burden from my shoulders because I couldn't and didn't want to be strong enough to carry it.  Clearly in my mind I remembered the phrase our Savior spoke in the Garden of Gethsemane, which then proceeded from my lips, uttering the words "...not my will, but Thine be done."  I knelt there, rocking back and forth, holding my stomach, envisioning I was cradling that sweet baby before it passed from my body, and cried.  I needed God so much.  I asked Him for peace, for strength to get through this, and for comfort.  I needed His comforting presence so much.  I craved the peace and strength that could only be given from the Lord in this kind of situation.  As I pleaded and cried, I felt a hand on my back.  Looking up, I realized Matthew had returned with E, and they were both crouched there with me.  Transferring E into my arms, Matthew helped me move into the rocking chair and I just held that precious girl and rocked her.  The peace you can find as you hold your child close to you is sweet and infinitely precious.  Breathing in her smell, feeling her heart beat against mine, running my hand through her hair helped ground me once again after my anger and despair.  In my arms I held the peace, strength and comfort that I needed.  Holding E helped soothe my heart.  Every night since I first started bleeding, long after E has fallen asleep, I will go into her room, gather her into my arms, sit in my rocking chair and just hold her.  It is so therapeutic and calming for me to hold her close after a long, sad day. 

After E and I had rocked, I returned her to her crib, a little calmer and collected than I'd been when they first arrived back home.  Laying down in bed, I started to continue reading The Ensign, the Church's magazine.  I had been previously reading "The Healing Balm of Hope" article.  Out from the page jumped the quote by President Uchtdorf: "In the furrows of despair, it (God's light) can plant the seeds of a brighter hope....  It can illuminate before us and lead us through the darkest night into the promise of a new dawn."  As I contemplated his words, feeling they described my situation, I continued reading other articles.  Then, in one of the LATTER-DAY SAINT VOICES stories, I felt the Spirit reach out and speak right to me.  In the entry "Heavenly Father's Love", a woman relates how "...I had received a letter from a friend who had miscarried her third child" <That's me!> and how "...times of happiness and joy occassionally cannot teach us as deeply and eternally as times of personal tragedy.... If we remain true to God while passing through trials, our faith will grow."  And then the next entry, "He Blessed My Sour Note", was about a man who had sung what he thought was not as good of a song, and a woman who "... had given birth to a stillborn baby several days earlier and had battled anger and despair ever since." And that when he sang "...she had felt the Spirit wrap her aching soul in a peaceful, comforting warmth.  It had filled her with the hope she needed to bear her cross of grief."  Story after story, article after article let me know without a shadow of a doubt that my plea had not gone unheard, that my Heavenly Father knew me and loved me and wanted me to know it.  I can testify to any and all who read this that I felt His love and presence with me in that moment so completely, of that I have NO doubt.  As I'd been reading the words I'd been crying and relating to them so much on the page.  Dropping the magazine onto the ground, I once again began to pray and cry in earnest, letting Him know I had seen His hand, that I felt His comfort and love, that I knew He was with me and cared for me, and that His compassion and grace would buoy me up in this troubling time of grief and pain.  As I spoke to the Lord, the tears in my eyes dried and stopped falling altogether, and I felt an overwhelming sense of calm, peace and love fill my whole being.  It was a miracle.  Immediately I recalled the blessing I had received earlier that day, when I was promised comfort and peace and that the Lord would be my strength, that He would be with me if I turned to Him, and I knew that blessing had come to pass. I am so immeasurably grateful for that sacred and personal experience.  These past few days, it has given me so much comfort and relief.  It has helped buoy me up and return my hope.  
Matthew and I talked a little while later, sitting and facing one another on the bed.  I shared with him what I had been going through and experiencing since we'd gotten home.  I held his hands in my face, and with tears of gratitude in my eyes, I told him that I know the blessing he'd helped to give me had been fulfilled and that I could so strongly feel of the Lord's presence, lifting me above the dark places I had started to go into.  I shared with him how scared I was to become depressed again the way I'd been after I'd lost the first baby.  It was a scary and dark time, and I did not want to go back there.  I know this is something that I will have to actively work against having happen again, but I'm taking steps to avoid it.  Then, while still cupping his face in my hands, I told him that I needed him to go buy me cherry danishes tomorrow.  After the last miscarriage, I had taken solace in cherry danishes from Safeway.  Yes, they had to be from Safeway.  They're sweet, tart, chewy, bad for you, and absolutely delicious; the perfect thing to eat when you're sad and upset.  They're also hard to find, as Safeway packages them with other, less desirable options as apple danishes and cinnamon buns.  And my sweet, kind and good husband went and bought some for me, though sadly, there was only one cherry danish in the package, which I saved for last.  It was delicious.

Hope... lost.

Saturday night's sleep was a restless one.  I went to the bathroom a number of times in the night, probably due to all the water I'd had to drink for the ultrasound the previous evening.  There wasn't any blood on the pad I'd worn to bed.  When I used the bathroom at 10, there was blood in the bowl, and it was heavier, if that makes any sense.  There weren't any clots or lumps, but it was just kind of down in the bottom of the bowl rather than tingeing the water.  I didn't want to worry and stress out too much, so I just laid in bed and cuddled E while we (admittedly) watched a cartoon rather than general conference.  I believe you would call this an avoidance tactic.  You know when your attention is brought to a body part and you start to "feel" things but aren't sure if its real or just your mind imagining things.  That what I started feeling in my abdomen; a tightening and pressure.  Not necessarily pain, just pressure, again, hoping it was a figment of my imagination.  It wasn't until 11:20 or so that I decided I needed a priesthood blessing, because I now saw little, and I mean little clots coming out.  We phoned our good friend Chris, who came over during conference and most likely President Monson's talk, to ask him for a blessing, and he quickly arrived.  After Chris sealed the anointing, Matthew pronounced the blessing.  At the end of it, he became very emotional, which concerned me a lot.  We chatted with Chris for a few minutes before he left, thanking him for coming during the morning session.  That good man and his family are so important and special to us; they've been a huge support to our family and are such good friends.  We love them so much.  
Sitting on the stairs beside our front door, I asked Matthew what it was that had gotten him so upset.  I had an idea, but I wanted to hear him say it.  Being overcome by emotions, Matthew had a hard time speaking aloud what he had felt during the blessing.  For those of you who may not understand what a blessing is, it's basically when a worthy man who holds the priesthood of God is able to place his hands upon another's head and, through revelation by the Spirit, pronounce blessings from the Lord for that person, for their specific situation.  Blessings are powerful and wonderful gifts.
Matthew shared, that while he was pronouncing the blessing, he had wanted to say that the baby would be fine, but he had felt constrained by the Spirit, and was unable to do so.  Instead, he said that the overwhelming feeling of love that the Lord has for me was what the Spirit needed him to say, and that if I just depended and trusted in the Lord, He would provide comfort and peace in this time.  Matthew was upset because there hadn't been any assurance that this baby would be okay and that I wasn't going to have another miscarriage, but he was so overcome by the certainty that the Lord would be there for me, providing peace and comfort.  I had been hoping the Lord would promise in the blessing that the baby would be okay too, and had been disappointed when it was not given.  And then when Matthew started getting so upset, I knew he had hoped for the same thing.  I felt so numb.  I couldn't believe this was happening again.  But I still had hope.  Things could still be okay.

In the afternoon, I started feeling more pronounced cramping and my back was definitely beginning to ache.  I was bleeding, but it was still quite minimal, with few clots.  Dr Z had said to come back to the hospital if I started having cramps or passing clots.  We figured we should heed her advice and once more return to the hospital.  Erin picked up E to go with her to a family dinner and off we went.  Last general conference Sunday had been the same, with E spending the day with Erin's in-laws.  For so many reasons, I wish we had been able to have our family dinner and be celebrating E's birthday instead of what we were doing.  We had been planning to share the news with my family, even though it was still early in the pregnancy because we were so excited.  We still got to share news with them, but it was of a very different nature, sadly.

We arrived at the hospital at 4:53 and proceeded to wait for quite awhile to even see the triage nurse.  When we'd first came in, the display showing the wait-time to see a doctor was 29 minutes.  Not bad.  Right...

The male nurse who assessed me said I would be called over to one of the admitting booths to get registered and my wristband put on.  Confused, I asked him why they weren't just sending me right upstairs to unit 76, like they had last night.  He said that as soon as a person's bleeding, they're kept down in the ER because there are more medical personnel available to assist me, and if we went upstairs and something happened, they would have to send me right back down to the ER anyways, because everything they'd need to treat me was down here.  We were confused, because I had been bleeding last night and had still gone up.  He also said I couldn't eat or drink anything in case I would need to have any procedures done, which I understood the reason for the policy, but that had also not been the case last night.  Following his instructions, we went back out to the waiting room to be called into the admitting office.  When the lady called us, we once again asked if they would send us up to Unit 76.  She said she had no control over that, and that we should just ask our nurse as soon as we were called in to be seen.  Again, we followed her instructions and went back out to the waiting room to be called.  Matthew watched the football on the television, but I'm not sure he was able to get any enjoyment out of it.  I looked out the window, frozen and numb inside. Finally, after probably 35 minutes or so since arriving at the hospital, we were called in by a nurse to go into the back, which, let's be honest, is often just a slightly more private waiting room.  As we walked into the room and I was instructed to put on the gown, I once again asked if we should be going up to Unit 76 rather than staying in the ER.  We just couldn't understand why everything had changed so much for the protocol in a few hours...  The nurse said that she would check, but in the meantime, I should get changed into the gown.  When she came back in, she said that we were in the right place, and that once it's "over", we're supposed to be in the ER, not Unit 76.  In hindsight, I realize that she meant once the pregnancy and miscarriage was over, and since I was still bleeding, I should be downstairs.  Somehow the triage nurse had misunderstood what had happened and assumed I'd already had the miscarriage the previous night, but that I'd come back in because of further complications.  Please keep this in mind while I relay the rest of the experience.  That original nurse had thought I'd already miscarried the baby, when in fact, we had come to have them check and see what was happening, since only 20 hours ago, everything had been checked and pronounced fine.  If only we'd known earlier the mistake he's made in his assumption, maybe things would have been different.
So, the nurse was there, taking my stats and getting me settled into my bed in the ER.  She had great purple and pink streaks in her hair, which I loved.  I thought to myself; "here's a nurse I can relate to".  When I asked her her name, she said it was Krista, but that she wasn't my nurse, just helping out.  Wow, that was a bummer, that she wouldn't be my nurse.  She pulled out a cup and said they needed another urine sample.  Not understanding, I asked her why, because I'd had blood taken yesterday, not urine.  She said they needed it to check my levels.  Okay...  She left the blood-pressure cuff and heartbeat thingy on, then left the room.  I guess the triage nurse had been concerned about my blood pressure being so low; something around 91 over 59 or something.  That didn't seem like a big deal to me, since I have very low blood pressure normally, but they kept a close eye on it.  My normal range is roughly mid-90's over mid-60's; nice and low.
So there we were, me strapped up to the machines, in a room off the busy entrance hallway into the ER, with every person peering in as they walked by.  I hadn't eaten or drank a whole lot that day because of my nerves and worry; a cookie and banana were it.  I asked Matthew if he could get some water for me, since they expected me to pee in a cup.  After asking, he came back with the tiniest cup of water and said that was all I was allowed... Really?!  Okay.  So, I drank the teeny cup, waited a while and decided I would go try and get their sample.  I did not have a lot of fluid to fill that cup, but I did as they asked, brought it back to the room, where the monitors had been beeping since I took off my finger heart-monitor-thingy (with apparently no one that concerned about the beeping monitor), and set the cup in its plastic bag on the table and waited... and waited... and waited.  That wait seemed to take forever.  Sitting in that room, numbly waiting for someone to come and tell me what was happening to my baby and my body.  People constantly walking by the room, but never coming in, unless you counted their eyes, then it would be more like everyone came into that room, and into our private hell.  After just over 2 hours, the ER doctor showed up and asked me to explain to him what had brought us in.  Hearing and actually listening to what I said, he stated that we should have gone upstairs right away, to Unit 76, rather than stay down here (!!!!!!!!!!)  We then mentioned that we had asked three different people to go up there right in the beginning but everyone had said no.  He was sorry that the mistake had been made.  He said he wouldn't do a pelvic exam because they would do that upstairs shortly.  He did assess my breathing, lungs, heart and abdomen, and then said he would go call upstairs for someone to get me and that he was sorry for the mix-up.  Once he left the room, Matthew and I just sat and looked at each other.  I was torn between wanting to cry in frustration, scream in anger and laugh in disbelief, and I'm pretty sure I did a little of all three.  We had tried to advocate for what we knew should have happened but no one listened.  After 10 minutes or so, a nurse poked her head in and said I could get dressed and leave.  Tilting my head, I asked her if she was sure?  "Yep".  "So," I said, "you want me to get out of my gown, put on my clothes, go upstairs, and then put on another gown that's the exact same as the one I'm wearing?"  Cocking her head to the side, she quickly muttered "Good point.  Good point." and promptly left.  5 or so minutes after that, another woman came in and said they were going to move me to a blue recliner before sending me up.  When I asked why they were moving me from a room to sit in the hall, she quickly said that, no, it wouldn't be in the hallway, but in a blue chair where I would wait until they sent me up.  There we were 2 and a 1/2 hours after arriving at the hospital, being moved from a room in the ER to a "blue chair" that was "NOT" in the hallway, still not having been seen by a doctor.  When I asked about my urine sample, she said they would take care of it.  I bet they just threw the poor, pathetic little sample out.

And there we sat... and sat... and sat.  I had thought the lack of privacy was bad in the room, but this was way worse.  The "NOT" hall was a large open alcove off of the main walkway through the ER.  It had 9 or so blue chairs with various patients and staff coming and going, out of and by, and NO privacy.  We had surreptitiously been kicked out of the room to sit in the "NOT" hallway and once again, wait.  After probably 40 minutes or so of sitting there with no idea what was going on and no one telling us anything, Matthew asked a nurse if I could eat something.  Matthew, my knight in shining armour, was working so hard for me, trying to do all he could to make this experience in any way less stressful, rubbing my back, chatting with me, helping me move, holding my hand, rushing to do any errand.  He was just as frustrated and irritated with all that had transpired as I was.  I'm so grateful that he was there for me, being strong and advocating on my behalf.  The nurse commented to Matthew that she recognized him from last night, and that she would go find out for us.  After about 3 minutes, she came back and said yes, I could eat something as long as it was small.  And also they would be sending someone to take my blood, as they needed another sample.  When I looked at her and asked her to confirm that they would be taking it here, in the middle of all these other patients, she confirmed that they would.  I am not a needle person, and I know there are many others like me.  I get woozy, sweaty, nauseous and jump when they put a needle into my body; basically I'm a basket of nerves, and with the stress of what was happening, also a basket of messy emotions.  The nurse, his name tag read Spencer, wheeled his cart over and proceeded to prep me for the blood sample.  The first time he tied the tourniquet, it was WAY too tight; like you could see it cutting into my arm, to a depth of at least an inch, no joke.  I thought I could tough it out but no way, I told him it was too tight and he thankfully retied it.  I don't think I've ever had one done that tight, and I'm talking about his second attempt, not the first.  Ouch.  He left a bruise on my arm, for heaven's sake!  So, with Matthew's gentle reminder, I tell him I jump and then prepare for the needle.  He puts the needle in and says I'm doing great.  After about 3 seconds he says that he needs to move it around a little to get more blood and proceeds to start digging it around in my veins which hurt SO bad.  I kept thinking that if he needed the blood, why wasn't he taking the tourniquet off?  I will admit to ignorance in the knowledge of how to take a blood sample and will hope that he was doing everything correctly.  But boy, that needle sure hurt badly, way worse than ones I've had in the past.  Feeling him dig the tip around was super unpleasant.  When he put the tape on to hold the cotton ball in place, he pulled my skin in, towards the injection site.  FYI, when I took the strip off 10 minutes later, there was a bruise already forming from the needle and from where the tape had pulled on my skin.  Nurse Spencer walks away with my blood, and I lean forward onto my knees, holding my sore arm to my chest, feeling even more light-headed and nauseous,hugely frustrated, and start to cry.  I guess that the ER doctor had come by at that time looking for us to give us an update on what was happening.  His concern was obvious when he asked Matthew if I was okay and Matt explained to him what had just happened and how frustrated we were feeling by this whole experience.  We had now been at the hospital for over 3 hours.  Trying to explain what was happening, the ER doctor said that I was falling in the middle of the criteria the people on Unit 76 had for people in my situation, and that upstairs had ordered the blood test to see whether the human growth hormones (hgh) in my blood had gone up since yesterday, and if they had, they would then allow me to go upstairs.  He apologized for the wait and confusion, and I truly believe he was being sincere and meant it.  It just sucked so bad.  Overwhelmingly, we felt like we had fallen through the cracks and now no one wanted to see me and help me; each department fighting over who would have to take me.  It was a horrible feeling, making the experience that much more painful and heartbreaking.  We were feeling so raw and emotional, and we were being let down by those we had trusted with mine and our baby's care.  It was horrible.  And this all happened for everyone to see while we were sitting in the "NOT" hallway. 

The ER doctor eventually came back and gave us the first piece of good news we'd had that day; the hgh levels had gone up so he would call upstairs and tell them they needed to take me.  He again apologized and I know that he was doing the best he could and felt bad for me.  I appreciated his kindness and caring manner.  Finally, we were going to get to where we'd be taken care of and looked after, especially considering the amazing service and experience we'd had the night before.  Right before the page came, I went to use the restroom.  As I went, a clot the size of a quarter came out, and my heart froze.  Up until this point, we had hoped things were still okay, and that these little clots weren't a big deal, but we were being responsible and getting it checked out to be sure.  The back ache and slight cramping was a little more concerning, but still, it could be okay.  That first real-sized clot, shriveled some of the hope left in my heart. But you still hope, right?  You still have dreams of holding that newborn baby, smelling it's sweet little head close to your heart and reveling in its pure and perfect little body.  You still make plans of the things you're baby will do and become.  You still picture how sweet your daughter will look holding her new "baby" and being such a good big sister.  You still yearn to hold that little hand in yours.  You still look forward to that first giggle, smile, cuddle, word, step, year and life.  These are the things you hope for and plan for when you're pregnant, making room in your heart and future life for this little person the Lord has entrusted to you and your husband.  That hope that everything will be fine is why you have children in the first place.  When you lose that hope, you lose that child.  If I lost hope now, I would lose this child, and I wasn't ready.  I would never be ready to lose this child because I would never give up my hope for it.  Some people don't understand why others find a miscarriage such an upsetting and devastating experience.  I didn't fully understand it myself until I experienced it.  I wish I didn't understand it on such a personal level.

It had been over four hours and we had finally made it back to Unit 76.  But things were not to be the same as the previous evening.  I never did catch her name, but the nurse we had was not who we needed, or who anyone would probably ever want or need in a situation like ours.  After we explained for the fourth (fifth?) time why we had come to the hospital today and what had happened up until this point, she asked to see my pad.  I had been sitting for pretty much the entire time we'd been at the hospital, and when I stood up to slide my panties down, I felt things move around inside.  I was so afraid to get blood on the floor, and when I told her that, she seemed very unimpressed, or even appreciating the fact that I had made sure she wouldn't have to clean up a mess on the floor.  Instead, not saying a word but raising an eyebrow in irritation, she walked to the door and asked someone to get her a pan to put in the toilet.  I stood there beside the bed, not sure what I was supposed to be doing and feeling very hurt by her actions.  Why was she being so mean?  What had I done to annoy or irritate her in such a short time frame?  She came back with a pan and placed it into the toilet.  When I sat down, she bent over and removed my pad.  I asked her if I should push out what I felt inside and she said "Sure."  She then left the room (I think with my pad?) without saying another word while I felt my "hope" slide out of me and into that pan.  Looking at it, I knew it was no longer just spotting. I'd seen this before, 6 short months ago.  I started sobbing, which I hadn't done this entire time.  It just hurt my heart so much.  Standing up, I felt my gown touch the back of my legs and it was wet.  The end of the gown had trailed into the clean, unused toilet water.  It had dripped some water, again, clean toilet water, onto the floor.  Without thinking, I took off the wet one, handed it to Matthew and bent over to clean up the drips of water off the floor.  Without asking for permission, the nurse walks back into the room and as I hear her coming in, I ask Matthew to hand me a blanket.  He isn't as quick as the nurse, who walks into the bathroom where I'm standing in my undies, but basically naked for how I usually dress, who doesn't ask before walking right into the bathroom and begins "inspecting" what had come out of me.  Matthew hands me a blanket and I desperately try to cover myself and wash my hands, while hiding my face because I feel so invaded and exposed; naked to her critical, scornful gaze in all ways.  I ask her for another gown.  She looks at me and asks why.  When I tell her that the back had trailed into the water, she gets a disgusted look on her face, doesn't say a word to me, marches over to a drawer and pulls one out, then leaves the room.  This hurts.  This woman is hurting me.  With her cold, uncaring, unfeeling, judgmental looks, attitude and voice she is stripping my defenses and making me feel even more raw and broken and wrong.  I'm not trying to exaggerate this or vilify this woman in any way.  But I can imagine what a compassionate, caring person could have done or said in this situation.  When asked for a gown, one could say "Of course" or "Absolutely" or "No problem", let alone a kind word or comforting gesture such as a smile.  Instead I am made to feel as though I'm an inconvenience, a burden, a disgusting person who has no value or worth, let alone the "mess" I just made in the pan.  All the layers I'd built up around my heart to be strong and get through this experience were stripped away by that woman.  I KNOW that she was unfairly cruel.  I can only guess it's because I wasn't wanted up on Unit 76 and they had wanted me to stay downstairs.  Maybe they were really busy on 76, with few hands to help, and that maybe they thought if I was miscarrying I should be downstairs instead.  And then I come up, making requests for pans for the toilet, new gowns and so obviously miscarrying.  Maybe this nurse was annoyed by the situation.  I could understand that.  But I will never understand how a woman could treat someone who is obviously going through her own personal torment, in such an unkind and unfeeling way.  We had come to the hospital for help, to know what was going on and if our baby was alright.  After 4 and a 1/2 hours, we still had not had any answers, only people shuffling us around, squabbling over who should take care of me, all the while my baby was dying inside of me, and I felt like I was dying right along with it.  Finishing getting dressed, I remember a snapshot of my face in the mirror, pale beyond recognition, with red-rimmed eyes.  I looked as unhappy on the outside as I felt on the inside.  

And there we sat, waiting for the doctor.  I tried to put into words for Matthew to understand how raw, exposed, vulnerable and wrong that woman had made me feel, but I don't know if there are words to convey the depth of feelings and humility I was having.  I called Marina, my sister-in-law and she said we just needed to leave.  We'd had our own confirmation with the bleeding and clots that I was in fact losing the baby.  Being here wasn't going to help anything, and in fact, it was making me feel worse.  I was so disappointed.  Our experience the previous night was literally night and day from what we were having now.  I had hoped for that same, compassionate and supportive environment that we'd had, and instead felt belittled and like I was an inconvenience.  

By the time the doctor came in, over five hours after having arrived at the hospital for help, I had shut down.  I had no hope left, no desire to be there, but we needed her to release us.  She asked me to once again explain everything that had led us up to this point.  She raised her eyebrows and said "that's interesting" when she asked for clarification about the fact that the ER doctor did not do a pelvic exam, like she thought he should have done it. At the end of it, I told her I just wanted to go home and that I was done with being there. She said there were some tests she could do, like examine my cervix to see if it was open and send me for an ultrasound.  But that I most likely wouldn't be able to get an ultrasound that night because it was so late.  The clock read 10:12, and we knew from last night that the technician was finished at 11.  It wouldn't have been too late if someone had ordered an ultrasound within the first 3 or 4 hours of us being there!  Instead we were waiting, like good sheep, trusting that someone would help us.  I thought we'd tried hard to get people to help us; maybe you need to be pushy and unkind, which aren't things Matthew would ever do to someone.  She then tried to explain why there was such a delay in getting us up here and described the policies, blah, blah, blah.  We hadn't been having an active miscarriage when we first arrived, that happened 4 hours later, so, no, I don't believe what she was saying applied to us when we came.  At one point she said that they only send the pregnant people upstairs and that's when the finality of the situation hit me: I was no longer pregnant.  I started to tear up and zone out.  I think she offered an appointment for the next day for something but I don't remember.  I think I just repeated that I was done and wanted to go home.
Once she'd left with the awful nurse, Matt said it sounded like she was just playing the blame game, saying it was someone else's fault and I would have to agree with him.  I don't really care whose fault it was, all I know is that I was let down in a big way. I started to get dressed but realized I had to go to the bathroom again.  Matt rushed into the bathroom to move the pan out of the way, because he'd seen how much it upset me, and as I went, more clots came out.  I tried to hold it together, but my heart was breaking.  I asked Matthew if he would go ask for a wheelchair, any pain medication and when I would absolutely NEED to come back to the hospital.  He quickly came back saying that the doctor wanted to talk to me again.  I needed a moment to wash my face, finish dressing and pull it together for a little longer.

I sat on the bed, unable to look at her, and listened to her answer the questions.  She was very careful to not say that this was a miscarriage, probably to save their own butts since she hadn't been able to examine me. She said that in case I was still pregnant, I shouldn't take any ibuprofen for pain and that she could prescribe t3's. I accepted that prescription, as I remembered clearly the sharp, stabbing pains, then dull ache of my last miscarriage.   She said to come back if I had heavy bleeding, soaking pads every 15 minutes for over an hour. I think she said to go for an ultrasound in a few days to confirm what was going on, and basically whether everything was out or not.  I then asked her why the hgh levels had gotten higher if I was having a miscarriage.  She said sometimes the body and hormones are slow to respond and get things through the blood stream and it's too soon to tell since yesterday's blood results.  And that was it.  
That horrible nurse, as we were waiting for the prescription, tried to hand me a package on miscarriages, still being careful to say that in case it is one, not that it was one.  The charge/unit nurse, at least I think that was her title, who had first so warmly welcomed us upstairs, was once again kind and caring as she wished us a good night.  I don't think she knew what the situation was or what was going on, but she was kind.  I so wanted to respond in kind back to her, let her know her genuine nature was appreciated but I couldn't, and I feel badly.  She was young, with long blond hair and a sunny disposition.  You will know who she is once you meet her.  Maybe things may have gone differently if we'd had her as our nurse...

You may think that's the end, but it's not even close.  It has taken me over four hours to write this post and I am exhausted in every way.

Miss E, once again with her loving dayhome-mommy.  Saying "cheese" and having fun with all those crazy kids!  This made me happy, to know E wasn't miserable without us.

Sleeping peacefully while we were at the hospital; safe and well-cared for.