We didn't know whether the baby was [another] boy or a girl.
After a vague series of phone calls between my OB office and myself, I was referred to and given an emergency appointment with a Geneticist Dr. I was walked down a hallway to a dark room where the giant HD Superbowl size ultrasound screen was in front of me across the wall, and the stranger ultrasound tech squirted goo on my stomach and started looking around inside my stomach. I immediately started crying seeing my baby floating on the screen, seeing my baby, so tangible to my eyes, yet so intangible to my arms. I had no idea at that point what was going on because the doctors were still all in secrecy as to my exact test results.
The tech said she was going to leave the room to go get the Dr. and that she'd be right back. In walks a man looking like George Lucas, sticks his hand out to shake my hand, and in the same breath said to me, "Your baby has no heartbeat. Your baby is dead. Do you understand? Do you understand?" His statement was delivered in such a cold, unemotional manner that I could have sworn he was ordering a casear salad with dressing on the side.
The obvious shock stumbled me back into a wavy panic attack/trying to remain in control in front of strangers who looked very uncomfortable with my overwhelming (and yet, so obviously relevant to the situation that their uncomfortableness was even more uncomfortable). So, I was ushered to sit up, control my tears with a box of dry generic tissues handed over to me, and then told to go to a nearby room after getting dressed (goo still on my stomach, they never bothered to wipe me off) to "compose myself". I use this in quotes because this is what they said to me. My husband was outside with my son, waiting to pick me up with some hopeful news and I had to tell my husband on the phone that the baby died and that it had probably been dead for 2-3 weeks. The Genetic Dr. referred me to ANOTHER Dr., that dealt with high risk pregnancies for a D&C surgery to "remove the pregnancy" (also another term from the doctors as a way of distancing themselves from the reality since they probably do this to live with themselves having to deliver this information to countless women day in and day out. It's easier to say pregnancy than dead baby.)
The image in my head I find most difficult to push down, is that of my first ultrasound months prior, with the arm and leg buds wiggling around, seemingly so filled with vigor to live and my love surged and sealed at the moment. I was in love with my growing baby. I had such dreams of a Christmas baby the first time I heard that sweet little heartbeat. I'm not one of those moms that bonds with the baby after birth. I am immediately in love with the whole process of caring for, living for, and loving my little babies.
I said goodbye to my Avi one night in the shower. It was an unexpected goodbye. I was told I would be walking around for a few more days with my dead baby in my belly and so I decided to take a hot shower one of those nights. While in the shower, before I knew it, arms were cradled around my belly as if it was a newborn and I was swaying back and forth as a mother does with her newborn baby to calm the baby and let baby know that "I'm here, baby. I always was and I always will be here for you." I swayed in the water holding my tummy, softly letting the tears be washed away by the steaming shower and the moment of silence that felt substantial and official.
The OB who performed the surgery, thank Goodness, has incredible bedside manner and put my husband and me at ease whenever in his company. The surgery went well and besides the inevitable pain, cramping, bleeding, and all of it...I am healing. I had one night of almost going back to the ER but was able to avoid it, and have been taking my days slow and one at at time as far as giving myself the time to move on.
I was incredibly, overwhelmingly sad, and needed a "girls day" for a couple days with my best friend in Los Angeles to help with my healing. We had already had a San Diego vacation planned and paid for (non refundable hotel stay in La Jolla) so we decided to go through with our San Diego plans, only having me fly to Los Angeles a couple days early so I could have a couple of days to stop being "mom Josie" and just be "Josie", the woman. I don't know what I would have done, honestly, without Sarah. She took the me that was overflowing with lumpy sadness, with dark under eye circles, pale skin, a swollen stomach from where my pregnancy was and where my surgery was healing, my neglected eyebrows and nails - a hot mess. In a whirlwind of kindness, Sarah scooped me up and plopped me into a Dry Bar in LA, where I was treated to a celebrity style shampoo and blowout, a mimosa with lemon candies, a few tears of guilt from me, and then we moved on with our day. I was treated to a mani/pedi, a shopping trip for cat eye sunglasses at the Grove in Los Angeles, and then to top off my day that felt like a sweepstakes win, we had an amazingly luxurious and relaxing dinner at Villa Blanca in Beverly Hills. Villa Blanca is my new favorite restaurant. The memory of this restaurant is the smell of Gardenias and white flowers, candle light, my best friend, some Sauvignon Blanc, and a moment of letting my life sink in, in a soft way.
While Sarah and I were shopping at the Grove, I received a phone call that should have been cancelled by one of my 3 doctors, reminding me of my missed ultrasound that day that was to name whether a boy or a girl. I had to stop my day to flash back to say that I had lost my baby. Another flow of tears, and my friend Sarah interlocked arms with me, helped me walk through my tears and on to lunch at Cheesecake Factory and going on with our day. We finished the night watching Pitch Perfect, and this movie has since become my 2yr old's favorite movie.
Going to sleep the couple nights away from my husband and child were the worst and longest parts of my days. I couldn't get to sleep and when I did, I was in fits of nightmares and periods of laying awake thinking of the wiggling arm and leg buds of Avi.
Having a miscarriage changes you. It makes me more grateful for my son, Greyson, but more anxious about safety in general. Anxiety is a byproduct of miscarriages, and so is, on a completely different note, finding out who is and isn't truly there for you. When the people you depended on to be there for you fall off the planet or make 3rd (yes, 3rd!) of July parties more important than being there for you for a couple days post miscarriage...it's just amazing. Its eye opening. It made me feel more adult and more jaded and more raw and more grateful and and and....just a lot. A lot.
I heard a saying on Long Island Princesses, apparently an old Jewish proverb, (Yes, I love Bravo. What warm blooded woman doesn't?!) that made me laugh in it's truthfulness:
"Love your enemies, just in case all your friends turn out to be schmucks."
In my case...all but a small few turned out to be shmucks. I am grateful for all of them. I am grateful for the wool uncovered from my eyes re people I thought were more substantially vested in my heart than they are.
The beauty of my love that will always be for my angel baby, the swelling heart happiness I felt at picking up my husband and 2yr old son at LAX after my 2 day girl "vacation" in Los Angeles, the love and admiration I felt for my friend Sarah, herself battling Cystic Fibrosis and on the list for a double lung transplant, to remind me of the blessed people I still have in my life after losing my Avi.
Thinking positive and bouncing back is the definition of the evolution of our lives leading to happiness.
I have to think that this is all in God's great plan, but to be truthful, in the moment of going through all of this miscarriage madness, I found myself irritated when hearing "I'm praying for you." But I guess that was the angry stage of my grief where I didn't understand why why why this was happening to me and why why why I had failed my baby at provided the right genes or womb environment or not drinking enough water or whatever other excuse I thought of to feel guilt over allowing myself to move on.
I will never ever forget my little Avi. I bought a little Tree of Life necklace with the charms of "G" for my Greyson and "A" for my Angel baby Avi. In the tree of life, you never can count on things to go according to plan, but you can plan to move on with hope.
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