This is the final part of my D&C story. To read the previous parts, follow the links below:
Once home, we grabbed the mail. One of the items was a baby registry magazine from Target (don’t you love irony?) I tossed it onto the kitchen table, with the intentions of burning it later. I also had a package waiting on me–a beautiful picture frame to keep our ultrasound photos in. I opened it, and read the words “Planted on Earth to Bloom in Heaven”. That was the first time I cried, realizing that our baby was gone and I was empty. Then we both crashed. I slept until 9PM, then woke up and had some tea and soup. They helped my throat a bit. Around 2AM, nearly a full 24 hours from the start of this ordeal, I went back to bed.
When I woke up the next morning, I felt okay. We had some errands to run, and I ended up not taking my pain meds soon enough. I had a surprising amount of tenderness, and some mild cramps. I felt very weak and tired. When we got home, I took my meds and went to bed. I slept for several hours. The pain continued for the rest of the day and night, but it was still nothing compared to before surgery. I’ve made sure to stay on top of my pain medicine since.
The following day, I had to get blood work done. Again. There was a minor mix-up at the doctor’s office that was not even close to a big deal. Still, it was all I could do to fight back tears. Once I was back in the lab, I rolled up my sleeves, not knowing where they could draw blood from. My arms are covered in giant bruises. I explained everything that happened, and avoided making contact with eyes brimming with pity. Thankfully, they were able to get my blood drawn on the first try, and I was out of there. I can only hope that it won’t be long until my levels are back to zero.
The rest of the day I battled my emotions. I have so much anger, so much sorrow. I’ve never felt so empty in my life. Even though I’m glad that I did the surgery, I can’t help but wonder where my baby is. It’s hard knowing that I never got to see him or her–and I never will. I know I might not have been able to anyways, but still. “I wonder what they do with everything they removed,” I said to my husband. “Medical waste,” he replied. What else can they do, though? The reality of it all just stings.
have had a framed verse on my dresser: “He gives the childless couples a family–gives them joy as parents of children”. I took it outside and smashed it with a hammer because all I have is sorrow…and all of my children are dead. My arms are empty and covered in bruises. My body is empty. My baby is gone. For some reason, this one hurts so much worse than the others.
My husband and I are so worn from this whole experience, from this whole year…we can’t even think about babies. He’s traumatized from seeing me in so much pain. It might be a year before we try again. It might be longer. I just can’t care right now. Physically, I feel pretty good. The surgery allowed me to have the fresh start I craved. It allowed me to escape the unknown, the limbo. I can finally focus on recovering. Emotionally, I am scarred. I feel like my grief is just now coming to the surface–abrupt and fierce. Still, I know that we will get through this. I know that better days will arrive. Just not anytime soon.