Suffering, Coping, Healing

Back in December of last year, Husband and I began to discuss babies. We had always wanted three children, relatively close in age (18-30 months apart was ideal for us).

We decided that if we weren't pregnant in six months, we would stop trying, get ourselves healthier, and revisit the subject at a later day.

So, in January of this year, we started trying for a baby. And for five months, we got nothing. Then, on July 13, there it was. The thing we had waited to see for months: a positive test.

I had resigned myself to the fact that it wasn't going to happen, so when I saw the results, I was a little shocked. I remained that way for two days. And then the excitement came.

We decided with this baby that we were going to keep the pregnancy to ourselves for a while. This was different for us, as with both of our boys we told everyone right away. I loved having this secret. I spent hours coming up with different ways of telling our friends and family, imagining how everyone would react at being kept in the dark for so long.

On July 20, I woke up ready to run errands with my family. Everything was normal, except I spent the morning hugging the toilet bowl. Morning sickness so early in the pregnancy was unusual for me, but I didn't think too much about it as I finished getting ready.

We left, did what we had to do, and got lunch. As we were about to head home, I convinced Husband to stop by Kohl's so we could look at baby clothes. I loved having an excuse to look at the tiny little dresses and pants outfits and jammies. The more I looked around, the more excited I got. 

On the way home, I started feeling uncomfortable. There was an awkward tightness in my tummy, and I felt nauseous again. When I got home, I went to the bathroom and immediately began freaking out.

I was bleeding.

Without skipping a beat, Husband packed us all back up and took me to the emergency room. I was admitted, had a bunch of blood taken for tests, and then I waited. 

When the doctor finally came in, he was very sweet. He asked me how I was feeling (scared), and if I knew what was going on (no). We then performed a pelvic exam and did a bedside ultrasound.

I remember looking at the screen and breathing a small sigh of relief at seeing the teeny tiny little baby. It was still too early to hear the heartbeat, but the doctor said the fact that we could see it, and that everything looked normal (except for the bleeding), it was a good sign.

He diagnosed me with having a threatened miscarriage, ordered bed and pelvic rest, and sent me home. He told me that if things didn't change that he would be back on Tuesday if I wanted to come in and get everything checked again. He also told me to come in if anything got worse.

I was confined to the couch or the bed. Husband made sure the boys were taken care of, the house was cleaned, and that I was resting. When I fell asleep that night, nothing had changed.

I spent most of the morning on Sunday in the bath. I had started having mild cramping, and had told myself if it didn't get better by two, that I would go back to the ER. At around one, it abated, so I relaxed a little bit. I picked up a book and started reading.

I hadn't even finished the first chapter when I felt a large twinge, not unlike a contraction, and the immediate need to go to the bathroom. When I did, I realized what had happened.

I lost our baby.

The rest of the day is pretty hazy. I remember screaming for Husband. I remember driving myself to the ER so that he could stay home with the boys. I remember tests and ultrasounds and being told by three different sources that I had, indeed, miscarried. I remember coming home and feeling so upset that I couldn't cry, feeling like I had let Husband down, feeling numb.

Husband's bosses let him stay home with me for two days while I recovered. The boys seemed to know that something was wrong, and they were very sweet to me.

I've had a hard time processing it. I can't sleep at night, I feel like there's a part of me missing. I cry during nap time before passing out from exhaustion. It's like I'm still in shock.

We decided that we needed a little bit of closure. On Saturday, before everything had gone wrong, a name had popped into my head that I loved, so we decided to name our lost baby.

Rowan Emory Bohman

I hate that I'll never know if Rowan was a boy or a girl. I hate that I wasn't able to get a copy of the sonogram. I hate that I wasn't able to grow a healthy baby.

But I'm coping with the loss. It's hard, and I cry a lot. I've been avoiding Husband a lot, but he understands why. We both are having a difficult time with this.

Before I decided to write this, only a handful of people knew: our parents, his bosses, my Insanity coach, and a couple of friends. I've been debating about this for a couple of days, because I don't want pity, but I do want people to know.

I decided that I wanted something tangible that would remind us of Rowan. So I picked up my pencils and began drawing again.

It's far from done. I eventually want to put it on watercolor paper and add color to it.  I need to find a good pen to use, as well. But being able to produce a good first draft like this has really helped me.

My boys have also been a bright spot in this otherwise hellish week. 

These two are a constant reminder that, even though I am suffering, there is always sunlight behind the clouds.

I am forever grateful for them and for Husband.

I know I'll get through this, but it will take time. Everyone heals in different ways. But I will heal. And I will remember Rowan, even though I only knew them for a short time.

See you someday, baby.