Next Time

After experiencing our first miscarriage in October 2011, we told ourselves next time we wouldn't tell anyone about the pregnancy until passed the safe point. Well, it didn't happen like that. We were so excited in July that we shared our good news with our families and a few close friends. Due to the fact of last time having to go back and explain to everyone that we had miscarried, we hoped to avoid that this time. Since our August 15th appointment hadn't gone as planned, we secluded ourselves. We shut out everyone, but each other.

Nikki had blood and a urine test done to check her HCG and progesterone level before we left the office that day. They called later that evening with the grim results. The doctor wanted to recheck her level in 48 hours, and another ultrasound in a week. That seemed to be the longest 7 days of our lives. We tried to hold onto the little bit of hope the doctor had given us. We couldn't imagine how we would face the alternative. My poor wife had been through so much.

The results from the second level check told us all we needed to know. Our hearts were broken again. The next week we went in for the ultrasound. This time we were taken to the main ultrasound room. The room with the more "high-tech" machine and screens. The tech began the ultrasound, and as before we could see the large amniotic sac. But, this time we also saw what we had hoped to see the first time. There on the large screen was the little yolk sac with the fetal pole, but no heartbeat, as expected. The tech explained that the failure to see this on the first ultrasound was a result of the machine used. The resolution and clarity is much better with the machine she was using.

We were taken to the doctor's personal office so she could sit down with us and talk. She came in and told us how sorry she was. We knew that she was disappointed right along with us. As she handed out tissues, we all three discussed the next "plan of action". Due to Nikki's traumatic experience after the first miscarriage, along with the advice of the doctor, a D & C was scheduled for August 27th.

That day was a very sad day, and felt never-ending. We had to be at the hospital early that morning. A nurse came and got her from the waiting room, and told me I could come back there shortly. I sat there thinking about the love of my life, and how she was feeling, and what she must be going through at that moment. Once I went back there we both were a little less nervous. Nikki had been given medication to calm her, and was in-and-out of sleep. I laid my head beside her on the bed and held her hand. I was wishing so badly that I could take this pain from her.

The pain was emotional, physical, mental, and almost felt unbearable. The thing about losing a baby, is that the thought of it never really goes from your mind. Everyday is a reminder of how old our baby should be, or how far along in the pregnancy we should be. Going to the grocery store, being at work, being around family and friends with children, there seems to be "triggers" everywhere. We try to be strong for each other, but mostly it feels like we take turns having breakdowns.

We weren't aware, until the day of the surgery, that Nikki would be put-to-sleep and intubated for this procedure. As I sat alone in the waiting room, waiting for them to finish and bring her to recovery, I dreaded when we would have to go home. As long as we were there, and "busy", we didn't have to think about what today really meant. The doctor came and talked to me afterwards. She said everything went well, and I could go back to be with Nikki after the anesthesia wore off a bit. When I walked into the little area where she lay on the bed with monitors and an IV, immediately we both began to cry. I held her and reassured her that we would get through this. That we could start this process all over again in two short months. That time would fly by. That from everything we had learned from the past two failures would help the doctor next time.

Written by Barbara