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A Letter to ‘That Day’

That Day 

dealing with loss, miscarriage awareness, Chicago blogger, post miscarriage, pregnancy after miscarriage, mom blogger, mommy blogger, honest blogger, motherhood, Jillian Horn

I have had this blog written for almost a year. I just never had the strength to share it. However, after dealing with a flood of different emotions the closer we get to welcoming the baby girl I am currently carrying I thought I should finally share it for my sanity and to help with the rollercoaster of emotions. 

This blog already sucks for me on every single level. It was suggested, before we continue to try for another baby, that I write a letter to my daughter. I have decided instead to write one about that day, December 27th 2018 (and March 26 2019). For those who aren’t aware I had a VERY early loss in March. I think my body just wasn’t ready yet. 

Also, I’m answering the #1 question I get asked, “did you ever find out a reason?”, at the bottom of this blog. 

12/27/18- As we sat for over an hour waiting to be seen for my 11am appointment I remember saying to Michael “these appointments are so annoying anyway. We have to come all the way here just to be measured, told everything looks good and go home.” (I wasn’t scheduled for an ultrasound that day. Jut a checkup since I’m high risk). 

Our doctor came in and we all chatted for a while per usual. We are very close after the mess of a labor I had with my son so we like to play a little game of catch up every time we see each other. He finally grabbed the doppler and started to look for our sweet girl. Nothing. At this point I am already hysterical as my doctor says “calm down… we will do an ultrasound. She’s probably hiding.” He immediately walked me to an ultrasound room and the SECOND he placed the probe onto my belly I saw it in his face. His eyes. I knew she was gone. I yelled at him screaming “say it!” He took what felt like a lifetime looking and finally said “there’s no heartbeat.” Right then and there I felt a piece of my heart completely shatter. The immediate pain I felt is something I will never be able to put into words and I pray to god a feeling no one reading this ever experiences. 

He brought in another doctor to confirm his findings. I couldn’t even make eye contact with either of them as I laid there. From that point it’s nothing but a pure blur of chaos and pain. Appointment after appointment is planned and I’m told to go here and after head to this place blah blah blah. I sat nodding having no idea what anyone was saying. 

As we are leaving the office to head to the hospital Maggie, our previous nanny, got off the elevator. I assumed that Michael called her to come get Grey. She rushed over and hugged me as I balled into her arms explaining we lost the baby. She took Grey and protected him for the next two days. A debt I can never repay.

I remember sitting calling my sister in law, Leslie, on repeat. Straight to voicemail. Calling her husband. Straight to voicemail. Texting them both and having no reply. I knew they were on a flight back to Chicago but in that moment completely forgot. 

Maggie dropped us at the hospital and we headed in for an ultrasound. They wanted one final examine that high risk OB would read to look for any abnormalities. As I walked into the waiting room there sat my mom. She held me as I waited for my number to be called. Having no idea what her day entailed I just sat there laying on her thinking ‘thank god you are here because I don’t think I can do this.’ They called us back. I requested the screen be turned off. They did the examine and the doctor came in explaining everything looked normal. She was even measuring big for her gestational age her heart had simply just stopped. I asked for the screen to be turned on once to say goodbye before we left. 

As I left that appointment to head over to the office that would do my D&E there was Leslie in the waiting room. Standing. Waiting. Straight from airport. As she held me I felt, for a second, a calmness. She knew the pain. She had felt the same pain. I needed her…I needed that level of understanding and there she was. In that moment I was calm. 

My son was safe with Maggie, Leslie had me, Michael and my mom were at either side. My dad was on his way. That type of love numbed the pain just enough to get me to the next appointment. 

I can’t talk about the actual D&E procedure but it is almost barbaric. I hated every second of the first day, which you are wide awake for. I sat staring at my husband begging them to stop. It was finally over and they explained that tomorrow I would have to come back for the second part. I went home and my body did what it was told to do… tricked into doing… dilate just enough to get her out. That night my whole family and close friends surrounded me until I finally fell asleep. 

The next day was nothing compared to the pain from the first part. I cried as I signed every form hating that I was in this situation. After it was done and I was sitting in recovery I remember thinking… ‘That’s it. She’s gone’. I was no longer pregnant and had no baby. Besides the obvious horrific emotional pain there wasn’t much physically. I just wanted to get out of there and get home. I wanted the whole day and the whole thing to be over. 

A lot of people have asked if we ever found out a reason why we lost our sweet girl. The answer, is no. We ran over 250 chromosomal abnormalities tests, had a full autopsy preformed on her and tested me for everything under the sun. We found no answers. It was unrelated to my blood clotting issues. I did nothing wrong. Her heart simply stopped. As hard as it is to not have an answer at least there is no reason I was not able to try again or to successfully have another healthy baby. 

The only advice I can offer is to be kind and respect other peoples journeys. Pregnancy is a gift and it is SO important that we support each other during that time instead of causing or adding stress. The day before our loss I allowed myself to become horribly upset over … well, looking back now over nothing. At first I constantly thought “if only” and that is NOT a good or healthy place to allow your mind to go. I remember thinking after the early loss in March that maybe my body just couldn’t do it. Maybe I would never get to carry another baby. Maybe I wasn’t meant to do this again. However, I decided right there and then that I was going to give it my absolute all before I accepted that as my fate… and that is exactly what I did. 

So to you, December 27th 2018 (with a dash of 3/26/19), you destroyed me. You took pieces of me I will never get back. My heart still seems to pause at every doctor appointment as I sit and pray there’s still a heartbeat for this baby. My gut still knots up every morning until I feel her move or kick. My mind still replays that day, this day, over and over when I try to fall asleep at night. One baby does not replace the other. In a perfect world, I’d have them both.  I have to believe that on those days I was struck by lightning and who gets struck by lightning multiple times? 

mom blogger, motherhood, honest motherhood, miscarriage awareness, miscarriage, life after loss, life after miscarriage, Chicago blogger

 

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3 Comments

  1. Leslie Marsh
    December 27, 2019 / 5:19 pm

    Love you. Stay strong. Stay brave. 2020 is ready for her 💖

  2. Sandy
    December 27, 2019 / 10:57 pm

    I cried and can’t imagine going thru what you and your family went thru. Stay strong and 2020 is your year

  3. Diana
    December 28, 2019 / 9:59 am

    This past July I too experienced an ultrasound where we lost the heartbeat of our baby. Your story resonates with me so deeply of the minutes, days and weeks that follow that horrific news. I would wake up in the morning as if I were drowning, almost gasping for air because it was still my reality. My husband and I went through this again a couple weeks ago, almost reopening the wound. I appreciate the hope in your story and to hear that i know my rainbow baby will one day come.

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