Oct 22, 2011
The day of my nephew’s christening, as we got ready to leave, I noticed a spot of blood. It hadn’t been 2 weeks, but there it was. We decided immediately that I wouldn’t go to his christening, but instead I’d get back into bed. Numb, we waited to see what would be. My mother in law cried as she left for the christening. She didn’t know whether to stay or go. I told her there was nothing to do but wait and see, and that she should go. So logical, I was. So unaffected.
Maybe I was spotting. I googled the hell out of it. What else can you do but watch the clock tick away the seconds until enough time has passed to check again?
What did google tell me? If it’s brown it’s more likely to be spotting than if it’s red or pink. If it’s red or pink, it’s probably not very good news.
I went to the bathroom again, with hubby this time, and there was a very round, very red spot of blood on the paper. I swallowed the lump in my throat as we exchanged looks – that silent interaction we shared, both wondering if that was one of our babies. We knew logically it probably wasn’t, but at that moment, the way it sat on the tissue looking back at us…there was no logic in our hearts.
We called the doctor and they told us basically what we already knew, that there was nothing they could do one way or the other and that I should just wait and see, and if I was bleeding heavily by Monday (it was Friday), I should go in early for the blood test. I was supposed to have it on Tuesday.
All day and every time I went to the bathroom we analyzed the tissue. The prognosis didn’t get any better. On Monday morning we went for the blood test. We waited all day for them to contact us with the results, and by 6pm we called the doctors office with the result we were expecting. Negative.
Once the quiet settled in and the results were indisputable, my husband and I held each other and cried. Bawled. Wretched death, pain, loss. I can still feel it if I let myself.
I wanted so much to write this entry in my joy, after having read blog after blog after blog of women just like me who go through this nightmare and end with a post just like this one. Some, determined to push ahead and do it again. Some never wanting to look back. All, scarred.