I was in my seventh month of pregnancy. I exited the shower
and felt liquid seeping down my legs. I
looked down to see a pool of blood on the cold tile floor beneath me. I looked at my inner thighs, stained with
blood that left a trail down my shins and curled around my bare toes. I froze in fear. I could not move an inch, but my body
trembled and I began sobbing uncontrollably.
And then the sobbing became screaming.
I screamed and screamed at the top of my lungs, and didn’t know what to
say or what to do. I couldn’t even call
to my husband for help. I just cried and
screamed until he heard me and came running into the master bathroom.
He looked at me frozen in my white towel, saw the tears
rolling forcefully down my face, and then saw the blood that lined my legs and
covered the tiles. He looked back at me,
and I saw the same fear on his face that I felt in my heart. “Sam,” I barely managed to mumble out between
muffled sobs, “Sam …” reaching out to hold his hand with shaking fingers.
“Uhm … uhm …” he looked to calm me, “Sit down. Here. Sit on
the toilet. If you bleed anymore, it
will end up in the toilet.” Though he
meant only blood, a horrifying image of my unborn infant’s twisted, lifeless
body splashing down into the ceramic toilet flashed before my eyes, and my
screaming became even louder. This
alarmed my daughter, who was playing with her tea party toys in the living
room. As Sam managed to seat me down
upon the toilet, my beautiful tiny toddler daughter came running into the room,
practically tripping upon herself because she ran with such determination. Although she likely did not understand what
the blood could have meant, fear was evident all over her face too – fear and
confusion. She fell to the floor by my
bare legs, wrapped her tiny arms around me, and began to sob and scream just as
I did.
“My baby! My baby! My baby! No! No! No!” was all I could
repeat over and over and over, rocking back and forth on the toilet like a
madwoman. “My baby! My baby! My baby!
No! No! No!” with my born child watching
me with worry and screaming in unity.
Sam just watched me for a while, himself frozen in fear, and
then he spoke some inaudible words that I couldn’t fully understand, both
because they sounded jumbled and foreign due to his stress, and much of what he
spoke was muted out by the sounds of my blubbering and blaring shrieking. He left the bathroom and returned with a
phone in his hands, already discussing the situation with an emergency responder.
I didn’t hear the sirens when the ambulance and nearest
first responder crew arrived in our driveway.
I was still repeating those three words over and over. “My baby! My
baby! No! No! No!” My whole body
trembled in fear. I felt dizzy and
panicked and couldn’t comprehend the situation I found myself in.
The first responders introduced themselves, although I could
not tell you a single name now because I had far bigger concerns than minding
my manners and extending a warm greeting.
They moved me from the toilet to the bed, stating that it was safer to
lie down – lie down and clench my legs together as tightly as possible, as
though this would somehow keep my precious, unborn child in my belly where he
belonged for eight more weeks until he could be delivered safe and sound.
Because I am bipolar and avoided my mood stabilizing
medication due to the potential risk of birth defects, this pregnancy was
already immensely difficult. During the
past seven months, I had suffered from the worst episode of depression I had
experienced since eight years prior – when I was in an abusive marriage. This couldn’t be happening. Not me. Not my baby. Not my beloved baby boy that I had prayed for
so many nights.
They placed an oxygen mask over my tear-soaked face in an
attempt to steady my breathing and calm my body. As I also suffered from gestational diabetes,
they checked my blood sugars and my rapid pulse. They placed a towel between my legs to absorb
any further blood loss, but I didn’t care if I might have stained the bed
sheets. I just cared that the life
inside of me still existed and could live and thrive on the outside.
They finally found a heartbeat. Thank God they found a heartbeat. I released a giant sigh of relief, but the
fear wasn’t completely eliminated. It
was still weeks before his time. I was
taken to the nearest town with a proper pre-natal unit. This was over two hours away. I was contracting every three to five
minutes. I was given medication to ease
the contractions and to strengthen baby’s lungs. I was on complete bed rest, restricted to
using a bed pan for my frequent urination.
I will never, ever forget the fear I felt that day, but now
my handsome, wonderful, treasured child is here. Placed on bed rest for the remainder of the
pregnancy, my child gave me one hell of a scare that day, but then he stayed in
place until week 37 when he was delivered via C-section at a very healthy 8
pounds and 13 oz. As I snuggled him this
afternoon, I thanked the Lord for giving me such a precious life.
My full empathy goes out to all those women who have
suffered miscarriages or still-born births.
God does not love you any less because you can’t hold that child in your
arms. God still embraces you and that
child, and he gave all of us beautiful little angel babies to light the way
through our darkest moments. Bless you
for sharing your gift with the world.
I bled every day, all day from 6w4d to 8w5d during my last pregnancy, which was 4 months after I miscarried my second twin at 12 weeks and held that little broken body in my hands. Then I got diagnosed with complete placenta previa and lived in terror the entire pregnancy of having the moment you described. I didn't know how I could possible cope with another, later miscarriage or stillbirth.
ReplyDeleteI was so blessed to have my son arrive safely and it was wonderful to read about someone else who had a happy ending to such a harrowing time. There are so many tragic stories that didn't end well. Thank you for sharing this.
Thank YOU for sharing. Even though I put the warning up, I worried about whether or not this would seem insensitive to those mothers whose stories did not have a happy ending like mine. I am glad you appreciated the sharing. It means a great deal to me.
DeleteSo sorry that you went through such a scary experience, but happy that your beautiful boy was born happy and healthy. You are so strong to share this with the world.
ReplyDeleteI love that picture of the two of you. So happy for you! And honestly, the bravery of moms (and non-moms, for that matter) living with mental illness leaves me in awe.
ReplyDeleteI'm sorry you had a scare but glad it was all ok! I had a miscarriage at 13 weeks once, just when I thought I was "in the clear.' It was awful. But, I wouldn't have the one I do now if that hadn't happened so it's all good now!
ReplyDeleteI am sorry for your loss. I am glad you have been able to recognize some blessings in it. I appreciate your comments, and your sharing.
DeleteSomeone is waiting in heaven for me to rock.
ReplyDeleteSo scary that you brought tears to my eyes. What a relief that he was strong enough to hold on until it was safe to enter the world.
ReplyDeleteHow funny it must be labor week as I blogged about it too.
ReplyDeleteI snuggled extra tight to my son when reading this. My stomach ached, expecting the worse, but like a train wreck, I kept looking, kept reading.
My heart goes out to any woman in your situation or worse.
Wow. I would have never thought to put the disclaimer up to warn people. Very thoughtful.
ReplyDeleteCongratulations on the new baby.
So scary. I'm glad you have your boy to hold now.
ReplyDeleteso happy with this ending, so sorry you had to endure that
ReplyDeleteCongratulations! What a heart wrenching story. So touching the way you reach out to the mothers who lost their babies.
ReplyDeleteHow very scary. I'm so happy that everything worked out and he was born healthy and on time.
ReplyDeleteI am so glad your baby was OK. I did the pregnancy sans bipolar meds thing. Not fun. Not fun at all. And I can't imagine that I could have kept it together if I had experienced what you did.
ReplyDeleteThat was incredibly scary. The way you describe the fear and confusion that takes over during emergencies--you just captured it all. Wow. I'm so very glad that your son did great. (and seriously, what a cutie!)
ReplyDeleteI'll be honest, I didn't want to read it, but you asked so nicely. And I like your writing. I am so glad it had a happy ending for you; I know it doesn't always. Holy cow, that was scary.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much for putting up the disclaimer! I've been struggling with pregnancy losses recently so I just don't think it would be a good idea for me to read this post right now and I appreciate being given the opportunity to opt out. Judging from your lovely and thoughtful disclaimer and your willingness to tackle such a difficult and sensitive topic, I'm sure this was a great post. :)
ReplyDeleteIt was very kind of you to leave a comment regardless, and I wish you all the best as you heal. Thoughts and prayers.
DeleteMany hugs -- I can't imagine such a fright. Both of my losses were early losses, I don't think I'd ever be whole if I had a late-term loss.
ReplyDeleteLoss is hard regardless of when it comes. You have my empathy. Hugs back at you!
DeleteOh, I read this so nervously and heartbroken for you. The I got to the end with the beautiful picture of the two of you. Oh. Thank. God!
ReplyDeleteI've never experienced this myself but feel I did, if only a little, through your post.
This was such an emotional and vivid post. Thank God he was okay! What a beautiful picture ;)
ReplyDeleteThank you so much. He just turned four months on Tuesday, and he is far more handsome now. Love him!
DeleteI must have said out loud "Oh my God" four or five times during this post, a testament to your powerful writing. Thank you for the happy ending! Thank God for the happy ending....
ReplyDeleteI really appreciate your disclaimers that prepare a reader. I did have a miscarriage at seven weeks. I didn't handle well at all and felt it was punishment from God. Now several years later, punishment was far from God. He wept with me. It wasn't until I told my daughter about her brother or sister in heaven. Ava name our child Rae, like ray of sunshine. It's funny how our healing comes those that see our situations so differently. Despite all the hurt and pain, God blessed you abundantly with your little ones.
ReplyDelete