Not a Happy Christmas-y Post -- You've Been Warned

I've been trying to figure out how to write this post for the last two weeks, there have been many nights where I've been ready to write it, but haven't.  But now here it is.  It's Christmas Eve today.  And normally, this is my favorite time of the year.  I love the decorating, the tree, the lights, picking fun gifts for people, baking, and spending time with my family.  But this year, I'm finding no joy or happiness in any of it.

I'm empty.

I'm broken.

I'm lost.

My mom would have told me to go to church.  To pray the Rosary.  To take out the Holy Water.

But I'm angry with God.

Two weeks ago, I had a third miscarriage.  My second in the past six months.  This one wasn't a planned baby either.  It was a surprise.  Back in early November, I still hadn't gotten my period back from the second miscarriage.  I thought that maybe my body was taking it's good old time going back to "normal" again, the way it had after my first loss.  Back then, it took a good three months for my period to come back.  My doctor had me take a pregnancy test every few weeks.  When the test came back negative, I was to let her know, then they'd do a blood draw to test my hormone levels.  I had chosen that route over the bi-weekly blood draw because needles.  Needless to say, that negative result didn't come for quite some time.  So this time around, I thought, well, I'll take a test.  Either way, I'd call my doctor to figure out the next steps.

The next steps ended up being a blood draw to check my hormone levels.  They came back at levels showing I was 9-12 weeks pregnant.

The next step after that was an ultrasound.

And in that ultrasound, we learned some interesting things.

I wasn't 9-12 weeks pregnant.  I was about 6.  My numbers were high because there had originally been two.  One never really developed.  But the other did.

And it had a strong heartbeat.

My doctor had me schedule another ultrasound for the 8 week mark so that they could get better measurements.  And again, it had a strong heartbeat.  My doctor set my due date for June 23rd.

December 7th, I stopped off at the bathroom before I left school for the day.  And there was blood.  Not a lot.  But it was there.  I called my doctor, and they told me to come right away for an ultrasound.  I called Erik.  He'd meet me at the doctor's office.  I called my mother-in-law.  I was going to be late picking up the boys.

I didn't need the doctor to tell me anything.  I could see it on the screen as soon as the ultrasound tech got the image up there.  There was the baby.  But there was no flickering heartbeat.  And I just started sobbing.

The baby measured just over 9 weeks.

I planned to have a D&C that Friday.  The doctor scheduled me for noon.  I went in to school Thursday morning for first period and to make sure I had sub plans ready for the day, then I went home after second period.  My sister was coming down -- we were having Michael's first birthday that Saturday.  She offered to come down early when I had called her the day before.  She arrive right before dinner.  And the cramping started then.

And then the bleeding got worse.

The doctors tell you that you could experience cramping and you could pass clots the size of a walnut if you miscarry at home.

I wasn't passing walnut-sized anything.  I was passing much larger.

After a few hours at home, I couldn't take it anymore.  I told Erik to take me to the hospital, but then I felt so dizzy, and almost passed out.  We called an ambulance instead.  I couldn't walk out to the car, and all I could think about was what if I passed out in the car on the way to the hospital?  The ambulance came -- no sirens, we asked, since the boys were asleep.  That was around 8pm.

At 4:30 Friday morning, I was being prepped for an "emergency" D&C.

At 6:30 Friday morning, I was on my way home, after spending a sleepless night in the ER.

And I just don't understand how a baby with a strong heartbeat suddenly doesn't have it anymore.  And how is it that the person I really needed the most during all of this -- my mom -- isn't here with me?  I can't call her to cry to her.  She won't come down to my house to hug me and help me.  She's not here to tell me that it will be okay.  That she lost babies too.  And that she knows how much I'm hurting.  And she'd tell me to pray.  That she would pray.  And that I would be okay.

But she's not here.

And my babies aren't here.

And I fucking hate you right now, God.  Because you have them all.  And you haven't shown me any reason why you have them and I don't.

This Christmas, I want to go to church, because I feel like I need to go to church.  But I don't want to go to church, because I'm angry with God.  And that's probably a childish way to think and act, but I just don't care.

I just. don't. care.

I keep seeing my mom -- but I see her on the day she died.  I see her in my car.  I see the ambulance pull away.  I see her in the hospital.  And I hate God even more.  Because she should be here with me and my family.  She should be baking cookies.  She should be making pierogi.  She should be upset because she didn't get all the ornaments up on the tree that she wanted.  She should be making endless trips to Giant Eagle, and Community Market,  and Walmart for things she forgot on her list.  She should be sending and responding to our group text messages.

And I keep seeing the ultrasound.  That perfectly formed little baby.  That little baby should be moving around.  There should be the flicker of that heartbeat.  I should have just had my 12 week appointment and be getting ready to tell Jacob that he's going to be a big brother again.

So right now, I hate you God.  I hate you for my pain.  I hate you for the pain that everyone who has lost someone is feeling.  I hate you for taking good people away.  I hate you for taking innocent people away.  And not just my people -- but all of these people.

I'll try to have a good Christmas.  I'll try to lose myself in the joy of my two boys.  But right now, I'm in such a dark place.  It's hard to see a light anywhere.