Ghost In This House

"Ghost In This House" - Alison Krauss

It's hard to believe it's Wednesday.  Because my mind...

It's still with Monday.

It's still with this image.

The screen didn't lie.  And as much as the nurse tried her best to find an explanation,

I knew in my gut something wasn't right. 
That same black circle was staring back at me with what I knew was the yolk sac, but no baby.  And no blinking heartbeat.
I laid there stiff, my eyes looking blankly up at Steve, switching to watch the nurse bite her lip as she kept searching.  She told us she found the yolk sac but was finding it hard to see the baby no matter how much she magnified the screen. There was no sign of a heartbeat. 
I felt numb and lifeless as she printed out the photos, handed me two of them and told me we could wait to talk to our doctor.


The door shut.  I got dressed - my eyes locked with Steve's the entire time.  All I could say was, "This isn't good."  I sat, limp and dizzy in the back waiting area hoping for my name to be called.  And when it was,
we left the room to see our doctor's back turned to us as he walked towards his office.  Any other time, he'd walk beside us, smiling while making small talk.  We took our seats, mine always to the left.  Steve's to the right.
We watched as our doctor starting plugging numbers into his calculator and phone. 
He still hadn't made eye contact.  And I still didn't know if I was having a bad dream. This couldn't be happening.
He looked up.  His eyes met with mine, and I swear it looked as if he'd seen a ghost.


I braced myself for what he was about to say, and then he said it softly with such anger and sadness...

"I don't know how many times you need to get punched in the chin."
"Why do you kids have to have such F'in shitty luck?"


I swallowed the lump in my throat, granting the tears to slide down my face freely as I pointed to the tissue box that sat to the right of Steve.  Wiping them as they came, still not taking my eyes away from our doctor, I asked "Am I going to miscarry?"

He looked down at my folder as thick as an encyclopedia, flipping between a few pages.
And said "It doesn't look promising.  I can't give you much wiggle room with how far along you are, because we know exactly when we performed the IUI and when you ovulated."
He told us it was all in God's hands.  That he'd like to bring us back in on Friday for another ultrasound.  And that the bloodwork they had taken would prove a lot once it came in later that afternoon. 


He told us with where my levels were, they should have seen the baby clearer and a heartbeat.
He prepared us for what was to possibly come.  Making it even more evident to me that he didn't foresee this ending up well.  I kept whispering "Thank you for being honest with me."  And asked him if it would happen on its own.  He said with my levels being so high, most likely he will have to give me a pill that will dilate my cervix, inducing the miscarriage.
Just writing that makes me sob.



He told us he'd be hoping for a miracle and to wait for the call with my numbers.
I walked out the room, straight into the bathroom.  I clenched the sink, taking deep breaths, looking at myself in the mirror repeating "Maria, breathe, just make it out to the car."  Someone knocked on the door and I opened it, looking down and bolting through the main waiting room and hallway.  My head was down, as black tears streamed down my neck and bright yellow shirt.  Before reaching the door to the parking lot, I had to excuse myself between a family with their baby waiting for the elevator.  There on the floor, was a tiny, new baby with jet black hair staring right up at me.  I wanted to grab the handle of his carseat and make a mad dash out the door and run far away with him.


I climbed into the SUV with Steve and lost it.  With uncontrollable tears and heaping sobs...I kept screaming "No, No, this isn't happening!  This can't be."  As I held onto Steve's arm, face, hands.
He sat with that same face as our doctor - as if he saw a ghost.

I cried, praying out loud, begging and screaming to God,

Please God, Please, I know I always say  I want more than one child, but I promise I won't ever ask for another.  Just give me one healthy baby and I'll be forever grateful. I'll never ask for more. Please, all I want is to be a mother.  I need to be a mother.   All I've ever wanted is to be a wife and mother.  I know it's what I'm meant to be.  I'm not mad at you.  Just please, give me the strength to keep going.


Steve sat teary-eyed, repeating "I just don't get it...Why?" as I sat watching the cars go by, making eye contact with a few people - not even caring that they saw me in the rage I was in.
And then Steve had to get back to work.  He offered to drive me home, but I just needed to sit and attempt to process it all.  Our appoinment ended somewhere around 11 and yet, I didn't leave the parking lot until sometime after 1.



I called a few friends.  Them, just as shocked as me.  And gained enough composure to drive myself home.  It was a long afternoon waiting for that call that never came.  The nurse hadn't called with our numbers, so Steve got a hold of them.
It wasn't good.  My hcg needing to be somewhere in the range of 15,000 - 20,000...
was 3,926.


I sobbed more.  And then got to the point where I was all cried out.
My friends helped me keep the last ounce of sanity that was trying to escape.



The past 2 days have been a blur.  I feel like I'm floating sometimes.  I've paced the floors of this house a million times since Monday.  I woke up yesterday and today, drenched in sweat, wanting so badly to be able to just fall back asleep.  But it's not that easy.  I've gone to eat something and either devoured it in seconds or felt like I would throw it up.  I've cried everytime I see myself naked, still seeing the same belly, the same swollen chest - the same body that is still pregnant, and feels pregnant, but not for long.
I've placed my hands on my stomach and rocked myself until I had no strength left.
I've ached in such emotional pain.



I've prayed.  I've prayed so damn hard.
Because I have to get through this.  I have to conserve some energy for what's to come.
I have to get to Friday's appointment and get through that sad ultrasound.  I have to pray for some peace.  This will be miscarriage #7, baby #8.  And never have I ever felt more like I was going to be a mother.  I hang onto the hope that this pregnancy was different (in a good way) with the donor.  I hang onto the hope that it was just shitty luck.  I hang onto the hope because that's all that's left.
I love this baby no matter what.  And for the first time, in a very long time, I truly embraced the beauty that I carried inside of me.  And that - I will never regret and only cherish.


But, I still have to lose this baby.  And that's what breaks my heart the most.


I think back to THIS day.  And I cling to that feeling - one I hope I get to feel again someday.
One that I pray lasts.
I need to cling to this day and the beauty of it...I need to cling to the message of it.
But not today, and maybe not for weeks.
I promise, I will keep the faith.  I won't ever lose hope.
I need to grieve and prepare for what's to come.
I need to feel this.


"I'm all that's left of two hearts on fire
That once burned out of control
You took my body and soul
I'm just a ghost in this house."

"I'm living proof of the damage heartbreak does."
***


Thank you for your thoughts, your prayers, your love...always.

Heartbroken Lovin',