In the darkness of the middle of the night I wonder how I will break their hearts...again. Will they still love me? Will they even see me anymore? or will there only be broken bits left to see?
You see, I don't dream of cute little baby clothes or warm baby snuggles or toothless baby grins. I have nightmares about what clothes to bury another baby in...cold kisses on dead cheeks...and toothless mouths that only hang silently open.
That is, I dream about those things...
...when I'm not convinced that the baby has already died and I will have to face an invasive (and painful) medical procedure to right the wrongs done by my own body.
...when I'm not already planning how to tell everyone. My husband. My boys. My mother and father. The people I work with. The people I volunteer with. The people here who have been so kind and supportive. I just don't know that I have it in me to "tell everyone" again.
I have felt too good for the last four days. In fact, when I saw the baby on the office ultrasound last Wednesday, I somehow felt like something was wrong. Saying hello felt like saying goodbye (I'm sure it doesn't take a genius to figure out how emotional an ultrasound can be after it's been used on you to diagnose both healthy and dead babies).
So yeah...feeling good has caused me a complete mental and emotional break. How unfair is that? It's all just mushed up in my brain into a big pile of crap that ALL feels wrong.
I ordered a doppler that I'm completely convinced I will not need. Can I return it for a refund if it is unopened?
I can't go to the doctor because the last time I went to see a doctor because something felt "not right"...well...we named him Travis...and I am now, quite obviously, a coward who is completely and totally afraid to face that. Because it wouldn't be that old familiar pain that I know I can deal with. It would be fresh new pain. And, quite frankly, I'm not sure I'm equipped to handle any more.
So I google "12 week miscarriage" and try to find some peace. It is what it is, right? At least I won't have to bury this one.
And I can't NOT go to the doctor because I sit and think and analyze. Not tired. No nausea. No more belly bloat. Don't have to pee six times a night. A few remaining symptoms can certainly be explained by the fact that my stupid body obviously doesn't recognize that the baby is dead and hasn't stopped producing all those hormones (that, ironically, were supposed to help keep the baby alive). I have to know.
Here's hoping the nightmares hold off tonight...even though I'm not really expecting them to.