The Story: What happens next ~ Second D&C

I did not know what happened that day, but heard about it from Jeff and the doctor. A remote part of my brain remembers being in the recovery room once, then twice, but at the time I thought I was being delusional.  Apparently, I was not. I had been taken out of surgery and out of anesthesia only to be put back on both a short while later. I had continued to bleed profusely after my D&C and they did not know what the issue was. In fact, I had bled so much that I needed a blood transfusion, 2 units of someone else’s life serum has since been running in my veins.

When back under and in the operating room, the OB did not know firsthand what was causing the bleeding. His first thought was that he has ruptured my uterus my mistake, something that could easily happen during a D&C seeing how the operation is performed by feeling and not sight. To solve the mystery, my, until then, unmarked belly had to take a hit. I had been so proud of how well I had maintained my belly skin during my first full term pregnancy. I had taken special attention to butter it in the morning and oil it in the evening. My C-section scar had healed well and was covered with clothes, so I was not super conscious of it. And the times that I did think about it, all I had to do was reflect on what came out of it to make it fade in comparison. The scars left from the endoscope the OB had to insert through various points in my abdomen, however, did not leave a new baby in my arms. Although they did save my life, it is still difficult for me to look at them in the mirror without being overcome with sadness, regret and frustrations. Other people’s D&Cs leave their skins intact, why did I have to take this extra hit?

The scope was in, the monitors were on, and apparently there were a lot more doctors in the room than at the beginning of the day. Jeff recounts how my OB sought him out with fear, and worry, in his eyes; what news could the doctor possibly tell him when he himself did not know what was happening.  “We will take care of her,” was all he could say, “I called for backup.” And, Jeff was left in the waiting room again with his thoughts and fears, while I lay oblivious of everything around me.  When the word came back, we learned that I had had placenta accreta whereby the placenta had attached itself to the C-section scar and decided to cause damage to my uterus on its way out during the operation. The doctors did something or the other to take care of the situation and put a halt to the bleeding. To this day, I cannot recount exactly what they did, although I heard it so many times, all I know is somehow the blood flow came to an end and I was sent back to the recovery room. I think my brain just decided to cloud that information.

Once in the room that was to be my home for the next 48 hours, I was filled in on the details. I was put on pain medications, IV and a catheter. I had been under so much anesthesia that I had to wait hours before I could keep any food down and even longer before I got to seee Jannah-Rae again. Frankly, part of me did not want to see her, or rather did not want her to see me in that condition but she came anyway and I was thrilled about that. My friends came over, called and checked on me and I told the story over and over again and showed them the sketch the OB had penciled for Jeff and me when explaining to us what had happened; I still have that piece of paper.

Then I was given the blow. I was, in no uncertain terms, to stop nursing JR and to start using the stroller. I tried to protest, to voice my opinion, to hold my own, but I was outnumbered and outwitted. I was under too much stress, too many medications, too little strength to be able to take care of both her and myself. I had to make a choice and the choice to my husband, my OB, my friends and family was obvious: I had a responsibility to myself; JR would be fine weaned. But I wish it was that simple. I wish nursing was a one-way relationship and had only to do with weaning JR. I wish giving it up was easy. It was not, and still is not.

 

The Story: What happens next ~ Another Miscarriage

... Fast forward to early 2011. After physically recovering from the D&C, I was still nursing and wearing JR. I had no intentions to stop anytime soon. I was committed to that lifestyle and it worked for me. The stroller was too much work, and nursing was comforting both for JR and I. I refused to think that nursing and baby wearing had a direct impact on the outcome of the pregnancy. And yet, after this second miscarriage I was “forced” to give both up, for good.

I found out I was pregnant with my third shortly before our family trip to Lebanon. We had booked the trip so far in advance that the news caught us by surprise. But after consulting with my OB, we were given the green light to go. Just watch out for clots, he recommended. And, watch out I did. I moved about that plane as much as I could and only sat down when I had to. We made it to Lebanon safely and I guarded my secret well, for fear of sharing too much too soon. But on the last day of the trip, a wardrobe choice gave it away. I was all too happy to share the news, but worried at the same time. What if this pregnancy had the same fate as the one before it? I did not know it at the time, but it did.

The first order of business when we returned home was to head to the OB and check on the baby. My 12 week ultrasound was not for another couple of weeks but I did not want to wait that long. For what it’s worth the visit to the doctor loaded me with good news. But a few days after my mother instinct told me something was not right. I felt like I was not “growing.” I was not gaining weight. I did not “feel” pregnant. I brought it up with Jeff and a few close friends. Everyone reassured me that everything was fine and that I was just being a typical mom who is concerned about the wellbeing of her children. Unfortunately, they were wrong and I was right.

Jeff’s mom happened to be visiting us at the time we were cast the dice. She had come with a gift to JR that I had commissioned; a “I am a Big Sister” onesie. I had carefully selected the garment, the color, the font, the wording, the location of the wording and was looking forward to JR flaunting it that Monday afternoon at the park. A day earlier we were invited to a barbeque gathering at our friend’s house and I was struggling with keeping the news a secret. But I kept telling myself to hold on for one more day, just one more day and I can tell the world. I had even received the pregnancy announcement postcards in the mail that same week, but something had told me to hold off on addressing and stamping them. I felt like it would be bad karma to do much beyond designing and ordering them. As life would have it, just doing the latter proved to be bad karma. As it turned out, JR would not get to wear that shirt and the postcards and the stamps would remain in a box along with the early ultrasound pictures of what would have been our second child from the third pregnancy.

the day before the news

On that Monday morning, Jeff, JR, Susan and I headed to the Maternal Fetal Medicine office looking forward to showing JR the new baby. And that is when the rosary unraveled. JR was not allowed into the sono room, and the tech could not find the heartbeat. “Look again,” I instructed, “I have two sacs.” “Are you looking in the right sac?” Jeff added. And that is when tears swelled in my eyes. We were left alone in the room, waiting for the doctor to break the news. While I was in fact 12 weeks pregnant, the baby had stopped growing at 9 weeks; roughly around the time I had voiced my concerns to my family and friends about not feeling pregnant.

And so it was, that Monday turned into Tuesday then Wednesday and before you know it I was being wheeled again into the Operating Room for a second D&C. We could have waited to see if my body would deal with the miscarriage naturally but we decided that since it had not done so in 3 weeks, waiting another would not make sense, and so we chose to have a human help us with that. And, the rosary continued unraveling. A routine D&C turned into a dark nightmare...

The Story: What happens next ~ First Miscarriage

The story continues.

The months passed. JR grew and we grew with her.

One day in the Fall of 2010, JR and I were spending a day like any other: enjoying each other’s company, laughing and playing. Then, I started to bleed. It was a surprise, no strike that, it was a shock. I was nursing and this was no time for my period to be returning. But it was not my period. It was heavier and scarier. I was on foot; Jeff had the car. But I needed to get to the doctor. I put JR in the stroller, called my dad to put him on back-up alert, and took the 20 minute walk over the Key Bridge to Georgetown to pick up the car. We made one stop on the way during which my fears worsened; I was bleeding uncontrollably and the pad was not keeping up with the flow. On our way to the doctor we stopped and picked up my had and ten minutes later we were sitting in the doctor’s office. Poor JR had had such an eventful morning that she fell asleep in her Jeddo's lap while I was being checked.

Weight. Pulse. Blood pressure. Urine sample. Pregnancy test. It was positive. I had been pregnant and now I am not. I was having a miscarriage. I was in total shock, I did not even know I was pregnant to start with. Tears came to my eyes, but I held them back. It was only later that the severity of the situation hit me; I had lost a child, what would have then been my second.

A quick backward glance later revealed that I should have suspected I was pregnant and that the doctor I saw at the time should have done a more thorough job examining me. I remember a random summer day when I felt nauseous, queasy and light-headed. I almost fainted. I called my OB who told me to call my PCP. The PCP ran a number of tests then attributed my condition to “fatigue.” The PCP ran tests on this and that, but failed to run a pregnancy test. I still wonder to this day if the outcome would have been different had he ran that one seemingly unnecessary test and found out the real culprit behind my dizziness.

This part of the story would also have had a better ending had it ended there. But the pregnancy did not want to terminate itself naturally and I had to be hospitalized for a D&C. I was so traumatized. I was nursing and was so worried about how the surgery was going to affect my supply. Luckily it did not.

That D&C was fortunately uneventful, as so far as a D&C can be. Shortly after the procedure, we were discharged and home we went. But our Thanksgiving celebration was brought to an end. We did not have a Thanksgiving that year. And since then, Thanksgiving has not had the same meaning of feeling. To some extent I have been avoiding it like the plague, finding ways and reasons not to be at home or by ourselves for it. Life went on as usual. And while JR’s presence brought immense happiness and joy, some sadness never left me. The OB tried to persuade me to give up nursing in order to sustain a second pregnancy but I would not have it. I continued to nurse and wear JR religiously. I may have done it with even more passion after the incident.

We carried on, until...