Cathy the Librarian

Tuesday I went to work and as I was about to leave I began to feel awful. I got dizzy, sweaty and I could hardly walk or talk. Having some sense in my head, I went back inside. I called Jeff and told him, then called the doctor. As I was talking to a nurse I started to bleed. They said that they would talk to someone and call me back. I called Jeff and asked him to pick me up because there was absolutely no way that I was going to drive. He came and picked me up (still no word from the doctor) and we figured we would just start driving to the doctor’s office. I called them back and they felt that I should go to triage at the hospital.

Once at the hospital, I talked to a doctor and they decided to do an ultrasound. She found the baby and its heartbeat. It was even moving around a little. Unfortunately, what she didn’t find is any amniotic fluid. She found another doctor to get a second opinion, but she said the same thing. Turns out that I had broken my water. A baby that small can’t survive without amniotic fluid and its still too small to exist outside the mother. They said that I could wait and see if I could produce more fluid, but that it was very likely that the baby could die by that point or that I could get a serious infection. You can see where I’m going with this.

They admitted me Tuesday night around 7 pm and had me take some pills to induce labor. At a about 7 the next morning, I started getting really painful cramps and at around 7:45 I went into labor. By 8 am it was over.

They said that I could hold it, but I knew that it would make things a million times worse. They said that I could take pictures home and they make little memory boxes, but I really couldn’t bear to do that either. I also had the option of doing a private cremation and taking the remains home… I don’t know… I guess all these things made it feel more real, more like losing a baby… I just keep trying to tell myself that at 1/2 pound it was too small to live on its own, so that it wasn’t a real baby. It may seem harsh to some people, but I just really don’t want to think of it in any other way. It was an it… I didn’t want to know the gender, didn’t want to name it, didn’t want to bury it… I thought that maybe that thinking of things that way would make it easier to bear. I want to be strong. I was so very wrong. I keep thinking of the delivery, keep thinking of how empty I feel now, keep thinking of how much this baby was wanted, how long we’ve been wanting another one… I want to be strong for Jack, but something will pop into my head and I’ll just start to cry. I have to take the next week off for work and I was trying to cancel meetings and get everything set, but every time I talk to someone on the phone I start to cry.

Friends and family have been wonderfully supportive, but I’m afraid to start talking for fear that I’ll start to cry more. I don’t want to bother people or make them feel uncomfortable. Some of my library friends (whether co-workers or fellow librarians, I still don’t know) gave me flowers, which I really appreciated, but it made me cry more.

Luckily (hah) this all happened before we were supposed to have the anatomical ultrasound, because that’s when we’d know if it was a girl or boy. For some reason, I think knowing the gender would make it more real, because I wouldn’t just be able to call it an it. Plus we were going to bring Jack to the ultrasound, so he might have understood about being a big brother more. At least now we won’t have to talk about it unless Jack brings it up himself. I’m hoping that since he’s only three he won’t ask about it.

Since I was so far along, I also have to endure all the baggage that comes with post-pregnancy, without the joys of a screaming baby that you get to feed and change poopy diapers. There’s bleeding and lactating and hormones. Plus I have to take off the next week to recuperate. On the one hand, its good because I don’t want to start crying in front of patrons, but on the other hand being alone with Jack means that I have more time to think. I really don’t want to think. Thank goodness Sally is going to let me work from home for a bit.

I keep telling myself that all this is making me a stronger person. After two miscarriages, I will really be able to be sympathetic and understanding if a friend has one… I really wish that I couldn’t understand this well.

All I want is one more baby… not three, not ten. Just one more baby and then we’re done. Unfortunately, I don’t know how many more times I can go through this. I’m not one of those people that absolutely love being pregnant. I just love the outcome. I hate the swelling, the discomfort, the pain, the mood swings and crankiness. I hate that I am not all there for Jeff. I hate worrying that something bad will happen. I hate worrying that what I’m doing or eating could be bad for the baby. I absolutely hate that my anti-seizure medicine (Lamictal) tells me that I should discontinue use if I become pregnant and so my doctor increased my dosage…

I will move on from this. I will become pregnant. I will have another wonderful child and be an absolutely wonderful and doting mother. I will not allow this to take over my life. I will not spend thousands of dollars to try and become pregnant. If I can’t become pregnant, maybe we’ll talk about adopting. Or maybe I could just be happy with one terrific kid. I would like to give him a brother or sister, but if that can’t happen… I guess that’s just the way it was meant to be then.

I will survive. I know it’ll take time and tons more tears, but I will get better. I just thank the great Spaghetti Monster above that I have such a great family, such great friends, such great librarian friends and absolutely wonderful co-workers. Plus I have the most adorable son in the world and a husband who is there for me no matter what.

Oh well. Off to get some tissues.