Isaac

As I type this post I've just learned that Hurricane Isaac has been upgraded to a hurricane and threatens an impending entrance into Louisiana and the Gulf Coast. Fear lingers in New Orleans as the city wonders how much damage will be imposed on the repair work that took years following Hurricane Katrina. It will test the strength of the new and upgraded levies that were put into place. I know all of this because it was plastered across the news headlines this morning as I awaited for my doctor to come meet me before my D&C at the hospital. Just as Louisiana was sitting tight this morning in anticipation of what this hurricane would do to devastate their city (and the rest of the state), I sat waiting in anticipation of my own "hurricane". Surely my wounds will heal over the next few days and are nowhere near the devastation that a hurricane will resonate on this state, but once Isaac sweeps in and does it's damage regardless of how large or small the impact is, it certainly will leave lasting scars on the citizens. They will survey the damage, grieve, cope, rely on others for help, and over time they will learn that life continues to move on and so they can too. But the lingering effects of these life changing events will never let them forget.

A few days ago I scanned the pages of the library books I checked out on miscarriage and read the pregnancy loss booklets that I got at the hospital. I was beginning to realize that I was not fitting the mold of how women grieve after an 8 week loss. As my mom said, there is no instruction manual on how to deal with these things. The words on the page were not always resonating with me.

One and two generations ago, early miscarriage was likely no more or less common than they are now, but the blessing (or curse) of technology has instilled a new meaning on early pregnancies. I found out I was pregnant at 3 weeks and 3 days because the home pregnancy tests are now more sensitive than ever before. Women that have extremely early miscarriages sometimes don't even know that they miscarried because it feels like a period. The only way they would know is if they had had a positive home pregnancy test. Prior generations were never privy to this information. And with the prevalent use of ultrasounds, expectant parents suddenly are hit with a rush of emotions when they see that heartbeat on the ultrasound and suddenly their baby has a "life". There is suddenly meaning behind the positive pregnancy test. Early pregnancy can be a confusing time as your belly hasn't begun to grow and sometimes the only evidence you have to hold on to are the "symptoms". Feeling nausea, bloating and morning sickness certainly aren't ones that help trigger the emotions of "Oh my gosh, I'm pregnant!". I spent most of my early pregnancy not feeling pregnant even though I had the ultrasounds.

As I read through some of the books a few key statements resonated with me. The first being that some women with early pregnancy loss are grieving tremendously and with such passion while others just see it as a huge disappointment. As the days have trickled on and I've moved beyond the shock, I've sorted through my thoughts and realized that on some level I feel a little relieved. My pregnancy was riddled with "problems" from the beginning. From the spotting/bleeding that I had intermittently starting day one that made me anxious every time I went to the bathroom, to the slow rising embryonic heart rate, to the mild pregnancy symptoms.......there was just a lot of confusion and anxiety. As my pregnancy moved week to week I began to wonder why I allowed myself to feel so much anxiety and worry because I'm normally a very rational person (unless chocolate chip cookies are involved) and I was left wondering if my anxiety was my instincts telling me something was wrong. Secretly, I toyed with this idea for awhile but never told anyone because this can really only be answered retrospectively. To further complicate matters, all three of these potential problems could mean absolutely nothing and move on to a healthy baby, or they could be a sign of impending doom. Because I had three stressors (versus only one or none at all) plaguing my ability to just be at peace, it is a relief that at least now I know. The biggest emotion I'm feeling right now is disappointment that things didn't work out and that we have to go back to trying to conceive again. It took 15 months the first time, but am hoping that Jon's medication will expedite the process so that it won't take so long this time. Regardless, TTC means living your life in 2 week increments--waiting to ovulate and waiting to test/get period. I thought we had finally crossed that hurdle so it is difficult to cope with the idea that we've taken a giant step back. It doesn't help that I'm turning 30 in a few months. In April 2011 I thought for sure I'd have a baby by now and that he or she would be at least a few months old. In fact, I'm so incredibly far from that goal, and the unknowns of what happens next are lingering in the back of my mind.

With this level of detachment I felt during pregnancy, I think it made the grieving process a bit easier than it might for others because I never fully committed myself to the idea and fantasies that I would be having a baby in March. I held onto hope that everything was OK, but I was just confused.

The second statement that I read which struck me was that it's so incredibly important that you receive proper care at the hospital, clinic, home, with family and friends or wherever you are, and that they acknowledge the loss. I am letting this be a lesson to myself and to all of you reading this that you should always tell someone that you are sorry for their loss. The woman needs to know that her loss isn't awkward, abnormal or being swept under the rug because she starts to wonder if her grieving is abnormal and she may feel ashamed that she's grieving the way she should because society is telling her that she should just get over it (even if someone's silence wasn't meant to imply that at all). As most of us know who have grieved before from a death of a loved one, you have to allow yourself time to be sad because otherwise it will come back to haunt you. It's a way for you to sort through your feelings and you won't know what those feelings are until you've given it some profound thought. All of my friends and family were so wonderful for taking this seriously and realizing that regardless of how early I was and even though I was feeling relatively good despite what happened, I still needed people to send the flowers, cards, and thoughtful messages. At the hospital this morning before my D&C, many of the female staff that worked with me said "I'm sorry for your loss". It was so respectful and even though they are desensitized to this, and will carry on with their day a few hours later without a second thought to my loss I appreciate the kind words.

Did I tell you a few paragraphs ago that I'm normally a very rational person? What I meant to say is that I'm normally a very rational person except when it comes to general anesthesia. Last night I lay wake in bed and told Jon that I wanted to be buried at St. Mary's Cemetery in Minneapolis near my old house. He told me that we were more likely to be killed on the way to the hospital than during the procedure. He asked me if I was ever scared to get in a car and I said no. But that's because I know what it's like to get in a car and drive somewhere. General anesthesia is very foreign to me. The last and only other time I've had surgery was for my wisdom teeth 10 years ago. I hate that I was asked 5 times in the past 24 hours by various medical personnel if I've ever had any bad reactions to general anesthesia? I said no, but that I'm not wild about testing that theory this morning with my D&C!

We woke up bright and early at 5:15am and got to the hospital by 6am. Jon stayed with me for a little while before the nurse called me back. For such a minor procedure there certainly were a lot of pre-op staff and work to be done to prep me. I was started on an IV and then given a drug that induced a sense of calming and wooziness. I was promptly wheeled back to the OR, ordered to take my hearing aid out, and I can't remember a thing after that.

I woke up an hour later in a recovery room. I had my hearing aid in, and the nurse told me I had asked to have it put back in which irks me a bit because I don't recall in the slightest bit asking for my hearing aid after the procedure, but isn't it nice to know that the first thought out of my head was that I needed my hearing aid? Aside from feeling a little tired, I immediately felt a great sense of calmness and feelings of being at peace. Perhaps it was only the meds, but I felt relieved that I woke up (because you know--I should've been worried about that), and that I had finally passed the embryo with minimal complication. Once I was deemed stable I was moved to a private room in which I got dressed and got to see Jon. He sat with me for a little while the nurses moved in and out inquiring about my pain (minimal) and bleeding (minimal).

Jon and I watched the news intermittently as the news of Hurricane Isaac began to unravel and then I had an undoubted revelation. I turned to Jon and said, "Jon, I want to name our baby Isaac". He nodded silently and said OK. I have always loved the name Isaac, but Jon never did so I knew it would be a long shot to name our baby boy this name and at least now I could still use it and it still implied great meaning. We don't know if we had a boy or girl (only a genetic test would determine that this early), but I did want a boy because my sister had a boy. For the past week I had been toying with the idea of naming our baby because although it seems silly and maybe "going too far", I wanted a name so I can refer to Isaac instead of saying in passing conversations, "with my first miscarriage" which has negative connotations. I may find over time that the use of the name wanes, but at least I know that I have a name in case I do find it beneficial.

This past week as I searched for meaning behind what happened I scanned the internet for songs about miscarriage or ones that could help provide some sense behind what I had been feeling. Many of the songs that I considered were just too sensational for me and didn't resonate with me because I didn't feel the things that the lyrics implied. What I was feeling was that I endured a major life event that will forever leave an impact and change my perspective on life. I just wanted to acknowledge that Isaac was once here and then he was gone far too soon.

My mom wrote me an email the other night telling me about a blog post she read of a blogger commemorating the loss of his cat. The blogger ended it by saying that life is a series of goodbyes and hellos. Hopefully you have more hellos than goodbyes, but what is important is that the goodbyes meant that the pet, baby, or person impacted your life in some way and you will never be the same. It reminded me of the Beatles song, "Hello Goodbye" song.

You say "Yes", I say "No".
You say "Stop" and I say "Go, go, go".
Oh no.
You say "Goodbye" and I say "Hello, hello, hello".
I don't know why you say "Goodbye", I say "Hello, hello, hello".
I don't know why you say goodbye, I say hello.

Isaac David Eckroth was conceived on July 4th 2012 (get your mind of the gutter--that's the day I ovulated), and left us on August 28th, 2012. Why Isaac said goodbye when we wanted a hello will never be known. He came in full force with a lasting impression that forever swept some debris in our life path because that is just the course that nature must take sometime. We will continue to clear the path as we move on and through, and remnants of what was once was will always be evident.

The end.