When all was said and done...i cried.

At 10pm on Wednesday night, I started the pills that would empty my uterus, and complete the process of miscarrying. I lamented to you all how hard it was to make the decision to take the pills, and believe me, there were some tears. D had to talk to me and remind me that it was NOT a choice that I was making, and regardless whether I could bring myself to believe it or not, the baby was gone. I cried a bit, and then I dried my eyes, and took the medicine. The first night was....uneventful. I cramped and contracted like hell, and pretty much spent the whole night fighting off the pain, but nothing really happened. It was odd to me, I expected it to happen fast, but it really didn't. I found that kind of weird. At 0730 on Thursday morning, I took the next dose of the medicine, and began contracting hard again, but this time, the bleeding started. Because I have tact, I'm not going to elaborate too far into this portion....except to say that I bled a lot. They warned me that in addition to bleeding that would be much like a very heavy period, I'd be passing clots...which would be the product of pregnancy, and that that was a good thing. They said as long as i wasn't soaking more than 2 pads an hour, that I would be fine. At about 0930, I had a talk with D, and I let him know that I found the bleeding to be a little excessive. In the time span of 1 1/2 hours, I'd soaked 4 full pads, as well as passed 4-5 clots the size of a softball. It was terrifying. I was dizzy, nauseated, light-headed, and weak. I was pale, and barely standing. D called the doc, who advised us to wait it out until 1145, and if the bleeding hadn't subsided, we could go ahead and make our way in the ER. A few minutes later, he got another phone call, from my primary care doctor, who told him not to waste any time, to get me in immediately...and its a good thing he did. Very honestly, had he not...I could have died. 

     We got to the hospital, and had a few colorful run ins with the staff there. Ya know, I really don't get the people they have working in triage. If you don't want to be there, then don't be there. Please don't take it out on me that you don't like your job, when there's something ailing me. I'm likely to come over the counter and shank you with your syringe. Rude women. Anyhow, we got through triage and into the back where i got to see a doctor. He shared momma's sentiment that i blended in with the sheets, and the fact that I couldn't stand or walk on my own was concerning. I was pale, weak, and lethargic, and the bleeding was still going strong. It'd be an understatement to say that I was scared. I had no idea what was going on, or what was wrong with me. They got me to my room, and ran 2 IV's, in order to get me hydrated again. My blood pressure was scary low, as was my pulse. They decided to admit me, and sent me to a room of my own. I was sick, but in decent spirits, as all I really wanted was a glass of water and something to drink. They weren't in a big hurry to give me those things. They got me to my room that night about 530-600 and i was pretty much left to my own devices. I got to watch tv, and sleep, which my body desperately needed. Hopped up on morphine to stop the pain, and lots of other goodies to keep the spin from rooming, i was finally comfortable. D did an amazing job taking care of the arrangements for Jason for me, and a LOT of love goes out to my family for taking such great care of my baby while i was in the hospital. My stay could have been so much more stressful. I got to order dinner from a menu and "room service" brought it to me. Wasn't too shabby for hospital food! Momma and Yavne came to visit me, and came bearing flowers. It was nice to see that i was loved! :)

I got lots of rest that night, although i woke up at 330 that morning and couldn't fall back asleep. There are lots of things ailing me, so it can be hard to get comfortable. The next morning though, I got to see Jason, which really made things better. Somehow, his kisses are the cure for anything that ails me. 

They released my later that day, after i got to talk to the doctor again...and so, now I'm home. Its great to back with my family, i sure was lonely up there. The recovery process is going to be a long one, much longer than I think it would have been without all of the complications. My body is in the difficult process of rebuilding my blood count. I know, it sounds like something that my body should do automatically, and it does, but there's so been so much stress on it this month, that its having a hard time keeping up with EVERYTHING its having to do. I'm pretty frustrated with the way I'm feeling, even eating almost takes more energy than what I have. I'm not rushing things, because I know how fragile i am right now, but I'm surely ready to be done with this. 
          All the physical stress has taken the front seat, leaving my emotional issues behind a bit, which has been nice. It would certainly be harder to deal with all this if i was an emotional mess too. That's not to say I'm not feeling things, because I definitely am. I have this re-occurring dream which is basically just a rewind and repeat of the hospital visit where they told me there was no heartbeat. I break down, i cry, i lose it...and then i wake up. Its numbing, but I know I need to feel it. I have to. I've had a few calloused and insensitive people try to talk to me about what I'm feeling. I made the mistake the first time, but have yet to make it again. I don't care what my living, financial, or relationship status is, its never "better" when my child dies. And i understand that its one of those "comfort phrases" but i wish someone would tell people that it doesn't work. Telling me that my child is better off dead because my situation was less than ideal anyways , is a pretty asshole-ish thing to say. I'd really rather that you say nothing, than say something so thoughtless. I guess that's just another one of those things I can't control though. I'm not sure why, but every since i was about 4 weeks, i swore i was having a boy. That hasn't really changed. To this day, i still feel like he was a little boy. I choose not to give him a name, and refer to him as only "baby Gilman" because i can't be sure that he was a boy, its just what my heart tells me. And its funny because...as much as i wanted a little girl, i was SO thrilled to have him that even imagining he was a little boy, and dressing him in tiny, ever so soft and sweet baby boy clothes made my tummy flutter. I guess losing Bella taught me something about life...and about cherishing what you have. And now, my newest little angel taught me a similar lesson. 
          Night time now holds a different meaning for me. It is no longer a time just for sleep, and just for resting...its a time for reflection. On a warm, crisp, Arizona night, I can often look into the sky and feel like I could get lost. The sky goes on for miles, and I'm wrapped safe and soundly in a blanket of stars. The warm breeze kisses my skin, and I'm with them. The night is so clear and open that I feel like I can talk to them, and even see them if I look hard enough. The light twinkling of the stars around me give me pause...and as I tell them about my day, i imagine the twinkling is their laughter...and i laugh too. I imagine the stars are their eyes, shining back into mine, and telling me that they're close. I imagine that they're right there...and every night...when i step outside, they can see me....And perhaps...if that is true, then Heaven isn't really so far away after all.