letter to my baby

The letter below was written by a new friend of mine, after she lost her child to a miscarriage. Her poignant words touched me and I'm so grateful she allowed me to share them with you. I hope they touch you as well.


If I could talk to my baby, this is what I’d say:

My precious baby,
Your daddy and sisters were elated at the news of your new life within me. While your big sister Estella told relatives, friends, strangers and anyone who would listen about the baby in mommy’s tummy, I was already dreaming about and anticipating your arrival in May. Your sisters would often lay their ears on my tummy and send you kisses through my skin. They even helped me put together your bassinet in hopes that you would someday lay in it. What a miracle you were! A new life within me!

Life was so crazy the night I found out. In a sterile little ER room the Dr. walked in and told me you had died. He said it may have even happened weeks before. I wondered to myself how long I had been a tomb for you, my little one. Others may think it sounds morbid, but I was glad to have held you inside even if your life had dimmed and burnt out. At least I held you. I tried to do everything I knew to make you strong and healthy, but our God is Sovereign and He gets to hold you now. Often when life gets rough I fall back into His arms as well. There is no better place to be than where you are now…but I do wish you were still here. This is still so hard for your mommy.

It was when my body turned hostile to you and turned and twisted and cramped and ripped until it finally spit you out to dispose of like common garbage, that my whole self seemed like crying out in confusion and sadness. My body seemed like an enemy that I could not fight…I wondered what it had done to you anyway. How could one day I be full of a new miracle and the next day have death within me? You died within me and my body is still bleeding from your death.

I cry more now, since you left. True to His promise, God comforts me daily and dries my tears. I think your sisters are His little helpers. Estella told me at supper that we’ll all get to play with you in heaven someday. She brings me her baby doll to hold as if someone tells her that there is emptiness in me that a baby left behind. One day I held her baby when she offered her and for a moment I closed my eyes and imagined it was you. A living breathing you! I quickly stopped the thought though…realizing that the line between stable and unstable can be thin during these times.

In church today we sang a song about when Christ returns and it said that parents should gather all their children. I wondered if you would know me in heaven, if you’d recognize my voice, or perhaps God has just planted that knowledge on our hearts. I don’t know how everything works in heaven but I do know it is better than my mind can even fathom. I do believe you are in the arms of Jesus now but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous of Him. It sounds awful to say I’m jealous of my Savior but I know he understands.

As I lay in the dark room the other night thinking about you, God placed in my mind the lines of a hymn I haven’t heard since childhood. I couldn’t tell you the name of the song or the rest of the words but He gave me just what I needed. I clearly heard “ and Jesus said ‘come to the waters, stand by my side, I know you are thirsty, you won’t be denied, I felt every teardrop, when in darkness you cried, and I strove to remind you that for those tears I died.”
Life here isn’t always easy, my child, but it is good…with God. I have been so blessed and have realized that even my Father in heaven can turn the horrors of life into true peace if we give them to Him. I need to say goodbye now, but it is my prayer that the circle will truly be unbroken and that you will get to meet all of your family. Until then, I love you my child. I loved you the moment I learned you were a part of me and I love you still. I don’t understand why some things happen the way they do but I do praise God that you have a home with Him. I also praise Him that our “hello” will one day be much, much longer than this little “goodbye.”

“Goodbye, my child.”

Love,
Your Mommy,
Erin Allrich
November 9, 2008

in the spotlight

Hubby brought me flowers last night when he came home from work. (How sweet, I know!) After he walked in, he gave the bunch to #4 (the two-year-old) to bring to me. He dutifully handed them over and then gave me a hug (I'm guessing that was also part of his instructions.)

A few minutes later, I was cutting the stems to put the bunch into a vase when one of the older boys came into the kitchen and asked me where I got the flowers. From Dad, I said.

"And I gave them to her!!!" two-year-old declared, to anyone who was listening. Although it sounded more like: "N I gave dem to hair!"

Typical baby of the family - wanting the spotlight firmly on him. I don't think hubby minded sharing with him - he was the baby too.

saying goodbye

Tonight we named and said a formal goodbye to our eighth child - Jani Veli. The name somehow seemed appropriate for two reasons. 1) The family chose it and 2) Jani (Finnish for John) means God is gracious/God's gracious gift and Veli means brother. I should tell you though, that the name choice came only after the boys had exhausted all opportunities to name their brother after their favorite Nascar drivers - Dale, Tony and Jeff. Hubby voted for Kyle, but none of the boys would go along with that. (Unfortunate, as Kyle is the only name among them that has a true Finnish translation.) In the end the baby of the family was pretty emphatic in his choice, convincing Mom and Dad to go with Jani.

When I told the boys what we were going to do, #2 told me softly, "This is a sad day."

I made a small cardboard coffin for his one-inch body and had the boys write their names on each side, along with "God is gracious" and "We love you." We choose his grave site underneath the two clematis plants in the flower garden that were planted last spring in memory of his brother, Leevi. I guess now I know why I bought two.

Hubby took the boys outside to find some rocks for the grave and while they were outside, #2 asked him, "How do we know the baby didn't go to hell?" Got to like those teaching moments. He told him that we don't have to worry at all about that - all babies go right to heaven. "Good!" was the response he got, as if to emphasize his relief.

We dug a small hole underneath the ladder-cum-trellis and I placed the tiny box gently inside. Boy #3 blurted, "Won't he die if you put dirt on him?" That got the tears started for me. "He's already dead honey." The boys placed rocks over the filled hole and the oldest lit a candle for our mini-burial ceremony. Mini because it was past bedtime and because it was cold out.


The boys quickly realized I was crying, but I think most of them were slightly puzzled about why. I asked them for a hug and they were obliging, each taking his turn to hug mom - the youngest looking straight into my face very sweetly. We left the candle burning on top of the rocks and came inside. The rest of the evening, during snack time, I was bombarded with questions:

"Why were you crying, Mom?" Because I'm sad.
"Why are you sad?" Because the baby died.
"Why did the baby die?" I don't know honey.

All questions I've asked myself many times in the past month.

It felt right to include the boys in a little ceremony, especially since they were very curious to see the baby earlier (although it was a bit disappointing for some of them when they realized just how small their brother's body was.) It also felt right to mark the spot with four stones and light a candle. I suspect that I may come back to that place often to commemorate the other losses we've had.

Goodbyes are so hard. Even knowing that I will see this child again someday, I am not quite okay with the idea that he is with God and not me. I am still hurting and sometimes don't even want to be comforted or worse, know how to be comforted, even though I need it so much. I am trying very hard to believe that indeed God is gracious as my son's name proclaims, but right now my head and my heart are not in agreement about that.

So, instead, I'll just say good bye, my sweet little boy. I wish I could have held you longer. I hope that our Saviour can pass my love along to you until I can hold you in my arms and tell you myself. Näkemiin minun poika - minä rakastan sinua.

black-eyed beauty

This was yesterday.

I look so attractive as I sport these great facial colors that I thought I'd share my beauty with the world last night. Well, at least with sister-in-law and one of my friends in town.

Needless to say, the reaction wasn't quite one of awe at my gorgeousness, but rather awe that I was out in public. (I did brave the library, but the stares were more than I could take - although I have to give the librarian credit, she didn't even ask. Just checked my books out and handed me the slip.) I slunk out as quickly as possible, grateful for the cover of night.

Sister-in-law was not surprised to see two black eyes, but I do think they look more impressive in person, which of course is why I went to visit her. Had to show off a bit you know, and get some sympathy from at least one family member. (Not getting much at home - one boy asked me last night at the dinner table if my little clunk on the head knocked any sense into me. I did not find it humorous. Hubby did.)

My friend and her husband were also impressed, but probably more with my stupidity than my good looks. I tried to fake them out with a story about hubby, but they didn't buy it. Then I confessed the whole ordeal. My humility never ceases to amaze me.

I am however, not humble enough to take the family Christmas card pictures right now. Although sister-in-law thought I should. Of course it would be incredibly funny (which alone is a HUGE temptation for me) but I'd have to make it look like someone else did the beating up on me instead of myself. Hmmm. Might have to do some thinking about that one. I might be able to pull it off. You'll find out in about 46 days how humble I actually am. Or how much of an attention-hog I need to be. :) Or maybe both.

This is today.


I never realized that human skin had the capacity to turn into such beautiful colors. Who needs eye shadow when you can have such vivid purples, blues and yellows splashed across your face? And even better - they don't remain the same from day to day. Changeable makeup - what a concept. (And don't think I didn't notice how well the straps of my tank top coordinate with my eyes - I'm so stylish you know.) But, really it's probably still not worth the pain of swollen eyelids and the inability to wear glasses on your nose, unless they're pushed down to the tip, which then interferes with breathing. I'd rather be somewhat blind than congested.

What I can't believe is that all the action on my face has distracted everyone from a true change - I just had eight inches of hair lopped off. And hardly no one has noticed. That pains me so.

Actually, the pain in my head is worse today than ever - not sure why. Even though the swelling is down, my forehead is still incredibly tender. I can't even raise my eyebrows at the boys' antics or I'll keel over as pain shoots up my head. Good excuse to put a movie going and take a nap. (And yes, I've used that excuse for the past three days now. Don't knock it - it's working.)

Wonder how beautiful I'll look tomorrow.

intentional mourning

As I near 30 days since learning my baby died, I found myself rereading a little book I discovered nearly a year ago about Jewish practices and their applications to the Christian's spiritual life. (Mudhouse Sabbath by Lauren Winner)

"[This book] is, to be blunt, about spiritual practices that Jews do better. It is, to be blunter, about Christian practices that would be enriched, that would be richer and more vibrant, if we took a few lessons from Judaism. It is ultimately about places where Christians have some things to learn."

A couple weeks ago, I was flailing about, feeling entirely purposeless and not knowing what to do about it. But even in that despair, I still felt that there should be something I could "do" during grief that would make sense. What I didn't know, was whether that "doing" should be praise, a cry, a prayer or simply doing life as usual (laundry, dishes, diaper, etc.).

Winner (a Jewish convert to Christianity) says that Jews do their spiritual practices with more attention and wisdom not because they are more righteous, but because the DOING, the action, is the center of Judaism. Practice is to Judaism as belief is to Christianity. In other words, your faith might come and go, but your practice ought not to waver. Often, it is through the doing that you may come to hear, to understand and to believe. (Exodus 24 - "All the words that God has spoken, we will do and we will hear.")

In a very dark moment, I remembered Winner's comment that the Jewish ritual of mourning (avelut) provides the direction for what to do during grief. She opines, and I tend to agree with her, that Christian churches "lack a ritual for the long and tiring process of sorrow and loss."

In other words, after the initial consolation calls, meals, shared tears, and when the mourner is still hurting, everyone else goes back to their normal lives. This is not to blame them, because in our Christian churches we have no language for grief or what to do long term, other than know that we will be reunited with believing loved ones some day.

In the Jewish community, mourning is marked by significant days, months and then years. During the days before burial, mourners are exempt from Jewish law requirements like attending prayer services or visiting the sick. Then the countdown starts for them.

SHIVA (seven)
The first week after burial mourners sit "shiva" in low chairs (as Job's friends did - Job 2:13) They sit with others in their community for seven days and seven nights. Neighbors bring food and mourners dress in black, do not wash their hair, or wear perfume or put on lipstick. They don't even leave the house.

SHLOSHIM (thirty)
This time is also drawn from Scripture (the captive woman in the book of Deuteronomy who weeps for 30 days for her parents). This period brings the mourner back into her world. She may return to work, but avoids large parties and celebrations. The month is divided into four distinct weeks - marked by Sabbaths. Each successive Sabbath finds the mourning participating in more. For example on the first Sabbath the mourner will wait outside during the celebratory songs. On the second Sabbath they will stay for the whole service but do not sit in their usual seat. On the third Sabbath they participate in the joyful hymns but will avoid neighborly visitation after the service. And on the fourth Sabbath they become full participants in the community of Shabbat.

YAHRTZEIT (one year)
The central rule of mourning up to one year is to say "Kaddish," a short prayer that begins; "Magnified and sanctified may God's great name be." It is a prayer that is required for mourners to say twice a day for a year. And it is not allowed to be spoken alone at home - but rather in the presence of 10 adults. At one year, mourners mark the anniversary by lighting a special memorial candle, while others might find different ways to honor or commemorate the loss.

Winner says, "This calendar of bereavement recognizes the slow way that mourning works...long after your friends and acquaintances have stopped paying attention, after they have forgotten to ask how you are and pray for you and hold your hand, you are still in a place of ebbing sadness."

What I find interesting about all of this is how Jewish mourners are helped along by their friends and family during the most intense part of grief, yet are still required to, with others, pray words of praise to God. This would probably be the hardest part for me. Kaddish is not a prayer of mourning, but a prayer about God - "Blessed, praised, glorified, exalted, extolled, mighty, upraised, and lauded be the Name of the Holy One, Blessed is He, beyond any blessing or song."

Mourners are not required to feel praise, only to give praise. The sheer repetition of that praise follows along with Exodus 24 - first we will do, then we will hear.

It hasn't been until the past couple of days that I truly have felt "ready" to become a part of my community again. I know that the next months will tick off day by day and milestones will be made. I know that I will endure May 12 (due date) and that God will be with me through that as well. I hope that I can speak the praises of Scripture, even if I don't "feel" them. By the time a year comes around, I hope I can say that I have done and have heard all the words God has spoken to me.

kara vs. table saw

In one corner we have a thirty-something DIY-er who never met a power tool she couldn't conquer.

In the other corner we have a barely used JET table saw fighting sans manufacturer's recommended guards. (They were removed during an earlier bout - one which DIY won - and the end result being the angled shower walls below.)


This battle was all about archways. DIY won rounds one and two, ripping 2x4's and knocking around 1/2" plywood like a punching bag. She finished two archways for niches in the addition hallway, adding an air compressor, a framing nailer and a neat little staple gun to her belt.

DIY came back for round three, preparing for a knockout. Her frugality got the best of her though... With a near-fatal mistake, she decided to rip a 4" chunk of 2x4 for bracing, but JET took advantage of a weak moment. DIY had her arsenal of boards piled up, reading to fire away at JET's blade. But, after the first little chunk went through, she didn't take the time to fully prepare for the next cut by cutting power and removing the board. Instead, she went full steam ahead, determined to finish off JET by completing the pile without breaks.

JET somehow got a piece of the piece of 2x4, kicking it back toward DIY at lightning speed. The piece nailed DIY square between the eyes, breaking her glasses neatly in half between the lenses (sending one half flying six feet to the left) and catching her between the bridge of the nose and her left eyebrow. Somehow JET managed to also take out DIY's right thumb and forefinger. DIY still isn't sure if that came before the head blow or after.

DIY couldn't believe it. She's had many close calls in her fighting days, but never anything like this. Stunned, she picked up the other half of her glasses by her feet and then realized that she was in trouble. Her head started spinning, her eyesight fading and she felt intense pain shooting from her forehead. With minimal faculties, she started to stumble toward the house, aware that not only was her husband/manager not home, but it was 11 pm and 25 degrees outside. He would not be home for at least an hour and she did not want to be TKO'ed outside on a concrete sidewalk.

Clearly she should not have been fighting without an audience, or at least an audience that hadn't gone to bed at 8 pm.

She made it into the house, dripping blood every four feet. Her head was stinging, her eyes watering (both from the pain and from sawdust) and she couldn't move her two fingers, one of which was also bleeding. Despite her limited vision and intense pain, she managed to pull an emergency ice pack from the freezer (a bag of peas) and push speed dial to call hubby at work. By that time, she realized that 1) she was not going to die and 2) she was going to be very attractive in the morning.

She remembered she had arnica montana in the cupboard and quickly called sister/doctor to see how often to take the little white pills. Somehow she managed to turn the vial to get out four and endure sister's laughter at her description of round three.

She also had the presence of mind to record her injuries for posterity.

11:04 pm - shortly after a near knock-out in Round Three

















8:30 am - Ready to head back in the ring


Round four commenced at 9 am and this time, DIY was prepared, even though she could only see out of one eye and had to result to an old pair of glasses to see anything. She first searched for JET's weapon, finding that it had careened off her head a full 12 feet in the opposite direction it came from. She chucked it aside and got back to the fight. She took her time, methodically pushing boards through JET's blades, wearing it down by repetition and carefulness. She even managed a mini-bout with jigsaw, winning that one as well, after manager hooked up a light so she could see better to advance her cuts.

She shut JET down, carried her lumber into the addition, and built the two final archways for her shower walls. Archways were nailed into place, with manager's help, because DIY could not pick up the heavy framing nail gun.

And the winner is DIY! But, she looks pretty rough, even in victory. Tomorrow she will be back to face JET as she puts all the safety guards back on.

Here's proof of DIY's victory - master bathroom shower walls w/archways (although her handiwork is hidden by cement board.)













Nearly 24 hours later, here is our valiant DIYer - ready to take her one-eyed body to bed to rest up for another battle tomorrow.

blessed be your name

I can rarely make it through Matt Redman's “Blessed be Your Name” without choking up. I can’t you how many times I’ve been in the middle of a worship service, unable to continue singing, fighting back tears. Once last summer I even had to escape to the bathroom, just to get my emotions under control.

Blessed be Your name
In the land that is plentiful
Where Your streams of abundance flow
Blessed be Your name
And blessed be Your name
When I’m found in the desert place
Though I walk through the wilderness
Blessed be your name

CHORUS:
Every blessing You pour out I’ll
Turn back to praise
And when the darkness closes in, Lord
Still I will say
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your glorious name

Blessed be Your name
When the sun’s shining down on me
When the world’s “all as it should be”
Blessed be You name
And blessed be Your name
On the road marked with suffering
Though there’s pain in the offering
Blessed be Your name

CHORUS

You give and take away
You give and take away
My heart will choose to say
Lord, blessed be Your name

CHORUS

I think what gets me every time is the words in verse two - “Blessed be your name, on the road marked with suffering, though there’s pain in the offering...” I feel that pain acutely every time.

We all have tragedy in our lives - it’s just hard some times to think of that pain or grief as an offering to God. And sometimes, it’s even harder to tell Him that His name is blessed when we’re going through something so difficult that we hardly can pray, let alone praise Him. It’s ironic that we often forget to praise Him for the painless blessings in our lives and we often can’t praise Him for the painful ones, at least not immediately.

Can I praise Him for losses? Can I praise Him for all the offerings we’ve given Him over the years? Can truly I praise Him for giving and taking away?

Right now, I must confess the answer is no - I cannot praise Him like Job did by saying “The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; Blessed be the name of the Lord.” (Job 1:21) I do not immediately fall down to worship the Lord after a catastrophe. A commentary in the Full Life Study Bible reads: “Job reacted to the disaster that happened to him with intense grief, but also with a humility that submitted to God and continued to worship Him in the midst of extreme adversity. Job teaches how faithful believers should face life’s calamities. Though we may experience severe sufferings and unexplainable affliction, we should pray for grace to accept what God allows to come upon us.” I think He would love for me to be like Job, but understands my inability to do that.

I know that the name of the Lord is blessed, but blessing it myself is a bit harder. My heart just does not simply choose to say: blessed be Your Name. My heart sometimes is just too numb to say much of anything. What I can do is be honest and hold that up as my offering, hoping that the praises will come later and be sincere when they do.

The beauty of Scripture is that there are literally hundreds of other verses that one can cling to during difficult times, much of them found in the Psalms. If I might have a tough time blessing God’s name, I can still pray through Psalm 116 or meditate on the repetition of Psalm 136 - “His love endures forever” - knowing that whatever comes my way, his love can and will last far beyond any tears or painful offerings.

in the mail today...

I love a good prank. But first, let me tell you how a cousin blessed me today. She sent a package with a very sweet and encouraging card, a bag of chocolates, an amaryllis plant so I'll have a little bloom at Christmas and a kit of linen-scented diffusing oil. It smells really nice and kind of clean. (I almost wondered if she'd secretly been inside the house lately.)

But the piece de resistance was a little bag with this tag attached: "Lunch today is on me. Wish I could be there to share it with you!!!" Inside were two beets. My boys thought I was crazy when I laughed for a couple minutes straight.

Here's the joke - I planted a whole row of beets last summer in the garden because she kept saying how good beets were. I got her "no-fail" recipe and served them for dinner one night. They were NOT a hit - only hubby and one boy liked them. The others asked that I never make them again. (Keep in mind that these are children who eat venison, olives, broccoli, asparagus and are just about anything else I place in front of them.) But they didn't like the beets. (I didn't much either.)

A good laugh is better for the soul anyway.

diary of a miscarriage - warning this is VERY graphic

For those of you who have never experienced a miscarriage, I thought I'd give you a little play-by-play of what the physical side of it is like. (What happened to me in the past 72 hours - no exaggerating.) My experience is admittedly a bit extreme, because I endured more than most people do. A lot of miscarriages simply plop into the toilet or have a bit of bleeding and are done. I have not been that lucky. That being said, I still feel like it has been easier on my body to let things progress naturally (even if it takes a bit longer) than to opt for surgery. Recovery is easier - waiting is harder. Not an easy decision to make.

A disclaimer: If you get queasy easily, you probably do not want to read this because I am going to get into the nitty gritty graphic messy details of miscarriage. And much of it is just plain gross. And there are pictures. If you're still curious, read on. And my apologies that it's so long.

Saturday - 11/1/08
9 am - Wake up to contractions. They progress throughout the morning, more often and more painful.

2 pm - Lay down to ease pain and try take a nap.

3:30 pm - Wake up to a gush of blood. Remove clothing and prepare to hang out in bathtub. Ten minutes later, pass the 10-week-old baby and what appears to be tissue. Very little pain. Lots of blood. Try clean off with the handheld shower while hubby puts a little space heater going. Kids are banned from the bathroom.


4 pm - Lay on towel on bathtub, trying desperately to get comfortable, yet maintain a laying position so blood loss is decreased. Pass a large softball-sized clot, along with occasional trickles of blood. Hubby finds a bucket to toss the clots in since they will not make it down the drain. Take cayenne pepper capsule along with some food and water to try stop/decrease the hemorrhaging. Bleeding tapers off after an hour, but does not stop altogether.

5 pm - Stomach starts churning. Puke up the cayenne pepper and pass another clot all at once. Lay in tub in own vomit and blood, while nose burns incredibly from the cayenne puke, thinking to self, this is about as low as it gets. Strangely the smell doesn't bother me. Realize it's a good thing my towels are red.

5:15 pm - Finally rinse off self and tub. Hubby pushes water, Dr. Pepper, candy anything on me to get me to drink fluids. Sip on water as often as possible.

5:30 - 7 pm - Continue to lay in tub, extremely uncomfortable on hips and shoulder, even with the folded towel underneath me. At some point realize I'm going to have to get on the toilet or I'll have another stinky mess to clean up. Manage to get out of the tub and poop. I recall leaning over the side of the seat, almost falling into the tub, but not quite out. Plop back into tub and wait some more. Pass a few more smaller (golf ball-sized) clots, with minimal bleeding in between.

7 - 9 pm - More laying around, pain pain pain on my poor hip. Bleeding seems to have slowed to small occasional trickles. Cover naked body with another towel because am feeling cold. Day dream of my bed. Hubby won't let me out of the tub until I can sit up without getting woozy. I manage to do that and crawl out of tub and toward the bedroom. He tells me later that I passed out on the way, but I still don't believe him.

9:15 pm - Throw up in bed into a beach towel. Think the towel was Boy #2's, but what he doesn't know won't hurt him. So much for trying to drink liquids. Am now feeling very uncomfortable with cramps that start in lower abdomen and radiate to my lower back.

9:30 pm - Inlaws come to pick up boys in case we need to go in to hospital. Hubby doesn't think we'll need to go, but I am feeling differently, although I don't tell him yet. Try to keep sipping water and am starving. Eat a piece of toast with grape jelly. More cramping.

10 pm - Puke up the toast, part of my droolings and dribblings are on hubby's tshirt and his pillow. He is thrilled. Cramping is getting worse. Bleeding still hasn't stopped.

12 am - I can't relax enough to sleep because the cramps are so painful. Can only lay on one side or the cramps are worse. Cannot lay on back as the bleeding seems to increase. Finally tell hubby I can't do this anymore and that we need to go in.

12:15 am - Lay on floor while hubby puts on my socks, underwear and a ratty pair of pajama bottoms. Crawl down stairs because I don't want to stand and pass out. Crawl to front door after hubby helps me put a sweatshirt on. Jam shoes on and limp out the front door 10 feet to the van.

12:30 am - Finally make it out the driveway. I am sweating profusely, ears ringing, tunnel vision - all from standing up - no blood in head apparently. (Not that there ever is.)

12:45 am - Make it to ER entrance. Try to walk in, but collapse once inside the door. Hubby picks me up like a sack of potatoes and the pressure of his shoulder on my belly makes me cry out - "Oh my stomach!" I am plopped into a wheelchair that is thankfully parked next to a wall so I have something to lean my head against. I cannot see anything around me and remember feeling sweat drip down my forehead. I hear hubby behind me giving the intake person my date of birth and some other pertinent information. A nurse comes behind the wheelchair and tells me, "Kara, sit up! We have to go." I mumble that I can't and she picks me arm up (that had fallen to the side of the chair) and plops in on the armrest. It fell back down. She starts to push the wheelchair and I have one foot dragging along and my head tipped all the way back because I couldn't hold it up. I remember thinking to myself, "Why is she being so mean to me?" Two nurses help me into a bed and pull off my sweatshirt and t-shirt. I tell the one nurse, who is banging on my arm to find a vein, that she is going to have a hard time getting the IV needle in because I know I'm so dehydrated. The other nurse starts typing into the computer and asks me, "So, what seems to be the problem?" By this time, I finally feel coherent and tell her I had a miscarriage and that I've lost a lot of blood and have been throwing up. Almost immediately I notice a change in her and she comes over and puts her hand on my shoulder and tells me she is sorry I've had to go through this.

I find out later that when the intake nurse asks hubby what the problem is and he tells her about the miscarriage, her reply is: "Oh! I wasn't expecting that!" (We figured with the timing of our arrival and my physical symptoms, everyone probably thought I was either drunk or high or both.) Can't say that I blame them considering what I was wearing and how I probably was acting.

1 -3 am - I am examined by a doctor who looks like he's 17. Still bleeding. Still have cramps. But after about a half hour I finally get some morphine - thought my head was going to blow off. I also got two doses of some anti-nausea medication that did not work. I was wheeled to radiology for a vaginal ultrasound. The ride there and back was torture - had I had anything in my stomach to throw up I would have. Then came a pelvic exam which was a real fun experience - I lost count of how many cotton swabs the doctor went through. I do remember another gush of blood and perhaps another clot when he pushed in my belly to check the uterus. I was still in a fair amount of pain, so was given another 1/2 dose of morphine.

3 am - ER doc talked to the OB on call who decided I should be given a blood transfusion because my hemoglobin levels were so low (and I think they assumed I'd have to had a D&C in the morning as well).

3:30 am - I sent hubby home to get some sleep and the transfusions began. It took about 90 minutes to complete each unit. (I had two units.) I got a little sleep in between each 20 minute blood pressure check, all the temperature checks because apparently a body can have some sort of reaction to donated blood. I was told to call the nurse immediately if I noticed any wheezing, itchiness or difficulty breathing. (Was I praying after that!) No complications.

7 am - ER doc decides that he would rather send me up to the OB department than send me home yet. So I endure yet another nausea-producing ride. I am the only patient in that unit - ironic, considering I have no baby. Doc also tells me that the ultrasound technician and the radiologist confirmed that there was nothing left in my uterus. Bleeding has slowed. Pain from cramping has decreased. I am exhausted.

7:30 am - Call the inlaws to let them know where I was and tell them what happened. Accidentally hung up on mother-in-law when nurse came to check on me. Decided to wait to call hubby so he could get some sleep, but he showed up about two seconds later, looking very nice in a brown pullover I bought him last summer. How sweet of him to come check on me - early - and how sweet that he couldn't sleep. Unfortunately, he did not bring me any clothes to wear home - a slight problem since my pj's were pretty much toast and the nurse said she wouldn't let me out of the room with my granny panties showing. Hubby made a few phone calls and I rested. I wasn't peeing enough so the nurse gave me another IV bag (I think that brought the total up to five) and hooked an antibiotic dose as well. I was too tired to argue.

9 am - Hubby decided to go home and get my clothes and let me sleep. I wasn't holding up my end of the conversation anyway. I immediately conked out and didn't wake up until the doctor came in.

10 am - OB doc said I wouldn't have to have a D&C, as the uterus was empty, bleeding was minimal and my cramping was tolerable. He wouldn't let me go until I peed more and could keep some food and fluids down. He reminded me of someone, but I still can't place who it might be - a little bit like Gil Grisam from CSI maybe.

10:30 am - Sister-in-law stops by after church and visits. Her ER experience immediately clues her in to my paleness - my hemoglobin level was still only 8.7, but that was an improvement. We chat for awhile and I eat crackers and apple juice.

11:30 am - Finally peeing on my own and get the go ahead to get out of dodge, but no clothes and no hubby. Finally call him, thinking he fell asleep at home. He is at work, filling out his time sheet. Eat a piece of jelly toast and keep it all down. Pretty proud of myself.

12 noon - Going home. Yay. Kids are staying at Grandma & Grandpa's another night. Peace and quiet is so nice.

1 - 4 pm - Take a nice long nap after texting immediate family members about the ordeal.

4 pm - Watch NASCAR w/hubby. Sad. Then cramping starts again. Was told to take ibuprofen for pain, but didn't think it would be necessary since I don't usually have any post-delivery cramping with live births or miscarriages. Not this time.

5:30 pm - Finally succumb to the pain and down the Advil. Watch Extreme Makeover Home Edition and go to bed.

Monday - Cramping continues much of the day - need more Advil. This sucks. Still bleeding, although not a lot. Trek in to the clinic to relive the events with OB doc. He decides not to put me through another pelvic exam, saying I've been through enough. I have more blood drawn to check hemoglobin levels and test for some possible miscarriage causes. Go to bed taking another dose of ibuprofen, just to sleep.

Tuesday - Get up feeling pretty good, although bleeding still hasn't stopped.
10:30 am - Go to the bathroom, wipe and feel something funny. At first think I'm really swollen for some strange reason. Get out a mirror and about die. There is something sticking out of my vagina and it doesn't look good - dark red thick tubular mass. I panic and yell for hubby, picturing cows on the farm with their uteruses hanging out. He doesn't want me to touch it but to go in immediately. I choose to call my OB's nurse. She says to try tease it out and call her back. It takes nearly 10 minutes of bearing down, pulling, wiggling, etc. to get it out. I realize it is not part of my body because I cannot feel it when I touch it. I finally get the mass out and it is the size of a baseball in my head, heavy, red and fibrous. It is the placenta and I have just passed something about 2 inches in diameter. And I hurt bad. The cramps immediately disappear. The bleeding, which was darker red blood before, turns to a lighter, thinner red. I am freaking out wondering how an ultrasound technician could miss this and what would have happened if I wasn't at home, etc. Call the nurse back and she says to save it and will talk to Doc when he comes in at 2 pm. The adrenaline from this ordeal has exhausted me and I have to lay down. Plus, I'm just a little grossed out.



12 noon - Try to sleep, but can't. Lay in bed until nurse calls back with instructions to come in as soon as possible w/the placenta.

3 pm - Take a shower because I realize I'm still wearing the clothes I went to the clinic in yesterday.

4 pm - Have hubby drop me off at emergency room so I can take the placenta in to sister-in-law since she's working. She is amazed (and not grossed out, which is pretty impressive.) Tell her the plus side is that I just lost a pound.

4:15 pm - Receptionist ushers me right back to Doc - who is mortified at the size of the placenta and that it wasn't caught on ultrasound two days ago. "Gonna have to call down to radiology and see how they missed a placenta the size of a big Mac in a gal who weighs 80 pounds soaking wet." (That was nice to say, although I haven't weighed 80 pounds since junior high.) I don't think he was too happy and was upset with himself for not doing a vaginal exam yesterday, but neither of us thought was necessary. Hindsight of course tells me that the cramping should have been a huge sign for me, since I never have that. But, that's what hindsight is - not valuable for much else. Go through another vaginal ultrasound which shows nothing in uterus but a slight spot of lining that should slough by itself. Bleeding is minimal. Pain is gone. Horrified feeling still present. I am told to come back in two weeks to check if cervix is still open and to go over results of blood work.

So, there you have it. Two days of a very interesting experience I wouldn't really care to repeat. But for several reasons, I'm still glad I did this at home. My body was then ready and knew it wasn't pregnant anymore. (D&C was really hard last time because I bled for six weeks and my hormones were raging because my body had no idea what had just happened.) I got to see the wee little one and (surprise, surprise) it was another boy. And I'm glad we went in when we did, because I got some pain killers, fluids and a transfusion, and I don't feel as tired as I would have without all that. I'm also glad the doctor got to see the placenta, because apparently it was much bigger than it should have been for as far along as I was. It has been sent off to pathology.

I hope this diary doesn't freak anyone out, or discourage anyone from trying to pass the baby at home. My experience is not even close to the norm. Most people will have some cramping, some bleeding, but I believe it's generally over in 2-4 hours, with minimal risk to mom. There are of course horror stories from both ways (at home or in hospital), but knowing what happens to my body because I've experienced it both ways, I was still more comfortable doing it naturally. I had to wait two weeks for the baby to pass, which isn't pleasant. But other than being a little tired right now, I feel like myself, something I could not say for at least three months after the D&C with the last miscarriage.

I hope you're not too grossed out by this and I pray that this diary will help someone, someday. Or help others to understand what a woman can go through during a miscarriage.