Yes, this is long. But this is the last part. I promise. I want to get this out and then move on.
I spent Friday night thinking I was over dosing from the two Vicodin. Not a great feeling when I was alone in the house with Hallie. No Dave. I couldn't sleep because my heart was pounding in my ears the entire night and my back suddenly felt like it was breaking in half. I couldn't get comfortable and the cramps were increasing.
I was burning hot and finally at 5:30am called Dave. Because, you know, he had to work. In Missouri. Great timing. He called his mom, who showed up with my four-year-old niece (sorry!) and they went to the couch to wait for Hallie to wake up. I was really, really feeling bad. I mean, BAD, and called my dad at 6am and told him to get in the truck and get here now. And he did. No questions. Just drove.
He rolled in around 9-ish, took one look at me and asked where he could find a themometer. I was at 102.7 and realized that I had started bleeding. A lot. We called the doctor, who told me to head to the ER to do blood work and other tests to see if there was infection and to make sure they had gotten everything on Wednesday.
The entire time, I honestly thought I had just overdone it with the cleaning and company Friday night. I was sure I would get there and they would tell me it was normal and fine and to go home and rest. I was wrong.
As it turned out, they did NOT get everything on Wednesday. And on top of that, I had a lovely infection too. I was overjoyed. They wanted to get me into another D&C right away. I couldn't believe this was happening. Dave was gone and not due home until 8pm that night. I still can't believe it. Thank goodness my dad was there, and I had friends texting me and praying for me the entire time.
They did another D&C, but because I had eaten a damn granola bar at 10am, they had to do general anesthesia and shove a tube down my throat. I woke up and this time could feel the pain. No spinal block to help me forget there were lots of things hurting in there. I got to feel it all. And I was exhausted. My wonderful friends and mother-in-law came by to see me, and by 6pm I was begging to go home. And I do mean begging. If I was going to be in pain, I wanted to be in pain at home.
So we picked up different pain medication and headed on home. And when Dave walked in the door at 7pm (a whole hour early!), I felt myself finally relax. We again snuggled up on the couch until I just had to sleep. And so sleep, I did.
I woke up and just felt pain. Cramps, oh the cramps. I tried to not take the maximum amount of pain medication and quickly realized there was no sense in that. So I maxed it out that entire day, and I am serious when I say that it only slightly touched the pain. I was in bed by 7pm that night and slept until 11am the next day. I felt like I had a cloud over my head that entire day.
And then by that night I started feeling better.
And then better.
And today I am even better. Emotionally, still a bit raw. But we are moving on and looking forward to trying for a baby again. The three-month wait seems like forever, but it's just a drop in the bucket compared to everything we have been through up to this point.
This whole experience feels like it did not actually happen. Every time I look at the huge bruise on my hand from my first IV, I'm surprised. Like, wow. It all really did happen. I lost a baby, endured two surgeries and I am okay. I made it through and now it's time to move on.
I'm glad to write this out. It's not something I will ever forget and never want to forget. I have read stories on other blogs about women who I admire's miscarriages and trials similar to what I have gone through. Reading their stories made me realize that I wanted to write out my story too. So I did, and here it is.