Any woman who has ever been pregnant has had at least a little anxiety - fear even - in the beginning. To say a had a little anxiety would be the understatement of the century. When I discovered I was pregnant, I was a "little" anxious, mostly because Joe and I were still living 200 miles apart, and I hadn't experienced pregnancy completely alone. There was a little worry over making it through the first trimester; in general, most miscarriages occur in the first trimester and the odds of miscarriage are less after the 9th week; but when I arrived home and felt that "whoosh", and discovered that my jeans and the seat of my car covered in blood, I was in full scale terror mode.
My two daughters did not yet know of my pregnancy - although I am now aware that they suspected it. They didn't say anything when I rushed through the front door and went straight to the bathroom, telling them along the way that we might not be going to Shreveport that evening, and that I may need to go to the doctor. I called Joe, and though an instant before I had been strangely calm, due to my old habit of blocking any thoughts of what might be happening; but when I heard his voice, I broke down. I could feel the panic he was feeling, I felt his heart drop when he heard me say "something's wrong".
I called my doctor and was told that since it was after office hours, I should go to the emergency room to find out for sure if I had miscarried. All I said to the girls was that I was going to the doctor. They said nothing; they learned over the years that if they personally needed to be concerned, that I would tell them everything. As long as I looked calm on the outside, I knew they wouldn't worry.
Surprisingly, I didn't have to wait long in the ER. I was soon taken back for an ultrasound; it seemed to take forever, and I wasn't going to get any answers from the ultrasound tech; she was there simply to take pictures and let the doctor interpret. It was killing me not to know. Later, as I waited in the hospital bed for the doctor to come in with the results, I wanted nothing more than to NOT be in this situation. What would I do if I lost this baby that Joe and I wanted so much? How would this affect me later? How would it affect our relationship? I prayed until the doctor came in and said "the ultrasound shows a single viable pregnancy". That feeling - I can't describe it. I realized I had been holding my breath for quite a while. This doctor left and another one - the main ER doctor - came in and said "hey, did you know you're pregnant?" and I actually laughed. He then proceeded to tell me that what had occurred was a subchorionic (sp?) hemorrhage, or implantation bleeding. The way he began to explain it made me laugh again "there's already a shit-ton of blood in there...."
About the time the doctor left, Joe called. He was almost frantic, as he had texted me while the doctor was talking to me, and I hadn't responded. We're ok, I told him, the baby is ok. And then he said he was gonna kick my ass for making him worry. :)
A scare like that can change you; it certainly brought home how fragile life really is. From that moment, every single time I went to the bathroom - and I DO mean every single time, up to the day before our daughter was born - I checked for blood. I worried almost every waking moment that my body would betray me and I would never get to meet this precious baby growing inside me. Not helping matters was the fact that since I had been having morning sickness, I couldn't take my antidepressant, so along with the usual hormonal upheaval of pregnancy, I had budding anxiety that I hadn't experienced in quite a while. I was unable to just relax and let go of my worry. Knowing that I had Joe, and knowing that it wouldn't be long before we were together for good helped, if only a little. But that little was got me through the next three months until I made the move from Texas to Louisiana. I'm sure that having such big changes going on - moving, uprooting my entire life, leaving my job, and being pregnant at my age - all added to my worries and anxiety.
As I sit here watching my baby girl, two months old today, grimace like she's about to have an enormous bowel movement, I think how lucky I am. It might take much bigger things than the fear of a miscarriage, to make one realize how fragile life is; but for me, that's all it took. I try to live each day with an "attitude of gratitude" and I am forever thankful that I got to experience the miracle of childbirth again.
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