Living in a Nightmare

Everyday I go to work with a smile on my face. I take care of others that their worst with sincerity and grace. I’ve always had that “broken wing syndrome” or the need to take care of others and fix their problems all the while ignoring my own.

People always comment on how “perfectly put together” I am. Perfect hair, perfect makeup, great body…it’s all just a facade. Those are the only things left I can control while the rest of my life feels like it is falling apart. The hair, the makeup is all part of a scheme to hide the many broken pieces that lie within. While most solely focus on my outer attributes, I scramble to try to put the pieces together before people start to realize I’m anything other then perfect.

I know I’m not the person I use to be. I’m scared and jaded beyond repair. The hardest thing for me to hear is when my husband tells me I don’t laugh and smile like I use to. That statement hit me like a brick wall. I realize that I portray happiness to the outer world, but when I’m around the only person who knows me best, I have become nothing but a shell of despair. I feel like I have abandoned him at times, locked in this nightmare. He saw the physical pain I went through and held my hand through it all. He even prayed to God to give all of my pain to him. He’s such a good man. I’ve tried to hide the emotional grief I’ve been tormented with but I know he sees through me like he always does. He watches me struggle and I can see it break his heart because he can’t make it all better.

There’s times I don’t want to heal because I think it means forgetting but I’ve come to the realization that’s just not true. The scars are still very fresh and some are still open and raw. You see, I’ve lost four babies since our son was born. Four children that I’ve longed to hold in my arms, are now in the arms of Jesus. Four dates of loss that’ll forever be engraved in my mind. Four little ones that I’ll see again one day in heaven.

December 23, 2013
March 9, 2014
June 23, 2014
August 12, 2015

Fly high my angels until we meet again, Mommy loves you.

The Silent Struggle

Just shy of a year after our son was born, my husband and I decided we wanted to try for another child. Even after all of the complications I had with Aiden, there was no question that we wanted to extend our family. Much to our surprise, we got pregnant immediately. We quietly announced the news to our immediate family. A few people that I work with also found out as I can’t take care of people with certain ailments such as shingles. I didn’t mind sharing the news and had no reason to fear the uncertain.

I still remember the day before our ten week ultrasound. I was lying in bed with Zack, talking about our day and the day ahead as we usually do. I remember telling him that I didn’t FEEL pregnant. He assured me I didn’t have anything to worry about and I naively believed it.

December 18th, 2013: It was finally the day of our ultrasound. I had planned on working a short shift afterwards so I could share the good news. Immediately when she put the probe in I knew something was wrong. She searched and searched and then she turned the screen towards me. Being that I have seen hundreds of ultrasounds, and even done them myself, I knew what to look for. As a nurse, we define life as a heartbeat. We feel and listen for them in all of our patients. We pray for them in those we try to revive and we know the empty sound that is followed by the loss of one that will never return. Looking at that screen, there was my baby, lifeless. I could feel the tears as they burned my eyes. Like lava they slid down my face. This must be a dream I thought, but it wasn’t.

I stayed numb for days. Aiden’s first birthday party was already planned (December 21st) so I  avoided my heartache and threw myself into that. I still remember someone asking me when we were going to make another beautiful baby. I almost threw up at that very moment. I silently screamed inside for we already had but my baby was dead. My baby was dead and so was I. I was just a shell walking around, going through the motions.

Two days later the pain hit. You could time it just like when I was in labor, except this time I didn’t have a beautiful baby in the end. Instead, my happiness gushed out of me and was flushed down the drain. For hours I laid on the bathroom floor, crying in pain. I refused to take any pain medication. I needed to feel something, I needed to face what was actually happening. I was weak, my face was swollen but I eventually got up off the floor, put on my mask, and stumbled into work.

My first patient was a whiny nineteen year old who was eleven weeks pregnant and pissed off because she was nauseated even though she sat there eating her Doritos and sipping on her  Coke. She was annoyed that she was even pregnant in general as it was such an inconvenience to her life because she had to stop drinking but she was determined to not fully give up smoking. I had to walk out of the room multiple times because I knew once my filter was gone, I’d be left with no job. She was due the day after me and that ignorant girl had no idea the blessing she had and I realized it wasn’t my job to tell her that.

Miscarriage is such a silent battle. Only those that have been through it can truly relate. My poor husband tried to be there for me but I only would isolate myself more. If I was awake, I was crying, if I was asleep my mind would play awful tricks on me, making me dream that I was pregnant once more. The only reason why I even slightly kept it together is because I still had to be a mother. I was in a constant state of torture and no one could help me. No one should ever have to go through such heartbreak. I begged God to spare me from such pain again, but apparently he had different plans for me.