I expected the ultrasound jelly to be cold and shocking, but it was nice and warm. I drank an obscene amount of liquids beforehand as instructed by the nurse. The tech placed the wand across my tummy and I continued to override my fear with positive thoughts; I felt as if my bladder may explode and for a moment, it was the only thing visible on the screen. Then the still, tiny baby appeared and we both knew something was wrong. I silently pleaded with the lifeless baby to move. Please move, baby. PLEASE. PLEASE. PLEASE.
Our little fetus measured in length at 8 weeks and whatever other measurement they use at 9 weeks, instead of the 12 weeks along it should have been. Realizing that our tiny little baby stopped growing weeks ago and was dead inside of me, was beyond devastating.
I did everything right: prenatal vitamins, eating healthy and balanced meals, no smoking, I avoided all of my favorite foods that weren’t pregnancy safe, no alcohol, I even cut out Diet Coke and coffee. I now realize my hellish 1st trimester pregnancy symptoms (constant nausea, excessive saliva, mood swings from hell, and breasts so sore they felt as if evil little trolls snuck in during the night to stuff them full of rocks) stopped about the same time our baby stopped growing.
The tech went to consult with the radiologist and to call my doctor to discuss what came next. We were both devastated. I got dressed and curled up into Mike’s lap, grateful they allowed us to stay inside the ultrasound room instead of returning to the waiting room. I didn’t want anyone to see me. Especially not the trashy, VERY pregnant woman in the waiting room who was drinking Mountain Dew and sharing it with her 15-month-old baby telling him, “It’s your favorite!” Are you fucking kidding me? MOUNTAIN DEW? That bitch was feeding both her born and unborn children caffeine, yellow number 5 and brominated brominated vegetable oil as I melted into an exhausted mess in Mike’s arms, mourning the loss of our baby? THIS IS NOT FAIR.
I am really struggling. The analytical side of me says, “It’s OK, the baby wasn’t meant to be, there was something wrong with the baby for it to have stopped growing.” But the rest of me? The rest of me aches. I want my baby. I feel raw and exhausted. We started loving that baby the moment we found out I was pregnant. Being in public is dangerous: there are pregnant people EVERYWHERE in Utah. Walking out my door is a constant reminder of my loss. I am worried I will overload my love with this sadness and sometimes I fear this will never go away.
