Flicking through my Facebook memories for today I see messages of congratulations. It can only mean that four years ago today the Bearded One and I found out that we were expecting a tiny one.
I had taken a home test and by the afternoon the Bearded One had posted the news on his Facebook page; he was pretty excited about the whole situation.
Some weeks later I had some bleeding and went to A&E at Auckland Hospital. After some consultation & checking, I was admitted and taken up to the ward.
The worst part about this experience wasn't that I was loosing or had lost our baby, but that the nurse I dealt with questioned my pregnancy. The pregnancy was early on, we believed we were around 12weeks, my doctor had given me an examination, confirmed the pregnancy,felt we didn't yet need to have an ultrasound and I was fine with this. The nurse on duty wasn't.
The Bearded One was sent on his way and I spent the night alone, curled up in a ball, sobbing to myself. I was so sad, I felt useless and like a failure, worst of all I felt extremely alone.
The following morning I was sent down to have an ultrasound. It was confirmed that I had been pregnant, however it wasn't a viable pregnancy and it looked as if the fetus had stopped growing around six weeks. I had a missed miscarriage.
I was sent home and North Shore Hospital was contacted so I could be booked in for a dilation and curettage (D&C).
I can't remember how long it was between my A&E visit and the D&C. However I do remember having a meltdown/blow out/bender weekend. From the moment I received the news of our miscarriage I did what I do best; put on a brave face and pretended as if everything was okay. Eventually it all became too much.
One Saturday night I offered the taxi service of the Bearded One to a friend, I told her to give us a call when she was ready to leave town and we would pick her up. She heard something was wrong in my voice when I answered the phone; I can't remember if I sent the Bearded One to pick her up, but somehow she arrived at my house.
Another good friend had been called, and before long he too was sitting on my couch.
We were up all night; drinking, talking, crying and hugging as the Bearded One slept. He knew what was happening and left us to it, he would be there in the morning to lift me back up when it was all over.
As I think about that night and what I was feeling, my eyes well up with tears. It's something that I never want to feel again and wouldn't wish it upon anybody.
I'll never forget that night and I will forever be grateful to those two friends, who sat with me and helped when I was broken.
I had taken a home test and by the afternoon the Bearded One had posted the news on his Facebook page; he was pretty excited about the whole situation.
Some weeks later I had some bleeding and went to A&E at Auckland Hospital. After some consultation & checking, I was admitted and taken up to the ward.
The worst part about this experience wasn't that I was loosing or had lost our baby, but that the nurse I dealt with questioned my pregnancy. The pregnancy was early on, we believed we were around 12weeks, my doctor had given me an examination, confirmed the pregnancy,felt we didn't yet need to have an ultrasound and I was fine with this. The nurse on duty wasn't.
The Bearded One was sent on his way and I spent the night alone, curled up in a ball, sobbing to myself. I was so sad, I felt useless and like a failure, worst of all I felt extremely alone.
The following morning I was sent down to have an ultrasound. It was confirmed that I had been pregnant, however it wasn't a viable pregnancy and it looked as if the fetus had stopped growing around six weeks. I had a missed miscarriage.
I was sent home and North Shore Hospital was contacted so I could be booked in for a dilation and curettage (D&C).
I can't remember how long it was between my A&E visit and the D&C. However I do remember having a meltdown/blow out/bender weekend. From the moment I received the news of our miscarriage I did what I do best; put on a brave face and pretended as if everything was okay. Eventually it all became too much.
One Saturday night I offered the taxi service of the Bearded One to a friend, I told her to give us a call when she was ready to leave town and we would pick her up. She heard something was wrong in my voice when I answered the phone; I can't remember if I sent the Bearded One to pick her up, but somehow she arrived at my house.
Another good friend had been called, and before long he too was sitting on my couch.
We were up all night; drinking, talking, crying and hugging as the Bearded One slept. He knew what was happening and left us to it, he would be there in the morning to lift me back up when it was all over.
As I think about that night and what I was feeling, my eyes well up with tears. It's something that I never want to feel again and wouldn't wish it upon anybody.
I'll never forget that night and I will forever be grateful to those two friends, who sat with me and helped when I was broken.