Day 3 of 100 Days of Grief

"Better than a thousand hollow words is one word that bring you peace."

-Buddha

One thing that I've struggled with and I know many others that have miscarried early in their pregnancy is what to call your loss.  Even saying "my loss" sounds wrong to me.  It sounds too inhuman. Today's prompt is about what words you will and won't use when describing your "loss".  

I had an amazing general doctor helping me through this whole process.  He is my general doctor and I'll call him Dr. C. for privacy issues.  Dr. C. was the most compassionate and concerned doctor I've ever had.  I've seen him through all three of my miscarriages.  Each time he reminded me that what was happening wasn't my fault and that there was nothing I could have done that would have hurt the baby.  The thing that I really loved about Dr. C. is he that he never called my baby by all the medical terms the ultrasound tech and my OBGYN called her.  Words like "fetus", "embryo", etc.  I know those are the medical terms but my baby wasn't just a medical term.  She was growing in me and although I didn't have a chance to feel her move I was doing everything I could to try and keep her alive.  

To be honest though when I first learned that she had no heart beat I called her an it.  "It" had died.  "It" needed to be removed.  I remember coming home and the strongest feeling I had was that my womb was a tomb.  I was carrying a dead baby but I couldn't deal with it being a baby at that time.  It was an "it" because to try and say that I was carrying a dead baby was too much.  I wasn't capable of calling her my baby.  That and I had to decide what to do to get "it" out.  To think of it as removing a baby is still hard to think about when you're getting a D&C or even to pass it naturally.  At the same time I knew it wasn't an "it" because I remember seeing on the ultrasound her tiny toes and fingers.  I remembers seeing her and she wasn't an "it".

After my D&C as I was struggling with the fact that she was now gone out of my body and I was now empty she was no longer an "it".  She was Hope.  I never made it to the ultrasound that would tell me if she was a girl or a boy.  She died when she was 9 weeks old but I was carrying her when she should have been 11 weeks.  Some people ask how did you know she was a girl?  I know this sounds silly but with each of my babies I have dreams about what sex they are going to be before I have the ultrasound.  With Hannah and Henry I was right and I like to think that this dream was too.  In this dream I saw my sweet baby as we were getting sealed together in the temple.  I can still picture her in my head in the beautiful white dress.  

As we were getting farther along I began feeling safer to plan the future.  When you've had multiple miscarriages I think you always feel a little scared to plan for the future.  When I found out about this pregnancy I was so scared.  Scared to lose another baby.  Scared to have to lose another baby that I wanted so badly.  But this pregnancy I decided that instead of fear I was going to have hope.  If this was going to be my last pregnancy I wasn't going to spend it in fear.  I was going to try and have joy in it.  

The further we got along the more I started to think of names.  Especially since I had my dream and felt like it was a girl.  We knew that this would be our last baby and so we felt like we needed to have another "H" name.  I have two kids, Henry and Hannah. I felt that if I didn't name this baby with an "H" name then she would be left out.  So we thought of "H" names.  There really aren't a ton of "H" names for a girl.  At least not a ton that I liked so when I started thinking of names the first name that I KNEW fit her was "Hope".  She was my hope for more children.  She was my hope to get through all the sickness.  She was my hope that God was listening.  If I had hope she would be fine.  So she was named Hope.  

I know that for some people that haven't experienced it naming a baby that is only 9 weeks old seems silly.  It wasn't a real person to them. But she was a real person to me.  I felt like I went to hell and back to try and take care of her.  All the sickness and the poking and all the hoping.  She was real.  She is real.  She is my baby.  Before having had miscarriages I also thought it was silly that people would get so upset over something so early.  You hadn't seen them, you hadn't even felt them.  You only knew you were pregnant for 5 weeks really.  How could you be so attached?  I was wrong.  It's different when you experience it and it's hard to make people understand it.  It's more than just 5 weeks.  For 5 weeks you thought about that baby.  You made plans for that baby.  You looked forward to all the first.  She was very real as are all the other babies people have lost during early pregnancy.  

So without further ado today's prompt for today is:

Talk to your partner or a close friend or family member about the language you want to use (and just as important, don't want to use) in talking about your loss.  

For me, she is my baby.  She is my Hope baby.  All of my "losses" are my babies.  I have lost three babies.  I haven't lost three fetuses, or embryos.  They weren't "it's".  They were loved from the moment I saw the lines on the pregnancy test.  They will be loved forever.  They are my angel babies that someday I will get to see and hopefully raise.  

My "one word" that brings me peace, that isn't hollow is HOPE.