Jennifer Groft

There was not a pithy title for this post, anything seemed to casual or too blunt. Even “Again” sounds all wrong to me, but I have to stick something there.

I gave myself last week off from writing the 7 Quick Takes, even though it was my primary goal to go through March writing one every week, and even though I have already missed one so far and this one makes it two.

But my baby died on Thursday. Or maybe Wednesday. Probably Wednesday. And then I fully miscarried Friday morning. And I just really didn’t want to write about anything at all. I figured I would regret just about anything that came out of my mouth (or fingers) that day.

On Wednesday, I woke up and felt fully nauseated. And I was relieved, because I had only been feeling a little gaggy so far. I had a good breakfast and got busy around the house, taking kids to this school and that, picking them up… but I forgot to eat lunch. I didn’t feel sick to my stomach like usual. That seemed wrong. I had a snack and later on I had some soup for dinner. But I still felt just fine, not even tired really. When I still wasn’t tired and had trouble falling asleep at 10pm, I knew. I just knew that it was all over. I have never been so sure of anything in my life.

Thursday morning when I got up, I took my temperature – it was much lower than it had been. And I knew. When Jay got up, I told him that it was all happening again. He tried to comfort me but I really needed to not cry – to not fall apart until the kids were safely at school. That was hard. I broke down on the drive to school and was so thankful for loud music and my sunglasses to hide behind. I don’t know if they saw. I cried through my rosary on the way home. By the time I got home I was fully bleeding and cramping and I called the doctor.

My doctor’s office was about to fit me in at 1pm. Jay was at work on the other side of town, but my oldest kids were able to babysit and do the school pick up. I drove an hour to the doctor office. It’s usually a 45 minute drive, but I missed my freeway exit. By about 10 miles. So it was a little longer that Thursday. I arrived and checked in. Everyone greeted me with sad eyes. I was told to get ready for an exam. They asked, can the student come in? And I said no. They left before the exam to see if they could schedule an ultrasound right away, and when they came back, they brought my husband with them. I can’t even describe the relief I felt, to not be in this alone. He had called off his afternoon job and come to my side, my knight in shining armor, and I didn’t even ask. But he’s like that.

After the exam, we went to McDonalds so I could drink a bunch of sweet tea for my ultrasound. I haven’t let myself have sweet tea in at least 6 months, but I had some then. And after that we went and waited in a very crowded ultrasound/x-ray place, Jay had to stand because there were no more chairs. The ultrasound was torturous, it hurt – I was cramping badly and I could see that there was no little flashing heartbeat on the screen anywhere. I just closed my eyes and cried quietly through it.

Then there was the long drive home. Jay had to go and drop something off, so we parted for the drive. I was actually thankful for the afternoon traffic. As much as I felt bad – my head was pounding and I was cramping, I wasn’t looking forward to getting home and facing chaos and telling the kids. When I got home I went straight to bed, to cry, to ball up and try to soothe my head. Jay got home and got dinner on the table. I went out and had some turkey soup from the other night. I knew it would make me feel better. It did.

We told the kids. The big ones already knew, but the younger ones didn’t and they were confused and sad. Max, age 9, came up to me later and told me he thought the baby would be okay because he prayed two decades of a rosary for it. I don’t remember what I said to him, but it clearly wasn’t sufficient because he still was thinking the baby was going to be okay on Saturday night. Then we had to explain it to him, and he cried.

I passed the baby the next morning, about an hour before we got the ultrasound report that confirmed the miscarriage. Then I had to untell about my pregnancy on Facebook. I felt a little embarrassed, but I was so amazed at the outpouring of love and prayers from our friends. I know that those prayers have lifted us up and keep us moving. I am so thankful for the support from our friends and family.

Today is Sunday, and I am still so tired. I would like to stay busy right now, it would be an easy way to keep my mind off of things. But I keep getting a terrible headache when I am up for too long at a time. So I have no choice but to rest.

Later this week we will have a burial for the baby. We named him Ambrose, because it was Ambrose’s preaching that converted St. Augustine, and we hope our own St. Ambrose can quietly speak to our hearts and the hearts of those close to us.