When John and I first found out we were pregnant we thought it would be a good idea to get Baby James accustomed to infants, so we bought him a little plush baby boy doll to help him learn. We decided to name the baby Bruce, after Bruce Wayne of course, but James had a hard time pronouncing it. Instead, he would call the baby “Moose.” But not just his baby. Our baby, too. Or my belly, rather. Which we have absolutely fallen in love with. In fact, he’s kind of abandoned his Moose and gravitated solely to our Moose, giving my belly kisses and nuzzles and putting his little forehead on it, which is his sign of affection to things and people he’s a little uncertain about.
Needless to say, “Moose” was born. Or rather, the nickname for our little fig growing in my tum. Thank Heavens Moose wasn’t literally born. I mean, I’m only 12 weeks along. Which brings us to our story.
At about 9:00 Wednesday night I began to cramp deep in my pelvis. I had felt these types of cramps before, but only about once a month before I got pregnant (if you know what I’m getting at) and they hadn’t been as strong as the ones I was experiencing that evening. They were distinct enough, in fact, that as soon as I started feeling them I told John. We weren’t too worried at first, but I asked John for a blessing just in case. He was in the shower, though, so I waited on the bed with James as the cramps were only getting worse. I began to get really nervous. Through heavy tears I plead with my Father in Heaven to not let me be lose my baby. James, a precious example of empathy, began to cry with me as he sensed something was not right. John came in to give me a blessing and noticed I was emotional. He asked if I was scared, I immediately said I was, and he reassured me that he felt that everything really was going to be fine. I got up to go to the bathroom before the blessing but soon realized moisture in my underwear. I was bleeding. Bright red. And lots of it.
My knees buckled and I began to sob uncontrollably. I screamed out, “I’m bleeding! I’m bleeding! No, please no!!” I couldn’t get myself up off the floor, I was so crippled with devastation. I had never before experienced anything complicating during pregnancy. I have always felt that my body was the perfect entity for growing babies, that my uterus was the most hospitable of hostesses. But now I was cramping and bleeding, and my worst fears were being realized. John embraced me and sobbed with me and helped me up so that we could take action.
We jumped in the car to head to the emergency room. I called my doctor along the way and she didn’t sound very hopeful. Within the six minutes it took to get to the hospital, I had given up all hope and concluded that my sweet little baby was gone. I have never wept so genuinely.
I think the most unfair situation a person can be in is to feel like your baby’s life is being threatened but to have to wait in a waiting room before you can find that out. When we finally made it back, the amazing bedside manner began (not.). The nurse who was checking us in asked why we were at the emergency room, and when I explained that I thought I was having a miscarriage, he nonchalantly replied, “Yep, I think ya are too,” like he got some weird self gratification by saying that, because he was a big fancy nurse and knew lots of stuff about miscarriages. Anyway, it left no room for false hope, and was just flat out insensitive. The end.
After some more waiting we were finally taken to a room. We were alone in the room for a while and felt scared and sad, but talked about how we could do hard things together, as long as we had each other. John read some beautiful scriptures to me and I felt an odd peace, although I was convinced my baby was gone. There was no question in my mind. I kept thinking what it would be like to watch my little niece and nephew grow up, all the while thinking that that is the stage my little baby would have been in, too. Did I tell you that two of my sisters are pregnant, too? Due just two months before Moose? We have made grand plans for this little batch of babies, and I was so sad to think that my baby wouldn’t be included in them anymore.
A little while later the phlebotomist came in, and while he was so nice and sweet, he just had no clue at how insensitive the things he said were. He asked if we had any kids, and when we told him we had one little boy he asked if we were planning for any more. I then explained to him that we were actually in the E.R. because I thought I was miscarrying, and is first reaction was, “Oh, yeah I am surprised at how common those are! I know so many people who have had them.” Oh, that makes it so much easier, thank you! I just think people get nervous and panic when they are unexpectedly placed in a position to have to say something to someone who is mourning. I really tried to not take offense, and I wouldn’t say that I did. But I did take note at how dumb that was of him to say, bless his heart. Strike two for the E.R. staff. Meanwhile, there was a poor elderly woman in the room next door who kept yelling hello? and kept being ignored over and over, because of her age, I’m sure. My heart went out to her. She was someone’s baby once. I heard the nurse impatiently repeat, “We’ll send someone in… We’ll send someone in…” I don’t know if anyone was ever sent in, because she kept yelling out hello? … Strike three.
Luckily our wonderful resident redeemed everyone else. She came in, fresh on her shift with energy and empathy, and for the first time that night gave us hope. She explained that a third of all pregnancies bleed, and only a third of those end up miscarrying. She also explained that while she believed me that there was a lot of blood, she also wanted us to know that it doesn’t take a ton of blood to look like a ton of blood, so that I might not actually be bleeding as much as I thought. She was calming and reassuring, and when she did the ultrasound and showed us our little Moose bouncing around and waving and being a little baby, we wept again. But for gratitude and relief. It was like our baby was resurrected! All the hope that was buried was reborn and overflowing in our hearts. Our baby is okay, and that is all that matters. I don’t know how he/she is okay, but he/she is. Moose is a mighty fighter!
So I’m on bed rest now. I feel so pathetically fragile, but I am willing to do whatever it takes to keep Moose safe. I would cut off my legs if I had to! So bed rest, I can do. Thank you so much to my Mama who took James last night, and for all of those who have expressed love and concern. We are not out of the woods yet, so please keep praying for our little family and our little Mighty Moose!