Didn’t get a chance to read Part 1 of this cautionary tale? Read it here, Love >> Two Faint Lines, The High Before The Fall & Luxury
I look down at my hands, warm water pooling in-between each finger. Have they always been this white? Why are my knuckles purple?
“I think you’re going into shock, Jess” Kayla said from right outside the shower curtain. She’d left the conference to come be with me.
This pain hit with such force that all I could do was deal. It brought me back to my birth experience with L. We, as Women, instinctively know to go “inside” ourselves when the sensations require something…more. More than we’ve ever felt.
I alternate between swaying, breathing deeply, settling my belly in-between my hips. The warm water is a welcome respite from the constant sharp pressure below.
“Am I losing my baby?” I thought. No, block it out. You can’t think that, Jess. Just breathe.
Kayla’s a force of strength and calm. I’m wrestling with causing her to miss the teaching, but I need her right now. She’s on and off the phone with my midwife. We don’t think it’s something serious. (Do we?)
I finally crawl out of the steamy bathroom, gently lying on the crisp, white hotel bed. It’s all I can do to keep from crying like a banshee. Out of sheer exhaustion from the pain, I ask Kayla to take me to the ER.
“I honestly don’t want to feel the pain anymore,” I tell her. And, she takes me.
The staff rushes me back. I’ve never been taken back that quickly. Am I that transparent? The ultrasound makes me scream and my ribs seize. I can’t breath. “Out! Get out! Let me sit up!” I scream.
More pain medicine. A second try.
They can’t see the baby. But, there’s fluid…it’s blood. The Doctor tells me they’re sending the ultrasound to radiology. She thinks it’s an ectopic pregnancy.
I don’t know how long she’s been there, but Kayla’s by my side. Holding onto me. We’re both crying. I hear, like someone else is in the room with us, “Your baby is OK.”
I tell Kayla, “I don’t believe them!” We weep. How is this possible? I’ve never lost a baby. I can’t lose this little one. I spiral.
They go in for surgery, and it’s a ruptured ovarian cyst. The baby is present and accounted for. Daniel, my sister in law Lisa, and L are in the room when my consciousness surfaces. All is well?
The night sky flies above me. Daniel is tense in the driver’s seat. L, bless his heart, is struggling in the back seat. He doesn’t understand why we can’t pull over. “I’ll be home soon,” I think.
My hand grips the side panel. Every movement hurts. Nightmarish thoughts keep surfacing, as if I’m dreaming. A car stops in front of us. Why? Are they coming to take me?
I’m home, but I lay down and my ribs seize again. I’m screaming, and Daniel looks scared for me. The bathwater is left undrained, L’s toys bobbing innocently on the surface. I’m going back to the hospital. Another surgery. I’m still bleeding. Am I stuck in a loop? When will this end?
At this point, I think I’ve gone to another place within myself. The kind of place you don’t know you have until you need to be safe. I can see it reflected in others’ faces. The anesthesiologist. My sister in law. The OBGYN on call.
The baby’s OK. My little warrior. That’s all that matters…isn’t it? Fresh scars. I don’t know what I’m feeling.
This is not where my story ends. It’s not where yours ends either. You don’t stay in the dark, it’s simply a part of reaching the light.
Thank you for witnessing my journey.
>> Next week, I’m going to dive deep into how to actually navigate something traumatic, and how to keep it from obliterating your happiness (and your business.) Stick with me, Love.
Not in that space in your life? That’s OK! I know you’ll receive value from it all the same. Stay tuned!