As instructed I called the nurse the following morning to schedule surgery. She had to contact the hospital in order to reserve an operating room. I waited for a call back. I had high hopes of a date sooner rather than later; possibly Thursday andFriday of that week. I couldn't imagine having to endure the weekend in the state I was currently in. The nurse called me back later Wednesday afternoon andI would no longer have to imagine the pain of enduring the weekend because it was now a reality. I was scheduled for laminaria insertion on Monday at 11 am and surgery for Tuesday at 8:45.
I hung up the phone with a series of mixed emotions. I was beyond grateful I was able to receive the services I needed. I had doubt in myself getting through the next 5 days. I was deeply saddened by the end result of the choice I was forced to make.
Never in a million years could any amount of words give justice to the emotional pain I endured during the 5 days of waiting for what would be the most devastating 2 days of my life.
G had taken Wednesday, Thursday and Friday off to be with me. I thought I would be able to go back to work on Thursday. I was wrong. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't bear to take something to assist in sleeping due to my no meds during pregnancy rule. I was still pregnant. As far as I knew my baby boy was peacefully sleeping in my womb. I couldn't bear to disrupt him in any way. I wanted to suffer. I welcomed the pain. It became the only way I could cope. It became the only thing I thought I could possibly do for my baby boy.
I returned to work on Friday. I cried a lot. As hard as I tried I couldn't collect myself. I remember a close coworker of mine once asked me if I was ever upset or depressed. I responded, "Of course! I just easily hide being upset." There was no hiding my devastation and sadness on Friday. I wept alone. I wept on a close coworkers shoulder. I wept to my boss while discussing my leave from work. I wept every moment I had a chance knowing this was the last day I would be at work with my baby boy inside of me.
The weekend was full of sadness and fear. I continued living my pregnancy lifestyle. I was indeed 19 weeks and 3/4 days pregnant. I was carrying a baby boy who's heart was beating 160 bpm. From the outside I was the average 2nd trimester pregnant woman complete with tailbone pain and cravings. From the inside I was grieving as I knew my pregnancy was going to come to an end just after the weekend passed.
I fought the cravings. I fought the nighttime trips to the bathroom. I squeezed into my non-maternity jeans. I hid my baby bump as quickly as I embraced it. I once would lay silently with my hand on my belly hoping to feel my 1st kick instead I feared feeling it. I cringed when G embraced or touched my belly. I instantly erupted into tears when I encountered random pregnancy paraphernalia (baby book, fetal heart monitor, belly balm). I began hoping to find blood when I went to the bathroom. My wish that he would be able to leave on his own terms.
I couldn't bear to disrupt my baby boy's last days in my womb. I continued taking my prenatal vitamins which came with my first morning tears. I couldn't even think of disrupting him with caffeine. I wanted to be the best mommy I could if that makes sense.
On Sunday I had quiet words with my baby boy. I told him I loved him with all of my heart and explained to him that my Great Aunt Josie and G's Grandmother would be taking over for me when he reached heaven.
To say the weekend before my surgery was tough is a gross understatement.
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