The Miscarriage

I knew I had been talking as the fog lifted, but I had no idea what I had said.  Had I been complaining?  Had I made sense?  Were the nurses laughing inside over the foolish stuff I had been prattling off?  The more cognizant I became the more embarrassed I felt.  One thing was sure, I did not like being drugged.

Slowly everything came back to me.  I was in the hospital.  I had been hemorrhaging.  The doctor had given me an emergency D&C to stop the bleeding.  Oh, that’s right, I had been pregnant and had a miscarriage.  As I remembered I opened my eyes and saw Sheldon standing next to my bed, grinning from ear to ear.  Maybe he'd heard some of the dumb things I had said.  Maybe he'd been flirting with the cute nurse standing at the foot of my bed.  Maybe he was just glad I wasn't pregnant any more.  Whatever the reason, he sure looked happy.

The nurse saw me open my eyes and she stepped up beside me.  "How are you feeling?" she asked kindly. 

"OK, I guess," I croaked.  Was something wrong with my throat?

"Here, try a little drink of water," she suggested, pressing a cup up against my lips.  "Sip it slowly."

I drank a little, and it helped.  It felt like there was something stuck in my throat, but I knew there wasn't really anything there.

"They put a tube down your throat during surgery," the nurse explained.  "It will be soar for a bit, but you'll feel better after awhile."

A wave of foggy tiredness swept over me. I closed my eyes and sank back into the pillow.  Brother, I didn't feel good!  I lay there, listening to Sheldon chat with the nurse, and floated in and out of sleep for awhile.  The next time my mind started working I wondered when Sheldon had got there?  Mom had driven me to the hospital.

A few months earlier I had discovered I was pregnant with our fourth baby.  Russell was almost two years old and I was pleased we were adding to our family, but Sheldon wasn't.  Everything was fine for the first three months, but during the fourth month the baby stopped growing.  My doctor sent me to get a sonogram, and they discovered something was wrong.  The doctor warned me that I would probably start bleeding and miscarry, but he said not to worry unless I began to hemorrhage.  Then I'd need to get to the hospital quickly.

A few days later I began bleeding.  At first it wasn't very heavy, although my heart was knowing I was loosing my baby.  By evening I was bleeding more, but still not that bad.  Sheldon had a cub-scout pack meeting that night, but I thought he would tell them he couldn't make it since I might need him to take me to the hospital.  I was wrong.  He said he'd be back in a couple of hours and he went anyway.

I was doing OK until about 7:00, when suddenly the bleeding got very heavy.  I called mom.  She came over and picked me up, the kids went to her house to stay with Julie and Sharon, and she took me down to the hospital.  They quickly admitted me when they saw the blood dripping down my leg, puddling on the floor. I was rushed into surgery, where the anesthesiologist got mad at me for eating dinner. 


"You aren't supposed to eat anything before you have an operation," he yelled, embarrassing me to tears.   How was I supposed to know that?  I hadn't even known I was going to go to the hospital. 


The nurse was really sweet and gave me an understanding smile, but by that time I was shaking all over. All I can remember is someone giving me a shot, putting a mask over my face, and then nothing.

I stayed in recovery for about an hour until I was able to sit up and answer some questions.  Then I was discharged from the hospital and sent home. 


"You'll be kind of groggy for awhile," the nurse told me as I signed some papers and got ready to go, "but you shouldn't have any trouble.  Just go home and take it easy for a few days."

They wheeled me out to our car which Sheldon had driven up next to the door.  When I stood up I got all woozy again, but it passed after I'd sat down in the front seat for a couple of minutes.  Sheldon started the car and drove out of the parking lot. 

"I promised the secretary at work that you would make a cake to celebrate some birthdays tomorrow," he told me as he turned onto the main street in front of the hospital.  "They love the chocolate cherry cake you make."

I looked at him in surprise, but quickly shut my eyes as a wave of dizziness washed over me.  "I don't have the stuff to make it," I told him weakly.

"That's OK," he said brightly.  "It's not that late yet.  Fry's will still be open, so we'll stop on the way home and I'll run in and get everything you need."

I really couldn't believe my ears.  I had just been released from the hospital, and he expected me to make a cake for him to take to work the next day?  But that's exactly what he wanted.

We stopped at the store and he let me stay in the car while he ran inside.  When we got home he helped me out of the car and I stumbled into bed to sleep off the anesthetic, but Sheldon woke me up at 6:00 so I could bake the cake in time for him to take it to work.

When he left that day I went back to bed, covered my head with my pillow, and cried.  I hated Sheldon.  I hated him so much that it scared me just to think about it.  I hated him with all the hate, anger, hurt, frustration, disillusionment, and sadness that I had stuffed inside ever since we got married.  I hated him!

For two days I harbored that anger, going about my daily tasks like an automaton, but inside boiling and seething over the pain my husband had caused me, and then I woke up.  It was like a light went on inside my head the third morning, and I asked myself, "What are you going to do?"  Because, like it or not, I was stuck with Sheldon.  I had married him for time and all eternity.  I had promised I would love, honor, support, be loyal to and stick with Sheldon no matter what.  Did I really want to be stuck with a guy I hated for the rest of eternity?  No way!  So what could I do about it? 

One thing I knew, divorce was out of the question.  That meant I only had two options.  I could either endure the hell I was living in now for the rest of eternity, hoping that maybe someday Sheldon would either change, or else get so bad that he wouldn't be worthy of heaven and I'd get out of our contract that way, or else I could change myself and stop hating him. 

Mom had always taught us, "You love the ones you serve."  I could hear her voice ringing through my mind that day as I struggled with what I should do, and then suddenly I was at peace.  I could serve him.  I could do something, myself, to change the way I felt about Sheldon. I didn't have to just endure to the end in this misery and pain.  I could serve him.

I'm not saying I stopped hating Sheldon that day.  I was still angry and hurt and frustrated and all the other stuff.  But I had hope.  There was something I could do, and that gave me a direction to go in, reason to hang on, and a hope that things would someday be better.  And they were.

I began that very day trying to do something nice for Sheldon every day.  I got up extra early and made him special breakfasts and packed him goodies in his lunch, including a love note in every bag.  I tried to find other ways to surprise him, like sending cookies to work or mowing the lawn or washing the car before he had to.  It was amazing to me how quickly my heart did change, and how soon the angry feelings and hate slipped away and were replaced with peace and contentment, and even love before too long. 


Not that I became the perfect wife and never got cross, I did.  Not that I forgot the pain and disappointment of the past, I didn't.  It just stopped hurting as much.  We still had our monthly fights about money and what was right or wrong.  I still got cross when he was late coming home or he selfishly did what he wanted to do without caring how it effected me or the kids, but I got over it quickly and most of the time we were happy.  Most of all, I could honestly say that I loved Sheldon again, though I might not like him all the time, and that was a wonderful feeling.  I loved him, no matter what he said or did, and I was glad that he was my husband and I was his wife. And life was good again.