An Absinthe-Loving, Polyamorous, Kinky, Sex-Positive Couple talk about all things Sex, Kink, and LGBTQ.

I Love You I Never Met You Goodbye

I do not want to be writing this.  I do not want to be writing anything.  I do not want to be at work, or in front of  computer, or doing anything other than holding Mrs. AbsinthePassion while we eat ridiculous amounts of junk food and drink potent alcohol and watch television shows and films that will seem immeasurably deep and complex while we’re drunk.  I want out of this pain that runs so deep even the Marianas Trench would be afraid to peer over the edge of the yawning abyss.  I also want to spare you, SINful friends, of this pain, so be warned, continuing further down this path finds only sorrow and despair.  Continue at your peril.

Sunday night Mrs. AP and I learned we lost a child.  We’d not yet met this child of ours, this glorious new life formed as our union made manifest, and in one long hospital visit learned we never will.  Nothing on this earth is more devastating than losing a child, and the pain seems magnified over the realization that we never got to even say hello to whom we must now say goodbye.

Mrs. AP and I have known for nearly 6 weeks that we’re pregnant; we realized in early September that she’d not had her period since Mid-July.  She usually runs on a 35 day schedule, and by the time it dawned us that the schedule was long overdue we had already noticed the signs of increased sense of smell, difficulty keeping down certain foods, etc.  I mentioned previously, I have 2 bio-kids and Mrs. AP has 3; we’re neither one new to the mysteries of pregnancy and the early warning signs.  We both wanted to keep quiet until after we new, beyond reasonable doubt, that everything would continue without a problem.  We thought we hit that when we crossed the 12-week mark last week that we were in the clear.  We had the county health center confirm via urine sample last week to help facilitate an update to insurance so we could get OB care through Mrs. AP’s preferred doctor.  We were picking out clothing and furniture and running off the innate sense — one of a perfect record — that Mrs. AP had regarding the sex of our slowly forming little one.

Saturday afternoon Mrs. AP had one bout of light spotting, but it passed and we thought we’d mention it in the upcoming OB visit this week.  Sunday afternoon she noticed pink and some clotting when she wiped, and in the space of the next 2 hours she began to feel increasingly weak.  The bleeding did not get work, but it did not abate.  Within 3 hours of us waking up we were in the emergency room.  We were run through the ringer, with them drawing blood, scheduling her for a RhoGam shot, and sending us over to Maternity for an ultrasound.  The exterior ultrasound was having difficulty detecting anything, so they switched to vaginal, a first for both Mrs. AP and me.

After more waiting, and the application of a RhoGam shot, we were then informed that there is no fetal heartbeat.  Estimates from the ultrasound put the growth having stopped somewhere in week 9.  Here we were, nearly 13 weeks in, with no warning signs of anything being wrong, and this hammer, this devastating blow, was delivered upon us.

We are both crushed and devastated.  Worse, Mrs. AP is anemic and still has to pass everything or be put through D and C.  Regardless, we have to see our OB this week, which is where our frustrations and limits are being more fully tested.

I don’t carry insurance through work (nor paid days off for any reason, even medical emergencies that necessitate I take the night off), and Mrs. AP hasn’t been able to land an interview out of hundreds of resumes submitted over the past 2 years.  She and the children are covered under Medicaid, but there’s not a single OB office — not even the one attached to the hospital in who’s ER we were treated — that will accept Medicaid.  Our purpose for visiting the health center last week was to get the requisite forms to have Mrs. AP updated to Pregnancy Medicaid.  That update is still pending.

Furthermore, test results show Mrs. AP has a UTI, despite noticing no symptoms of it at home.  The prescription given us needs be filled, but the 2 pharmacies we’ve tried thus far do not accept the Medicaid-associated HMO through which drugs are covered.

Mrs. AP now has increasing amounts of pain in her pelvic region, back, and lower abdomen.  We got our ex-roommate to come spend the night the next two nights while I’m at work.  I have to pick up an extra shift Friday to make-up for the time and money lost by not working Sunday night.

Emotionally, we’re both wrecks.

I’ve dealt with loss before.  My ex-wife and I suffered 2 miscarriages together before we got married and later had 2 beautiful children.  In the past 5 years I’ve dealt with the deaths of 3 grandparents and the blackballing by all my blood relatives.  You’d think I’ve be better at handling this, but I’m not.  I’m a wreck.  I can’t go more than an hour without breaking down into deep, heartbreaking, gut wrenching sobs.  I’ve got more snot production tonight than an entire Kindergarten class during flu season.  I’ve cried so much my face might as well be a salt lick.  This is abjectly wrong.  I want my baby!

We were too early in to stand any chance of learning whether we were going to have a boy or a girl.  The best I could see on the ultrasound machine was a blob that looked much like a snowman in blizzard — indistinct and cold.

I want to find a silver lining in this.  I know we were ahead of schedule, and that our current household situation doesn’t lend well to having an infant.  I know we would need a car capable of hauling around 6 people.  I know we need a better job from me and income from Mrs. AP’s freelancing to support the changes we need to make.  But damn it all to the coldest blackest hell Dante can imagine, we were going to make this work!  And it’s gone, ripped away while leaving us with these broken pieces, and all while the ridiculously fucking broken medical system in this country gives us a giant finger and tells us to spin on it.

I will not be well any time soon.  I know Mrs. AP won’t either.  Right now I want nothing else but to go home and hold her and somehow, through that, make everything alright.

Goodbye, my dear sweet innocent child-to-be.  I never met you and never will, but I love you forever.


Stay SINful, friends.

19 responses

  1. I am so sorry. I have lost two children before I met them. One after the other, 12 months apart. I had names picked out, even though it was really early. I imagined one was a girl and one was a boy. It hurts to think about them now, even though it was 7 years ago. I remember people saying the most horrible things. I remember even my (now ex)husband telling me to move on, that it wasn’t meant to be.
    He didn’t know the depth of my pain.
    With the first loss I went a mental sabbatical and ended up running a marathon(literally). With the second one I went on anti-depressants. It still doesn’t make any sense to me. I even told my (then smaller)children about them. Then I had to tell them they were gone. I had a conversation with my son one night, two years after the second miscarriage, and I told him God only gave me one son. (this was before my preemie came along). He said, quick as a flash “No Mom, you have two. Remember have one in heaven!”
    I had to take the time and find my own reason to carry on. No one could tell me when to stop grieving the loss. I am grateful that you shared your loss with us. It gave me a chance to remember my babies in heaven and talk about them.
    Its okay to be a wreck. Fall apart if you need to. Everything else can wait.

    October 16, 2012 at 1:24 am

  2. Oh Mr. AP – I am saddened by this, but if you will permit me the Pollyana remark that I can’t seem to withhold – the part where you said, “We were going to make this work!” That is the part that gives me hope for your light at the end of a dark tunnel… because you know, life happens in spite of all good planning, and I love that you can recognize that. I am sorry that you weren’t able to live it and prove it in this case.


    October 16, 2012 at 1:35 am

  3. There are no platitudes I can offer. All I can do is wish you and your family my condolences and send you my virtual hugs, a box of tissues, warm duvet, and some chocolate. Oh, and a lot of pottery to throw against walls so you can scream and shout at the unfairness of it all.


    October 16, 2012 at 4:11 am

  4. workspousestory

    My sincere condolences, this must be so hard for you… I really hope you can pull through with the love and support for each other… our thoughts are with you xx

    October 16, 2012 at 5:44 am

  5. So very sorry, how devastating for you both, hugs and warm wishes.


    October 16, 2012 at 6:02 am

  6. Ohno I’m so sorry to hear. Sending you lots of hugs for your time of grief. All the love to both of you.

    October 16, 2012 at 6:44 am

  7. faerie

    Big hugs and lots of healing energy for both you and Mrs. AP. I can’t imagine the devastation you must be feeling. Your precious little one rests in the arms of angels now and will be waiting to meet you when you get there, hopefully many years from now.

    October 16, 2012 at 7:42 am

  8. Truly sorry for your loss.

    October 16, 2012 at 9:06 am

  9. Mr. and Mrs. AP
    There is nothing I can say that will
    Make you feel better. I am so very sorry for your loss. I remember your pain and the hole that swallowed all of the sun and joy when it happens. Thank you for sharing and please know that the blog-world is behind you. Be good to eachother.

    October 16, 2012 at 9:23 am

  10. I’ve been there, through too many lost babies and dreams cut short and the shortcomings (to put it politely) of the medical system. As if grieving for your baby and for the loss of the future you’d imagined wasn’t hard enough, to have bureaucracy prolong it, well, it’s absolutely criminal.

    My deepest condolences for the death of your baby and all the pain you and the Mrs. are going through. Take care of one another.


    October 16, 2012 at 9:46 am

  11. I am so, so so so sorry. 😦

    October 16, 2012 at 12:35 pm

  12. There are no words to convey the sympathy I want to express to you and yours. We are truly sorry for your loss.

    Mr. No Name & SM

    October 16, 2012 at 3:47 pm

  13. Hold each other tight, be each others rock.. and after a little time, refocus on the children that are here, that are thriving.. that need your love and guidance even more.

    Much care

    Pea ~x~

    October 16, 2012 at 7:31 pm

  14. I am so so so sorry for your loss. Hugs to both of you……..


    October 17, 2012 at 12:09 am

  15. I’m so sorry you have to be going though this. While things in your life were not ready for a baby, I understand how devastating this is for you. This child was a part of each of you and a symbol of your love. I can imagine the fear yet excitement you were feeling and now that has been taken away. I don’t have words of comfort as I don’t believe there are any that would be capable of making you feel better. My heart does go out to you both for your loss.

    Since I live in a city that has the University of the state in it, it accepts all medicaid insurances. It is a big hospital and has many physician offices affiliated with it and they all have to accept medicaid also. I would think there would have to be someone that would take it, but then no one here will take medicaid for dental work for adults 😦

    October 17, 2012 at 2:14 am

  16. Pingback: The Saga Continues « AbSINthePassion

  17. Thank you all. From the bottomless depths of both our hearts, thank you. The love and support is incredible. You’re all amazing.

    Stay SINful
    Mr. AP

    October 17, 2012 at 4:15 am

  18. So very sorry to read of your loss.

    October 17, 2012 at 12:37 pm

  19. Mr. AP:

    I’m so sorry. No words can help, but know that you both are in my thoughts.

    October 17, 2012 at 7:28 pm

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