On the other side

I flip the calendar over to a new month: September. The summer is ending and we are heading into fall---the smell of crisp leaves on the ground, football, cool breezes during our family walks, pumpkin spice candles, apple orchards, hot coffee, crock pot meals, fleeces, and sweaters. I love all four seasons we get to experience in Wisconsin but fall has to be one of the best. The scents in this cooler air remind me of last year and I can't help but flip through my pictures from September 2011 with a sense of wonder. Was it really just one year ago?

Last year at this time I was over-thinking every twinge in my body, desperately hoping that I was pregnant. Desperate. That is a great word for the Julia of September 2011. I vowed not to test for a few more days but I couldn't get out of my own head. I wanted so badly to be pregnant again. I would say it was bordering on an obsession, really. My head was filled with thoughts on babies and pregnancy tests and ovulation strips and timing and symptoms and hope but fear and plenty of anxiety. Prayers each night requesting a patient heart, His will be done, not mine. And when that Saturday morning finally came, and I allowed my self to test, I could feel the weight of that moment on my shoulders. 'Pregnant'. It was happening again. And Cecelia's tiny being was a matter of a few cells, rapidly multiplying and ready to fight for survival.

My pregnancy journey from the positive test until her birth was....rough at times. Nothing was certain. I was bleeding at six weeks and heard the words, 'I've never seen a bleed this big turn out okay in the end.' I was awaiting another miscarriage. Cecelia wasn't supposed to be sleeping in the swing next to me as I type this. And yet, here she is---every bit the fighter that we saw on that ultrasound screen last year. She's here and she is amazing and truly the most wonderful miracle I've experienced. Words could never fully capture the love I have for my daughter and it seems silly to even try to describe how grateful I am for this little lady. Gratitude. Thankful. And even when my little fighter is fighting any sort of routine, or the bottle, or sleep, and I'm fighting back tears----even then, I wouldn't trade a second of it for the world. She is worth it. I think back to the Julia of September 2011 and remember how badly I ached for our second child. And I'd gladly take the sleepless nights and newborn dramas over the desperation for another pregnancy.

Prior to that magical moment of Cecelia's announcement into the world with a positive test, we had been through some of the most difficult months I could have imagined. And it's those months of grief and mourning and loss and despair that I find myself sorting through a year later. It's not that I think about my miscarriage a lot, and I don't let it get me down too often. I don't want you to think I'm sitting around dwelling on the loss or feeling sorry for myself. But when those memories come back to the surface they still make my heart hurt. Who was baby Wren? Why did it have to happen? Why did I have to have one of the most complicated, prolonged, expensive miscarriages ever? My story still seems like it happened to someone else and as I type it out, or read back over my own posts, I almost feel like it was all a dream. Or a nightmare, I suppose.

My body didn't know the baby's heart stopped beating and I needed medication to get the actual miscarriage going. It was painful. It was scary. It was horrible. I bled for 6 weeks just waiting to fully lose my baby, then had severe hemorrhaging and landed in the ER, where the staff handled my case like crap. Threw out words like 'hysterectomy' and 'large mass' and didn't provide any sort of answers or hope. Then I had the surgery I so badly needed and things started to return to a new normal. And nearly 7k later, with an entire summer of heartbreak, we entered the fall. When I saw the word 'pregnant' and felt a sense of peace, if ever so brief, that the worst was behind us.

I hear the creaking of the swing next to me and glance over at my beautiful baby girl, and I get a little choked up. Tears welling up in my eyes show me that again, it was all worth it to have Cecelia here with us. If Wren had been our number two we'd never have the privilege of meeting Cece---and that would be the biggest loss of all. But it still hurts to remember the path we took to get on the other side of loss.

My heart breaks for every other woman going through the motions of life after a loss. Miscarriage is everywhere and each time I read about it, or hear about it, I feel angry that it happens so much. It's not fair. It's so sad. But life does go on. It will get better.

A year later, we are living the life with two kids that I dreamed about for so long. It's happening. It's real. SHE'S real. We're on the other side of a loss. And I'm at a loss for words to accurately reflect my gratitude. And so I simply give my sleeping baby a kiss and say a prayer of thanks.

She's worth it.

One where I whine a little

You know 'those days'--the ones when you swear the universe is out to get you, and it gets to be slightly comical because everything goes wrong? I had one of those this week on Wednesday. I also have an update for you on my medical situation but first I have to give the spotlight to my Day From Hell.

I have been doing pretty well with my energy levels lately and so I saw two patients Wednesday morning before my all-important follow up appointment with the OB clinic at 1:00. Everything was going swimmingly and I was driving out to the doctor's office with questions bursting from my mind, waiting to be answered. Would the ultrasound show less 'conception products' meaning that the shot in the hospital worked? Would my giant/annoying blood vessel still be there? And would my pregnancy hormone prove to be dropping down to 0 in my blood work? All very exciting answers to be had since it had been a week after my little stint in the ER.

So doo-dee-doo, I'm about 5 minutes away from the clinic (which is a good 10 miles from home) and I go to push my gas pedal and there is no power in my car, all of my warning lights are lit up on the dashboard, and I can barely steer my freaking wheel (excuse me, but 'freaking' might be the word of choice in this post, so bear with me). I somehow manage to pull my car off to a side street and wonder if I just ran out of gas---a first for me, really embarrassing, but it's bound to happen at some point since I do like to push the limits with my gas light. But the light only came on to warn me of lower levels one minute before my car sputtered out on me, so I really didn't know if that was the diagnosis but I figured I had to try adding fuel first before anything else.

I started the trek to the nearest gas station, which I swore was only a block away while I was driving down the street, but in actuality was about a half mile away. So it's 90 degrees in Milwaukee, which by Wisconsin standards is basically an inferno, I have flip flops on and my feet are killing me, and I am not supposed to exercise at all at risk of my uterus springing a leak. Great. All in the name of a stupid 2 gallon plastic tank of gas that was dripping all over me as I hauled it back to my stupid car. And then? I couldn't figure out how to attach the gas spout and literally, I felt like the biggest space-cadet ever. Thankfully a nice mom-type lady stopped and we figured it out together, but I swear it really wasn't the easiest procedure. So of course, I put in 2 gallons of the really expensive gas that had spilled all over my sweaty, tired self and my car still would not start. It just keeps getting better, right?

At this point I had officially missed my appointment so I called to tell them the situation and they said they might be able to squeeze me in within the hour if I got there in one piece. I was hoping that my car would magically fix itself and I could continue on with my day but of course that would be too easy. I told the office I'd do my best, and then I called AAA and expected them to be my saving grace. Good thing I have a basic membership and they could come to my rescue and turn the universe around for me, right? Um, no. Old dude was no help at all and tried adding more gas to my car with the same crappy results I had before. Thanks, AAA.

And so I waited some more, because that is my full-time job lately as Julia-Waits-A-Lot, as AAA hunted for a tow truck company that could get me the heck out of this mess. An hour later, a truck did arrive, and by that time I had been stranded for 2 whole hours. I was fighting off the tears and teetering on the verge of a breakdown but decided to snap a pic and post it on Facebook instead. Priorities, right?

Once my buddy Nick, from the towing company, got my car up on his truck the best part of the day happened: he went to open his driver's side door and noticed that he had locked HIS keys in his truck. Amazing, right? You can't make this stuff up! He walked around to the passenger side and somehow, by the grace of Jesus, the door was unlocked and he could crawl in just fine. I should have known right then that Nick-ster wasn't exactly on top of his game but I really didn't care since he had AC in his pimped out tow truck. I thought to myself, 'What in the heck would I have done if Truman was with me right now?' and thanked God that at least he was safe with Lori and I wouldn't have to decide between holding him in my lap inside this tiny truck and calling a taxi so that I could use the car seat. Cannot even imagine how much worse this would have been with Truman out in the heat.

As we headed back to my little suburb, which of course was out of the 'free 5 miles of towing' radius, Nick hit two detours which had us wandering around greater Milwaukee for a bit until I decided to pull out my own Garmin and take charge of this faulty expedition. We finally landed at the shop at 3:30 and after I swung a deal with Nick to only pay for the miles he SHOULD have driven to this place, my mother-in-law met me so we could get Truman.

But of course, before we even had a chance to wrestle my car seat out of my car and into my mother-in-law's teeny tiny two door Civic, Lori called to say that Truman had a 100.9 degree fever. His 15 month well-baby appointment was the day before and he did have 3 vaccinations, so I knew that was it---but seriously? A baby that has a fever is so pathetic and sad and heartbreaking. And it was just the last straw.

We finally made it back home and Truman just could not fall asleep that night. He was uncomfortable and overtired and just wanted to be held. I held him and rocked him and rubbed his back while I let myself cry it out a bit in the process. My baby doesn't feel well, I'm still going through this horribly drawn-out miscarriage, and now we have to pay for my car to be fixed on top of the ever-mounting medical bills. I try to be a positive person most of the time but at that moment I had a major pity party for myself.

But you know what? I honestly think that my car broke down for a reason that day. I missed that appointment but already had a second-opinion appointment set up for the next day, with my old OB that delivered Truman. I called her up after my ER scare and she talked to me on the phone for quite awhile, giving me much more confidence with my situation. I planned to switch my care back to her once this dreadful ordeal was over, but when I didn't make the appointment with the other clinic, I decided that enough was enough---that was my sign to switch my care back to my old OB immediately.

I won't go into detail but I haven't been happy with my care with the new OB. Of course, with a situation this horrible it's always going to have a negative cloud over the care you receive but I needed to move on from that place and back into my comfort zone of Truman's OB. Insurance woes aside, I knew I needed to be her patient again.

So on Thursday I saw her and basically she says I need a D&C immediately because my uterus still has tons of 'products' remaining inside of it. She assured me that my uterus walls were 'beautiful' but my poor body just can't get rid of everything although it's trying to hard to do so. 5 weeks after the Cytotec was placed I am still bleeding and my body need help to end this mess. She is not concerned about the mutant blood vessel because she feels this is a normal thing to happen when a uterus thinks it's still pregnant, but I have another 'high tech' ultrasound this afternoon just to be sure. As long as that is okay, I am having surgery on Monday morning at 7:30 (prayers please!)

I have a million and one thoughts and questions and feelings about the course I've been on since that ill-fated ultrasound 6.5 weeks ago. But mostly I just want this to be over since I have done my time with this part of the physical journey. My mom is coming to town to be with me and help with Truman after the procedure and I feel a sense of peace about this decision for surgery. It's going to be okay. I'm going to get through this and learn a whole lot about patience and trusting in God. And I really do have faith that I will have more children in the future, looking back on this time as a horrible speed bump on the way to growing our family.

My OB gave me a printed out picture of my newest ultrasound of my poor uterus, ironically so full of 'loss', that it's the complete opposite of the happy ultrasound pictures showing actual babies with beating hearts, pinned up on refrigerators around the world. At first I couldn't look at the sad sight but now I feel like that picture symbolizes the low point and someday when I have my happy ultrasound picture full of new life, I'll look at this current picture and smile. It's got to get better. I just know it.

After all, I am very blessed, aren't I?

Scariest 24 hours yet

I feel like I need to post here, to keep everyone in the loop. I know there are many 'internet friends' who would be able to lift our family up in prayer and more prayers can't ever hurt.

I had to go to the ER on Tues night with severe bleeding from the miscarriage. I lost an insane amount of blood, clots, and it was the scariest time of my life. They had to give me a shot to make the bleeding subside to an acceptable rate and so far it's working. My blood count dropped so badly that there was no way they could send me home and I was really close to needing a blood transfusion. A long 24 hours in the hospital without sleep and with more testing than I thought imaginable but I'm home now, resting and waiting. Really scared of bleeding again, very weak and tired, but I'm okay.

They found a HUGE blood vessel in my uterus that is feeding into it, and causing the horrible bleeding from Tuesday night. Both the OB and the radiologist state it's something they have never seen before which is never a good thing to hear. If they would have done a D&C in the ER 'blindly' before seeing this new ultrasound with the vessel, it would have been 'a total disaster' as per the doc. Surgery is extremely risky because I could hemorrhage and need a hysterectomy, worst case scenario. She did give us the option of having a D&C now, with a special team of interventional radiologist on hand in case I begin to bleed uncontrollably. That runs the risk of having them cut off a significant amount of blood supply to my uterus, making it very difficult to get pregnant again. If it all went south, though, I would require a hysterectomy to stop the bleeding. Nate and I had lots of big decisions to make about how to take care of this, and it wasn't easy to make those choices but we opted to take a shot to help kill off the remaining products in me instead of surgery. Now I have to chill out at home and wait----will monitor the blood vessel and the products in the uterus for any change. If I do start to bleed horribly again I have to go back to the ER and have emergency surgery. Praying that doesn't happen, obviously. But we just couldn't choose the surgery right away without giving the medication a chance. I could never forgive myself if we chose that and something went wrong. At least this way we know we've given the least aggressive treatment a chance.

This entire process has been one of the biggest eye opening experiences ever. For about 30 minutes, Nate and I had to wait for the OB to give us an update after the RN told us the ultrasound showed 'a lot more complications than they thought.' That was all they could tell us and that half of an hour was the worst. I immediately thought I had cancer, and that they would need to do a hysterectomy and my life was over. I had to let go of any other 'priorities' in my life as far as having future children because all of a sudden, all that mattered was being here for Truman and Nate. The past 4 weeks since the miscarriage actually began have been hard--and I'd like to clarify that I haven't ever stopped bleeding in the past 4 weeks, not even progressing to just 'spotting', but the gushing of blood from Tuesday night was very obviously NOT okay. But the past 4 weeks were nothing like those 30 minutes of waiting for answers. I prayed to God to give me strength to lead me through whatever was to come, and of course He has. I have now learned that the inconvenience of having to wait for a second child is absolutely no big deal compared to what could have been, and what might come to be for us. So what if I can't have two kids just two years apart? Does the gap of children really matter that much anymore? How ungrateful and immature of me to be so concerned with the space between my 'assumed' children. I will consider it a blessing if I don't need a procedure that could possibly render me infertile. At this point all I can do is take it one day at a time and enjoy the present moment. Nothing else matters anymore.

That is what's been going on in a nutshell. Prayers appreciated!

( I was literally typing out Truman's 15 month post when the insane bleeding started on Tuesday night. So bear with me as I work on that one again---it's so unlike me to be late on this monthly post! )

Closure.

I don't want the title of this post to be deceiving to you all, since I am far from feeling 'at peace' with our loss. It's not like the grieving process is over but I feel like I'm working towards closure, starting to see what some of the lessons learned should be.

As far as physical healing goes, I'm on my way along with the emotional healing. Last Friday, 10 days after our bad ultrasound (and 4.5 weeks since the baby actually died), my body was still holding onto the baby without any signs of miscarriage. I requested one final ultrasound to wipe away any false hopes that this baby was somehow still alive, that my dates might have been off by weeks, or that there was some kind of miracle going on inside me. The ultrasound that day was not emotional for me since I was prepared to see our little bean curled up and lifeless, and again the baby measured exactly 6w0d without any changes. I needed to see that last image on the screen in order to move forward and I'm glad I got the peace of mind that indeed, my baby really was gone.

Right after the ultrasound my very compassionate doctor placed four Cytotec pills vaginally, a drug very similar to the Cervadil I had during my two night of laboring Truman, in order to 'ripen' the cervix and get the bleeding started. She promised an 80% chance of the drug working but also scheduled a D&C for the following week at my request, in case my body wouldn't budge. We came home feeling a little better just knowing we had done something to initiate the process, praying that the awful waiting for the inevitable would go quickly.

I won't go into details about that evening's events but let's just say the medicine worked like a charm. And let's also say that anyone who tells you a miscarriage is just like a 'heavy period' has obviously never gone through this nightmare. I think it's better compared to actual labor as far as the pain, true contractions, and insane amount of bleeding goes and of course when you add the emotional aspect of losing a human life to the mix of this madness, it's exponentially worse than any period or any labor could be.

Since Friday I've had good and bad days, sometimes bleeding so heavily I can't do anything but hang out in the bathroom and sometimes I feel almost back to normal. I know that my body will need time to rid itself of HcG, the pregnancy hormone, and I pray that I will return to my 'normal' cycle very soon. Also, in the back of my mind, I am worried that somehow my body didn't get rid of all the 'conception products', as they are called---isn't that the saddest pairing of words ever? I do not want to go through a procedure to remove everything after going through this miscarriage naturally. I'm praying my body to do what it's supposed to do, hanging onto some sort of faith in it after a few weeks of skepticism.

Which brings me to the lessons I feel I must learn through this loss. The first is patience, one of the toughest concepts for me to grasp even before the miscarriage. I am not a patient person. I like to have things done my way, immediately, without wasting time. The word 'wait' has been on my tongue and heart more times in the past 2 weeks than ever before and I must admit that I hate it. I was supposed to be 11.5 weeks pregnant right now. But instead of that concept, now I feel like I will be waiting FOREVER just to get a period again. Just to be able to try again. Just to see another positive pregnancy test. I don't want to wait and although I know time is my friend, it seems like an enemy more often than not. If only I could snap my fingers and magically be at the place when I'm pregnant again----or better yet, holding our healthy baby number two. Isn't that the ultimate goal? Not just to get pregnant, but to have a second child. And yet, I know I must work through my grief and my emotions before getting pregnant and my body must physically heal as well. As I let my ears listen to God more and more, I truly believe He is teaching me patience through this loss. Not that I have to like the lesson, but I get it.

Another lesson of mine is that it is wrong to envy others, it's wrong to 'compete' and compare situations with other women around me. I'm not going to lie: it's difficult to have three of my closest friends due within a month of my lost due date. It's hard to read pregnancy blogs and not automatically feel like, 'Why can't this be me?' I'm obviously thrilled for my friends because they deserve the happiness of pregnancy, and they've been incredibly supportive of me as well. It's just hard to feel so far behind, set back from the rest of the group. Just typing this out it sounds so awful because having children is NOT a competition. The person that has the most babies the quickest isn't a 'winner' and where my friends are in their family time line should have absolutely nothing to do with our personal family plan. But I am being completely honest when I admit I have had those fleeting jealous thoughts and I'm fully aware that I need to move away from that mindset. God is definitely helping me out with this one, too.

The last lesson I have begun to grasp is one of gratitude. It's so easy to focus on the 'have nots' in life, spending so much time and energy on obtaining things we don't yet have in our possession. But how about being content with what we DO have? I'm not trivializing our loss by saying this but we are so grateful to have Truman in our lives. If anything, losing this baby has made me love Truman even more somehow. Being surrounded by my amazing family, including my husband, who love me more than I realize, is the most precious gift out of all this pain. Having friends who reach out to contact me, even weeks after our sad announcement, shows me that we are incredibly blessed in this life. We have reasons to be happy and content while living in the moment, not focusing on the future, and it's hard work to allow that sense of peace into my heart. But I'm trying and that is what matters.


A few people mentioned that it helps to name the baby you miscarried, in order to place significance on the pregnancy and make it seem more 'real' and important. I couldn't agree more, although naming this baby was hard and felt a little weird to me. But then, the more I thought about it, I knew exactly what we will call this baby.

You see, before we had our horrible ultrasound we were having so much fun dreaming of names for this baby. Do you remember the hilarious YouTube video of the twin boys 'talking' to each other in the kitchen? One of the twins was named Wren (maybe spelled differently, but whatev) and I just loved it. I wrote the name down on our growing list and one night Nate spotted the name. He said it was a little odd, and I agreed but replied I would like it to be a nickname, something short for a longer name. Nate thought for a second and simply stated that we should name our baby Darren. Now, obviously, there is nothing wrong with that name but it's rather odd for a newborn baby born in 2011, right? Sort of like our name-holder 'Carlos' for Truman---nothing wrong with the name, but still hilarious in a way. So of course, we started calling the baby Darren and would die of laughter each time.

I knew I wanted to name this baby Wren because of that story, although it's dripping in sarcasm. I still like the name Wren and actually, the symbolism of this baby being a little bird who flew away to heaven before we could meet him is all too perfect. I wanted to get something to remember baby Wren and found this necklace on Etsy after much searching. An adorable baby bird (a wren, if you ask me) with eyes closed, sleeping soundly, and then a topaz birthstone for November--when the baby was supposed to arrive. I figure it's low-key enough that people won't demand to know what it means but special enough to me to keep close to my heart.


We love you, baby Wren. Thank you for blessing us with your brief life in me. We'll meet again someday.

Grief

{First of all, thank you so much for the kind and uplifting comments on my last post. It helps tremendously to hear from others who have walked this path, and from those who haven't but are sending their love. I will continue to need your prayers because I still have not started bleeding or spotting and we are going on day #9 since the ultrasound. I have some big decisions to make this Friday about what to do next and all I know is that this waiting game is emotional warfare. I just want to move on. Anyway, this is the first post I wrote last week, a glimpse into the grief process. }

4.28.11
I struggled with the decision to post about our loss on this blog. It feels like waving a giant banner for the strangers of the internet, broadcasting the most intensely painful experience I've had to a number of people that I'll never meet. It's even more odd to think about all of the 'aquaintences' of mine who read this blog---ones with whom I would normally never share this story, but who will now know about it. And I hate that some of my actual friends will read this instead of hearing it from me, but I just can't bring myself to spread the news over and over again. The entire concept of a miscarriage is so sad, so personal, and even a little bit shameful and embarrassing. But you know what? The more I thought about it I knew I had to blog about this. How could I not? If I neglected to share this significant part of my life on the blog I might as well just shut the whole thing down and I'm not ready to do that. Miscarriage should not be a topic that women are afraid to discuss, and it should not be something we have to endure alone. Reading about my loss is bound to help someone out there going through the same thing, right? It will absolutely help me to sort it out, and to hear from other women who've survived the same ordeal. Becoming a member of the large miscarriage club is not something I'm proud of, but I will not be ashamed or ignore it, either. It feels very empowering to share this story, in a way it lets me take control over the words and own them, so that I can heal as well. Blogging has always helped me move through hard times and it only makes sense that at my lowest point in my very blessed life, I write about it.


I really don't know where to begin. I sit here today, one day after my thirtieth birthday, living out the reality of a nightmare I dreamed for many weeks. It's been a little more than 48 hours since we had our dreams of baby number two ripped away from us---and in some ways, these past two days have been the longest of my life. The fact that we heard the worst possible news just one day before my big 3-0 is probably the most ironic timing ever, right? Setting up the ultrasound to be right at the 9 week mark, the day before my birthday, seemed like it could be a great gift to celebrate as I left my twenties and entered the next decade. But instead it turned out to be the biggest slap in the face. As I read the kind, unknowing words of friends on Facebook say, 'Happy Birthday, enjoy your wonderful day!' it made me want to cry for about the millionth time in a 24 hour period. What is 'happy' about the saddest feeling I've ever known in my thirty years. And a 'birth' day? How ironic to celebrate the day of my own birth as I mourn the death of an unborn baby inside me. How could I possibly enter into my next year with more pain and sadness? And yet, although my birthday started off really really rough with tears waking me up from my broken sleep and a horrible attitude hovering over my head, it did turn out to be an amazing gift in the end. I forced myself to go to work and see my five patients that day, and stepping outside of my own misery for a bit to help others was more therapeutic than I could predict. My job---the one I love to complain about, and dream of quitting to stay home full time---was the biggest reason I made it through my birthday. Not to mention the flowers, emails, calls, and texts full of heartfelt and comforting words. By the finish of my big day, I had finally gotten the message: I have been blessed with a group of friends and family that truly care about me, who love me no matter what, and who will support me through the worst of times. I definitely felt the love and understood that our loved ones are incredible gifts.

It's really natural to spit out about three token phrases to someone who is suffering from a miscarriage. I'm absolutely positive I've said them all at one point in my life, and I don't regret saying them now that I'm on the other side of the line. All of them mean well but they can't be a quick fix, placed in a nice little box of words, to make the mother feel less pain. I realize that everyone just wants to say the right thing to help, but when you are in the darkest despair it's easy to have a response for everything. I know that is really awful for me to say, and I hope it doesn't make it even harder to come up with words for those suffering.

-'At least you already have one healthy baby.' Very true, we are so blessed to have Truman as the ultimate distraction to our pain, the perfect symbol for life and happiness. But you know what? There are two sides to the coin of having a first child and then a miscarriage. I know how amazing it is to have a new baby. I am in love with being a mother. And to have it be thisclose and then ripped away from me? I am fully aware of what I am losing and it's absolutely heartbreaking to know I will never meet this baby. I will never get to love him or her with every ounce of my being, or get to smell their sweetest newborn scent, or watch them grow into a precious toddler and beyond. I am beyond grateful for Truman and don't mean to sound greedy, wanting more children after him. But I truly feel that our family is not complete with just one. And I wanted this baby more than I can accurately explain.

-'There was probably something wrong with the baby, so it's probably for the best.' Absolutely true, but of course we'll never know if this was the case. And if so---if the baby had a chromosomal abnormality---how can you NOT ask The Question of 'Why?' I know that these things happen. That when the miracle of life begins with just one cell and rapidly divides into thousands, there is a large margin for error. I get that, I really do. But why did my baby have to have a mistake at the cellular level? Does this mean we are more at risk for another abnormality in the future?

-'You'll get pregnant again and have a perfectly healthy child next time.' Really? You have a crystal ball and can predict the future? Because right now, when fate seems like the biggest biyatch in the universe, it seems pretty ridiculous to assume everything will go on to being just fine in the future. What if we don't get pregnant again? Or what if this happens multiple times without explanation? I seriously doubt I would be strong enough to do this all over again.

And really, if God allows me to get pregnant again, how on earth will I ever be able to enjoy pregnancy again? I've always been incredibly neurotic, a worrier, finding it difficult to just relax and be in the moment. Will I even be able to function in the early days of pregnancy again? Or will I literally be so anxious and scared that I'll make myself sick?

Because I like to be a Pollyanna sometimes, I really do try to see the good things in every situation. As far as the timing of this loss, I can honestly say that it's much better finding out at 9 weeks instead of 19 weeks, or 29 or 39. Also much better finding out we've lost the baby now than losing a baby after it's born. It's better that the body knows when something is wrong, and 'takes care of it', so that we do not bring a child into this world with added suffering, pain, medical procedures, and heartache if at all possible . Of course if we did have a child with any disability we would love that child with all of our hearts. But I think it's okay to admit that it would be a difficult life. I am so glad I didn't get an ultrasound at 6 weeks, see the heartbeat then and feel optimistic, and then not find out about this loss until much later. I'm also very grateful that I didn't speak up at my 8 week exam, requesting to squeeze into the Ultrasound room right away, on the off chance they had a random opening right then. I would have been completely alone, without Nate or Truman, and I can't imagine how much worse it would have been then.

But even when I'm doing really well with those happy thoughts, I'll have dark moments hit me hard and it takes awhile to catch my breath. Why is this happening to us? Do we deserve it somehow? Did all of my worries about this very scenario somehow will it to happen? Why would God provide such a precious gift of life and then quickly whisk it away from us in an instant, before it even seemed real? I've had a lot of talks with God in the past two days and I hate to admit that some of my words haven't been the nicest.

I understand that there must be 'mountaintop moments' in life, and also times when we walk in the valley. I'm definitely in the valley right now, struggling to see how God has not deserted me. But I do believe that everything happens for a reason. I believe in heaven, and that life begins in the womb. I think that our world today trivializes life in utero making it seem insignificant, like a baby isn't really 'real' until he or she is born. I wholeheartedly disagree with that statement and choose to believe that my baby was real. I wonder if some people simply will not understand my devastation with this loss, thinking it's silly to be so sad over a pregnancy that only lasted a few weeks. I'm sure there will be some that want me to move on already, to get over it and suck it up. But this little life that briefly passed through my own was my child, with so much potential washed away in a matter of weeks. No matter how short or how long a child touches your life he will absolutely leave a mark. I believe this baby is in heaven and we will meet him someday and I am thankful for the hope and anticipation we felt for the 5 weeks we knew about this child.

The worst part of the whole nightmare is the waiting, the emptiness, the lack of closure. I am still not bleeding yet. My body still thinks it's pregnant. And honestly, I have lost an enormous amount of respect for my physical body in the past days. First it loses the pregnancy, unable to grow the baby into an actual child for us to love. And now? It's not getting the freaking memo. The baby is dead, you idiot. Why won't you just let it go and let me get on with my life? I spent 5 weeks holding my breath with every bathroom trip, praying there wouldn't be blood. And now? I pray that God shows his mercy and lets me start bleeding, shedding the physical and emotional pain in the process. I know that the actual process is going to be absolutely terrifying, and more horrible than I can imagine. But the fact that I'm just sitting here with a dead baby inside of me, waiting for the loss to happen is sickening. If nothing has happened by next week, the doctor thinks I should come in for some medicine to help speed things along. Two days ago that idea sounded disgusting to me. And now it sounds more appealing by the minute. How am I supposed to heal, to move through the grieving process, when I haven't even lost the baby yet?

So here I am, headed into day #3 after everything has changed. Just typing my thoughts for the first time and feeling it all sink in a little deeper. I think I've successfully moved from shock, sadness, despair, and now to numbness and emptiness, with a touch of anger thrown in there for a bit. The grieving process is a wild ride, for sure.

Loss.

This post was supposed to be the big reveal, a huge announcement that baby number two was on the way and due November 29. Truman and his sibling were going to be just 21 months apart. I was supposed to be 10 weeks pregnant today.

But in the place of a happy surprise announcement is pure sadness over the loss of my second pregnancy. It feels like a dream, just like it did in the beginning of this pregnancy, but in the worst way possible. A true nightmare has certainly taken an emotional and physical toll on me.

We didn't plan for this baby; no charting, no counting down days to test. I only had one real period once I stopped breastfeeding. My baby fever was just starting to accumulate under the surface but we figured we'd wait to 'try' until the summer. Instead, God gave us the most precious gift of a positive pregnancy test on March 24. We were surprised, shocked, and incredibly happy. 'How can anyone be this blessed', I often asked myself? 'What's the catch?' We already had one beautiful, healthy, happy baby boy. And now we get the pleasure of doing it all over again? It didn't seem possible, it seemed too good to be true, and the worrying began.

Just like my pregnancy with Truman, I overanalyzed every twinge in my body. I imagined a future ultrasound appointment that included the words 'no heartbeat' and 'miscarriage.' But then by 5 weeks I began to have even more classic symptoms than I did with Truman's pregnancy--more waves of nausea, extreme exhaustion, crazy sense of smell, and even enough bloat to start looking like a pooch. I felt exponentially worse than I did the first time around and that comforted me, eased my worries. I even joked to Nate that maybe we were having twins because I was feeling doubly worse than the first go around.





I started to dream of two little boys being less than two years apart in age, running around together, playing hide-and-seek, and being best of friends and little trouble makers throughout the years. I loved that we'd be able to use our baby boy clothes again and we talked about our favorite boy names, imagining a house full of men with me as their queen bee. Or a little girl this time, looking up to her big brother with admiration and respect, just 21 months younger than him. I dreamed of pink and frills and a mother-daughter relationship that would surely make me weak in the knees. My heartbeat would speed up when I thought of that newborn smell, the cuddles, the breastfeeding, the coos and first smiles. I wanted this baby more than I could ever explain. My heart was ready and I was excited for the challenge of 'two under two'. A newborn at Christmas time. Maternity leave over the holidays. It was going to be so much fun.

I had my first appointment at 8 weeks, just an exam and blood work, with a brand new doctor at a brand new practice because of insurance changes. Everything seemed to be right on track---an 'official' positive pregnancy test, a uterus that felt 'swollen and pregnant.' Before I left they had me schedule my first ultrasound and said it was best to have between 9 and 10 weeks. Of course I opted for the earliest appointment possible, which just so happened to be the day before my thirtieth birthday, right at the nine week mark. I certainly felt pregnant, still with symptoms, although they seemed to be regulating a bit.

The morning before the appointment I started to get nervous. I was pretty quiet and Nate noticed. I told him I was just anxious to get this over with so we could breathe a sigh of relief. We snapped my 9 week belly picture just moments before walking out the door for the appointment. We brought Truman with us so he could be a part of the big moment in our family history.





Walking into the ultrasound room I started to get a pit in my stomach. Something just didn't feel right, but I was sure that it was just me being neurotic and fearful over the unknown. The ultrasound tech commented that Truman was extremely handsome, to which he responded with a flirty grin and some waves. She said that she can always tell a good baby because those are the parents who have another child close in age to the first. I was so proud of Truman for being well-behaved, stealing the show as always. And then it was time to lay back and see our second baby.

As soon as the image filled the screen I knew. I saw the big black hole but there wasn't a precious white blob in the middle, there was no flicker of a heartbeat inside. The tech didn't say anything for what seemed to be an eternity and I didn't have the courage to look at Nate or my son for their feedback. I wanted this to be a dream. I wanted to go home.

'What I'm seeing here is a fetus that measures about 6 weeks, and there is no heartbeat.' I should have been 9 weeks. There should have been a heartbeat even if my dates were wrong and it was only 6 weeks old. I remember her asking something about when I got my positive pregnancy test and I choked back tears as I said, 'right around 4 weeks.' I knew it wasn't possible to have a 6 week fetus. It should have been 9. And it should have had a heartbeat.

As the tech left the room to get the doctor I finally looked at my husband and my baby boy. The look of concern on both of their faces was almost too much to bear. Truman's innocent eyes told me that everything was going to be okay but I couldn't stop thinking about all we'd be missing without this baby. I'm not sure what we talked about in those first few minutes of reality but I know that is when I started crying the saddest tears I have known.

The doctor was incredibly supportive and understanding as she shed tears right with me, telling me that she had a miscarriage before her son was born, too. When she told us that we did nothing wrong, that we did not cause this to happen I broke down in the ugly cry. I was holding Truman by this point and buried my face in his sweet head of baby hair, praying to God that this was a dream. The doctor told me I would probably start to lose the baby in a week or two but if not there would be other options to speed along the process. My baby had been dead inside my body for three weeks now. And my body didn't even know it yet. Why was my body failing me by losing the baby and then pretending to still be pregnant? Why was this happening to us? Why?

The rest of the day was spent in a series of tears, a phone call to my mom, and numerous texts and emails to those who were waiting to hear the good news from the big appointment. I spent a lot of time in the arms of my husband, who told me he loved me and that we would get through this and get our second baby. Just not in November. Just not this time. We were saying goodbye before we even got to say hello.

Everything would make me burst into tears that evening---one of Truman's toys shutting off and saying, 'Bye Bye!' TV commercials featuring brand new babies with wrinkly faces. My beloved Henry, coming up to me as I sat on the floor in a stupor, resting his head on my lap and staring up at me with his puppy dog eyes. He knew his mama was sad and he wanted to make it better. Everyone wanted to make it better and yet nobody could change the fact that our baby's heart wasn't beating.

I went to bed that night knowing that miscarriage is incredibly common. I have become a part of a group of women that knows how devastating this loss feels. And now I have to move through the grieving process just like the rest of this group has done, and I know it's not going to be easy.