October 15 is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. I'm so sad that we have to have such a day, but I think it's great that there's recognition for this horror, and support for the parents who face it. Lately I've been inspired by the courage and faith of women who've had reproductive difficulties, some of whom I'm blessed to know, and some whose voices I hear through their blogs. Many of them have happy endings, and some don't. But the point is, these women have been brave enough to open up about the most painful moments of their lives. And so I think it's time to tell this story:
In 2009 I took my first positive pregnancy test. Elvis and I were on Cloud 9 and could barely contain ourselves. We told my brother and E's best friend, but decided to wait til after my initial OB/Gyn appointment to tell everyone else our joyous news. I began a baby diet and started taking prenatal vitamins. We went out and bought a few cute non-gender-specific onesies. We planned and dreamed and talked to my belly. And then, 4 days before my appointment, I miscarried.
I was "only" about 9 weeks along, and even though there was nothing I could have done to prevent it, I was devastated. I withdrew into myself completely for a few weeks. I ended up telling my mom and my best friend about the miscarriage, but nobody else knew. I didn't answer the phone or respond to emails. I mostly just sat around our apartment crying and feeling some wretched feelings: I was angry at myself for not being a good enough mother; I was terrified that Elvis would be mad at me (so silly. He was -as he always is - wonderful); I was worried that I'd never have a baby. I was the lowest I've ever been, and then it got worse: my oldest friend announced her pregnancy less than a week after I lost mine. I couldn't even bring myself to be happy for her. I felt petty and ugly for my jealousy, but I couldn't help it. Over the next few months more of our friends made their big announcements, and every time it felt like a slap in the face.
Finally, one day, there was light at the end of the tunnel. Our friends Dustin & Becky announced their impending arrival in July of 2010. I still felt faintly jealous, but more importantly, I was happy for them. Elvis and I had dinner with them a few weeks later and even brought them a baby gift. They were both so excited and Becky was positively glowing. It was the first time in almost a year that I didn't want to scratch out the eyes of an expectant mother. We had a great time and I guess God was pleased that we had finally been able to deal with our grief because 2 months later He rewarded us with another little pink plus.
We decided to tell our family and close friends right away. Elvis thought (and I agreed) that we should take all the prayers and positive thoughts we could get, right from the start. About a week later, I was going to the bathroom before bed and noticed some spotting. It was only a little bit, but given our history Elvis decided we should go to the hospital. They ran some tests and did some ultrasounds and finally, with the bedside manner of a goat, the doctor told me to go home and see what happened, and that I would likely lose the pregnancy. Clearly all the love and prayers from our family worked, because I took another positive pregnancy test a few days later. Everyone stayed positive, and Elvis and I were so thrilled and relieved to see a healthy heartbeat at my initial OB/Gyn appointment (which happened to fall on my dad's 55th birthday. It felt like a lucky day, and I'm certain that a healthy grandchild was his most fervent birthday wish).
Medically, the pregnancy wasn't easy. At that same appointment I was tested for Gestational Diabetes, and the tests came back positive. I had to see several specialists throughout the course of my pregnancy, which - in addition to my regular OB/Gyn visits - made me feel like I was living in doctors' offices. I got to be chummy with many wonderful nurses, and grew to hate the inappropriately named non-stress test. I got sick at every one of my many ultrasound appointments. In the final weeks I battled high blood pressure, and even spent a few nights in the hospital. But I was a cheerful patient, knowing that whatever awful routines they put me through, I would come out a winner. Sure, collecting your pee in a jug for 24 hours sounds dreadful (it WAS dreadful. I had to do it 7 or 8 times. Elvis kept my spirits up by referring to the bathroom as "hittin' the jug"). But at the end of it all, I would finally hold in my arms the piece of my soul that I hadn't known was missing. My beautiful, healthy son is truly a miracle straight from God.
Even now, 3 years and one healthy son later it still hurts to think about the loss of that first pregnancy, and the painful months afterward. I feel so grateful to have had my supportive, loving husband by my side through the ordeal. I wish nobody would ever have to go through the loss of a pregnancy or -far worse- a child. What an unimaginable nightmare. If this unspeakable horror has happened to you or someone you love, I pray that you will find the peace your soul needs, and that you will one day know the bliss of holding your new baby in your arms. Miracles happen every day.
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