A Beginning... and An End

August 5, 2011

It was a Friday afternoon. We had known for nearly two weeks. We just KNEW. All we were waiting for were those two pink lines... that one little word on the digital version. It was time (for me), I had tested and waited and tested and said I would wait again but I couldn't do it. I was peeing on that stick whether it was "time" or not. So, I took the test. I prayed (admittedly, not in a confident trusting God kind of way, but in that I WANT THIS NOW childish kind of way). I watched the hour glass... after what felt like forever I saw that one word. [[ Pregnant ]]. My heart stopped. My eyes leaked. Then my heart started again... pounding. YES! YES!! I KNEW IT!! I called my husband at work. I gave him the good news. I raced my car to my mother's house, as fast as I could. It was bliss. We told everyone. We gloated. We celebrated. We rejoiced.

Two weeks later my sister in law announced her pregnancy. It was going to be perfect. We would be pregnant together. We would grow together. We would have an amazing time going through this together. Then our children would grow up together. They would have an amazing life together. We would go through all these milestones hand in hand, they would be the best of friends and their life would be perfect.

In the coming days, I would scan myself countless times until I could finally see that little black gestational sac. Then we watched it grow. Then one day, that little bitty "grain of rice" fetal pole popped up.

Then one day, beside the sac was another black spot... a bleed. The rational part of my brain said "this can go one of two ways" and you are doing okay. It's going to be okay, and it was... for a while.
 

September 8, 2011

It was a Thursday. I had left work early to go "train" for a new job elsewhere. I was oblivious to what was about to happen to our world. Then I went to the bathroom. Blood. NO. NO. NO. This can't happen to us! It just can't. It's okay. People have spotting all the time when they're pregnant and it turns out fine. I called my husband, I called my doctor. "It's going to be okay," the nurse said, "you're probably just dehydrated... no, no one can see you today. Just put your feet up and drink some water. It will be fine."

But it wasn't fine. After a lot of pain, a lot of bleeding and a night in the ER. A friend, a girl I had trained when she was a student, had to do our ultrasound. I believe it was as painful for her to do the procedure as it was for me to hear the news. The baby was gone. I spared her from having to say the words, I could see it on the screen for myself. I knew what I was looking at. A lot of bleeding, and no more baby. It was only a matter of time before everything "passed." A pat on the leg from the ER doctor, "You're going to be okay, you're young!" (I never understand this when people say it, just because I'm young, I'm invincible?) I was crushed. My mother-in-law was waiting in the ER waiting room. My mother was waiting for a phone call (irritated because I insisted she wait at home because they wouldn't let her back with us).

I thought it was hard to hear the news. To hear the doctor. To hear my friend who did our test meekly say she was sorry. (Because honestly there is no good way to say anything to someone the minute they see that their child is dead, gone... miscarried). But now I had to tell people. It began with my husband's mom. (My other mother) Her expectant face looking at us, hoping to hear that everything was going to be okay. I couldn't make the words come out. I shook my head 'no' and burst into tears. Then I had to call my mom. Saying those words was like torture. "Mommy, I lost the baby". Then the call to my brother. Oh man. My dreams of our children growing up together was no more. Just like that. It was all over for us.

I cried more tears than I ever thought one person could possibly produce. I was crushed. I was ashamed. I was angry. What had I done wrong? Hadn't I been through enough in my life already? Why did we deserve this?

The next day, our doctor still didn't have time to see us. So we saw someone else. We got another ultrasound (by another sweet friend) and a cold "I'm sorry, at least you're young" by yet another doctor.

I couldn't face anyone. I couldn't talk to anyone. We already had a weekend planned to go to Nashville our world caved in. We ran away. We had to be alone. We had to process together what had just happened. We locked ourselves in the hotel room, unable to face the world... much less our friends and family.

12 days later... the sac finally passed... 9  moredays later, the bleeding stopped. It had been 21 days and finally, it was the end... "the storm had passed" so to speak... at least that is what I thought at the time.

Little did I know... This piece of the puzzle was just the beginning. This was the worst time of my life... and yet... one day... all of that would change.