It’s funny, I never meant to abandon this blog space when
I posted my last musings on March 5th, 2014. And I could blame a million reasons for my
internet silence (on this space, anyway).
Perhaps my increased use of Instagram is to blame. Or caring for a home, taking on a church
calling, growing my bakery business.
These are all valid reasons to semi-give up on long-form social media (aside
from the fact that it all just begins to feel redundant when I’m posting multiple
other places regularly). But perhaps
more than anything, I began to find that posting felt… dishonest. I couldn’t, or rather, didn’t want to, talk
about the thing I was thinking about most.
In January of 2014, Ray and I decided it was time for us
to have a kid. It was perfect timing –
he would be finishing his undergrad soon, I was getting exhausted with my job
and wanted a reason to step away, we were preparing to purchase a home. Everything fell in to place, and mostly, we
knew that we wanted to try our hand at being parents and providing a home for a
sweet baby (or rather, toddler and child – babies kinda bore me, quite
frankly). I was scared and anxious, but
so excited.
The first few months were disappointing, but normal. I come from a long line of “we accidentally
got pregnant and had three kids in four years,” and Ray’s parents had a
semi-similar history. I expected to get
pregnant right away, and was disappointed that it took us month after month. But I had plenty to distract me, and despite
the purchase of ovulation testing strips, we did little else to increase our
chances because, surely, they would come.
Six months were spent anxiously counting days and waiting.
I returned home from a girl’s camp trip late on July 11th,
fell into bed, and woke up early on the 12th to make treats and
prepare to throw a baby shower for a best friend and make a cake for another
friend’s wedding. It had been a week
since my missed period. When I finally
had a moment to myself that afternoon after dropping off the cake, I stopped at
a store to buy a pregnancy test and drove home with a fluttering heart. The test came back positive. I took two more. They came back positive. I was pregnant!
I couldn’t think of anything more creative to do than to walk
out to Ray and just say, look. He wasn’t
even sure what to think initially. I
didn’t have a wide grin on my face, perhaps because I was still in shock. But when the realization hit us both, we
laughed and kissed and hugged and laughed some more. We were to meet friends for dinner 15 minutes
later, and spent the car ride wondering how we were ever going to hide our joy
from those friends that evening.
We wanted to wait until the 9-10 week mark to tell
everyone. We wanted this to be
sure. It was planned out – our first
doctor’s appointment would be at 8 ½ weeks along. Following that appointment, we’d have a
weekend to ourselves, in which we could announce to my family and our friends,
and then we’d take a trip out to see Ray’s family the following week and share
the happy news. Although, I quickly
found I was not going to be able to wait that long to keep the secret between
Ray and I. So I shared my news with my
best friend, Kristin. She was my
confidante on mornings when I felt the tiniest possibility of morning sickness,
or when I wondered if my boobs would always hurt this badly. We waited for the appointment and talked
about what life would be post-birth. We
bought some children’s books and stuffed dinosaurs.
Our doctor’s appointment was on August 8th. I got off work early and met Ray at
home. I began to feel nervous and my
stomach hurt. Anxiety, I guessed. But I couldn’t wait for that moment, I hoped,
of hearing our baby’s heartbeat. We got
to the doctor’s appointment, and I gave a urine sample. My first bad sign – blood. The tiniest bit of it. In the exam room, our nurse told us all about
my choice of the doctors at our clinic, and Dr. Hannele Laine seemed like a
great option.
“Well but wait,
nurse, so I… found some blood when I peed…”
Our nurse got straight to work and let me know right away
that more blood was to come. I knew at
that point that my earlier “stomachache” had been cramps that I was unwilling
to admit to. She did a handheld ultra
sound and… no. No heartbeat to be found. She assured us that she’s been wrong about
finding heartbeats before, and we were rushed to the hospital for a quick
couple sets of full ultrasounds. But by
that point, waiting in the hospital sitting room, Ray and I were already
discussing our baby in the past tense.
We knew, and held to each other, and made plans for the future. Ray held my hand throughout the ultrasounds
and stayed strong and positive. The
ultrasound tech gave us very little information. I texted Kristin that, you know, actually
March sounds like a bad time to have a baby.
After our ultrasounds, and an in-between run to Del Taco,
we met Dr. Laine for the first time, and she sweetly confirmed what we already
knew, that yes, this is a miscarriage.
She told us to guard our heart, to be gentle with ourselves. I felt surprisingly calm and at peace. Ray and I went home in a daze, not really
sure how to feel. I spent that evening
between crying and hoping to laugh, and sometimes actually laughing. We went to Pat’s BBQ, where we had planned to
go regardless of whether the night would be a celebration or a
consolation. We had so hoped for a
celebration. We spent that night holding
to each other and crying ourselves to sleep.
The next morning, I woke surprisingly happier than the
night before. I woke to a familiar
feeling – I know how to not be pregnant; I’ve been not pregnant before, and
now, today, I’m not pregnant. It wasn’t
comforting, necessarily, but it was an acknowledgement that, yes, I could do
this. I was, and am still, eternally
grateful that it was a weekend. That I didn’t have to pick myself up to go to
work. That we miscarried while in the
loving care of nurses and doctors – it made the process feel rather medical and
less emotional. I feel incredibly lucky
that the first bleeding didn’t happen while I was at work. I feel grateful that Ray was there with me,
that I didn’t have to tell him and worry together until we could reach a
doctor. The day was filled with
blessings despite the grief. And I was
able to begin recognizing those blessings that morning after.
Ray and I spent that weekend together; we went on a
beautiful moonlit canoe ride down the Provo River. We joked about how easy it would be to trump
everyone else’s campfire stories that night by dropping the bomb – I’m still in
the midst of a miscarriage. Our friends
found out (through internet forums and the lack of secrecy you can keep from
someone that knows your typewritten voice too well.) They gave us such sweet words of support and
love. I told my mom the news and we
cried together. I told my dad, and he
gave me the warmest hug. I told my
family and my sisters all responded with, oh yeah, miscarriages are hard!, and
the evening continued on. It was nothing
new for them – they had felt that grief.
There was comfort in knowing I wasn’t alone.
We spent the following week with Ray’s family, and so
much enjoyed the time we all had together.
It didn’t matter that there wasn’t our own personal happy news to share
– any time with family you rarely get to see is happy time. We didn’t share what was happening because it
didn’t seem necessary. We wanted to wait
to share happy news, and so we would wait, until the next time.
At first, I counted the days and weeks to follow in terms
of ‘since the miscarriage’. It was a
week since. It was a month since. It was shocking when it had been more days
‘since the miscarriage’ than the days that numbered from July 12th
to August 9th – the days that we were happily pregnant. The months marched on. And on and on. I watched one of my best friends have a baby,
and saw them experience so much joy. My
cousin had a due date nearly identical to what mine had been, and seeing photos
of that sweet baby boy now causes me a pang of almost a nostalgia – what could
have been.
I spent the months counting days, and we tried and
counted days. Always waiting to find out
if we’d be waiting again. But we also
spent the months being busy, and happy.
Ray built us a fence, and we got our sweet Mabel. This sweet dog-face was not a replacement for
a child, but she has filled my heart with more love than I thought was possible
to have toward an animal. She gives me
the opportunity to love with a nurturing heart, to kiss and hug, and post a
million social media pictures.
Ray continued his undergrad studies and graduated in
December. He took another class the
following semester, and then we spent one glorious summer class-free. He continued to kill it at work. I lost more and more interest in my job, and
finally got the push I needed to step out of that company after nearly eight
years. I found a new job at a great
company with people I’ve grown to love dearly.
My bakery business grew, and I’ve spent countless hours up to my elbows
in flour. I spent my time serving God
and young women in my church callings. I
was called to be the young women’s president in my church ward where I get to
be not a mother, but perhaps a form of big sister to so many beautiful and
hilarious and strong 12-18 year olds. We
kept on counting days and waiting.
I tried to pick up books or articles about improving your
chances to get pregnant. I picked up the
books, and put them down after feeling mostly helpless. I began temping (a process of monitoring your
basal body temperature and noticing changes that indicate ovulation), and that
helped only if, at the very least, it was a fascinating insight into the
workings of female bodies. We kept on
waiting and trying. We kept on loving
each other and finding new ways to move forward.
We booked and went on a life changing trip to
Iceland. We found great open silent
spaces, and joy surpassing anything I’d felt before. I came to understand how truly big and unknowable
God is, how small I am; how a little fog is scary but when it lifts, you find
that it concealed a great magnificence that was only just beyond sight. I ate Icelandic cheese and lobster and we
slept under a midnight sun and I found that this world holds magic that we
can’t grasp or capture, and that magic is accessible and real. I learned that Ray is the best person in the
world to share that magic with.
I had planned a youth conference for our Church youth,
and it happened to land over the weekend that marked one year since the
miscarriage. I was an anxious mess due
to the stress of parading thirty teenagers around a large city and trying to
provide opportunities to feel the spirit of God; I was an emotional mess
anytime I contemplated one entire year ‘since the miscarriage’. I barely held
myself together when one of our advisors announced her own pregnancy; I
crumbled to the ground when the plans for youth conference fell apart mere
hours before they were to take place. It
was one of the more difficult moments in my life ‘since the miscarriage’. But I also had to plan a lesson on what it
means to love God with all your might, and I also had Jack’s Mannequin’s “Swim”
on repeat in my car. And I had hope.
Ray began his Master’s program in August 2015 and the
next phase of adult life began. I
contemplated how difficult it would be to have a child in the midst of his
Master’s program. We still wanted a
child. We kept trying and waiting.
My wildest hopes suggested that I might be pregnant in
September. I ordered an oviraptor and a
massive egg from Amazon just in case. I
took out one of the pregnancy tests that had been waiting under the bathroom cupboard,
and on September 13th at 6 am, the test came back positive. I was shaking with joy, and did my best to go
back to sleep (Ray would stay asleep for the next three hours, I knew). I rested with a smile on my face. By 7 am, I got out of bed again. I placed the test in the massive egg, covered
it with a scrap of paper detailing our estimated due date in May 2016. I placed the oviraptor figure on top, and
wrapped it all nicely. By 8 am, I
couldn’t wait any longer, and woke Ray to tell him I got him a present. The oviraptor by itself would have been
enough, but our excitement spilled out the moment he saw the positive
test. He wondered, ‘is this a joke?!’ and I wondered how he’d ever think I could play that
kind of cruel joke. We laughed and
kissed and our hope grew brighter. We
were pregnant again, after twelve long months of waiting.
The next few weeks were spent with cautious
optimism. I repeated positive mantras to
the cells growing in my stomach – affirmations that sometimes caused my breath
to catch in realization of how much I feared them to not be true. I meditated and sent down good thoughts. I told the baby there was so much joy in the
world, and so much I would introduce him or her to, if only she or he could
make it out. I prayed and prayed, God, please let this one stay. I know you can let this one stay, so please let
this one stay. And then, as I’ve
been taught to do, but God… Thy will be
done. I realized one car ride home,
while sending positive thoughts the baby cells’ way that, if we shouldn’t get
to have this baby, I would be fine. I
would live through it. We would still
make our way in life. And then I prayed,
but God, no, let this one be real! I’d be fine, but don’t make me have to be
fine!
I spent the weeks getting blood drawn to test for HCG
levels. They were growing as they ought
to, and I took comfort in that. My
hormones were insane, and I knew I was being crazy and unreasonable with Ray
about pretty much everything and I couldn’t stop it. I remembered that I felt that way while I was
on birth control the first year of our marriage, and I vowed to never be on
birth control again. We got an
ultrasound where we hoped to see our baby’s heartbeat, and unfortunately, the
baby had not yet developed past an egg sack.
My longer period cycles pushed our baby’s due date back a week than what
we’d expected. Not a concern, just a bit
longer to wait until we’d get to see our baby.
I bought the softest, cutest onesie at Carter’s.
And then, on October 2nd, my temperature
dropped. I’d been monitoring my basal
temperature, and it remained high throughout the pregnancy. But there, on the 2nd, a drop of
six degrees. I prayed it was a fluke,
and continued my positive affirmations.
The temperatures remained lower than usual, but climbed by one degree on
the 3rd and on the 4th.
And then, late Sunday night on the 4th, blood. The tiniest bit of it. It all added up, and I couldn’t stop the
tears that began. I went out to Ray who
was lying in bed. One of our favorite
songs was playing on his phone. I asked
him to please turn it off.
I don’t want this
song to have a bad memory and I, um… I’m not sure, but… I think… I think I’m
probably having a miscarriage. He
jumped out of bed. We hugged, and I
cried and held to him tight. He asked if
I was sure and I said that spotting sometimes happens while you’re pregnant,
but my temperature dropped, too. We
agreed to call our doctor in the morning, and Ray read me a talk from one of
our dear apostles about gratitude. At
moments, the words felt hollow. How
could I ever convince myself to be grateful for this moment? And yet, there were words, too, that held
hope, moments during that reading that I knew I might be able to be grateful
again, even if not tonight.
In the morning, October 5th, there was no need
to call the doctor. The blood confirmed
my fears from the night before. I
stepped into the shower to begin my day, and sobbed. I gasped for breath and prayed for help and
asked God why, and then stopped asking why and asked for help. I begged that
God would help me find ways to be happy as we moved forward again. And then I got out of the shower and went to
work.
I spent the day feeling empty. I went in for a blood draw on my lunch
break. I texted my family and friends
because I couldn’t bear saying the words out loud yet. My mom called me to express her love and
support. I got an outpouring of love
from my family and friends. They weren’t
sure what to say. There was nothing
right to say, but there was love. And
that’s what I needed. And I felt hope
and peace.
I didn’t count the days after the miscarriage this
time. I just wanted to forget about
it. I just wanted to move forward. We met with my doctor, and she assured us
that technically, we’re still considered fertile and without problems. It’s normal to have a miscarriage. It’s not as normal to have two in a row, but
it’s not yet a ‘concern’. It’s normal to
have to wait up to a year to get pregnant.
It’s not normal to go over a year, but we had gone just barely over a
year, so it’s not yet a ‘concern’. I
felt aimless. How could I wait possibly
another year to get pregnant again? How
could I move forward if it was another miscarriage after that? How could the doctor say that we were normal
when we’d been trying to get pregnant for nearly two years now with no results?
Our doctor recommended a reproductive
endocrinologist. We began to do
testing. We’re in the middle of
testing. We’ve spent hundreds of dollars
beginning the process with blood draws and semen analyses and
hysterosalpingograms and endometrial biopsys.
We have follow-up appointments in the coming weeks. Our first meeting with our kind RE, Dr.
Gurtcheff, was calming and comforting. I
feel like we have a path forward, I feel like we’re doing something. Nothing and everything explains why we’ve had
problems. There are little issues,
things that we’ve been assured can be treated.
Nothing implies that we can’t get pregnant. We have gotten pregnant. Dr. Gurtcheff assures us that she fully
expects that our next pregnancy, in every likelihood, will happen and it will
result in a beautiful baby, and that we will do everything we can in the
meantime to assure that that happens.
I don’t know if I’ll find that I’m pregnant tomorrow, or
if I’ll find that I’m pregnant in six months or twelve months, or longer. I don’t know if that pregnancy will be
viable. I don’t know when I’ll ever hold
a child of my own in my arms, when Ray will get to hold his baby in his
arms. I don’t know and I’m scared, but I
have hope. I have faith in the process
we’ve been through, and I have faith in the knowledge of doctors who assure us
that we have a path forward. I have
gratitude that we’ve gotten pregnant before – that we have learned so much over
the past two years.
I see Ray’s oviraptor, the indication of our second
pregnancy, on a daily basis. I feel
sadness when I see it. Sometimes I feel
anger at that mother dinosaur protectively guarding her children without
guarding my own promise of a child. But
I feel grateful for that moment Ray and I shared when he first opened that
box. I am grateful for that little
reminder, even when it’s painful.
I have a bag of items hidden away, the books and stuffed
animals and onesies we purchased during the hopes of both our pregnancies. I don’t mind keeping those hidden away. I want the happiness they held when they were
purchased to be preserved; I want to feel that happiness the next time we have
the hope to pull them out again.
I’m happy. I have
peace in my life. I laugh on a daily
basis. Ray and I get to hold hands and
go out together often. We’ve been to the
movies together more times than I can count.
We take Mabel for walks and hikes.
We have faith in each other, and support each other through the journeys
we can take right now. We regularly
count the blessings we have at this stage in life, being together and having
this time to grow. There are too many
blessings to count.
Sadness is inevitable.
It shows up at moments I expect and don’t expect. I say hello and acknowledge this old
friend. I give it a place in my heart,
and introduce it to the other friends in my heart, the joy and the anger and
the hope and the fear and the peace.
This is quickly turning into a scene of Disney’s Inside Out, which I
think is appropriate. Without sadness,
the joy wouldn’t feel as sweet. And I
have a lot of each right now, but honestly?
I have more joy.
