Blessings

Andy and I were pregnant again.  We were due on July 4th.  We found out on October 24th.  Finding out you're pregnant is a bittersweet moment when you've miscarried before.  Instead of it being the beginning of dreaming about baby, it is the beginning a most mentally challenging time.  You don't allow yourself to dream about a healthy pregnancy and a baby because then it seems it will hurt all the more when it's taken away.  Those dreams that are just too beautiful, too right, too good to be true.  For me, up until about 8 weeks (the latest we'd miscarried) are just hellish mentally.  I worry over every symptom or lack thereof.  About the waxing and waning of symptoms.  I wonder every time I go to the bathroom if this will be the time I see spotting.  There is scarcely a moment of the day where I'm not thinking about the fact that I'm pregnant and about what could happen.  And as the days tick by on the calendar, it seems as though the worry only gets worse, not better.  Up until the first sonogram, when things become clear one way or the other.  In our case, there's either a healthy heartbeat, or a very slow heartbeat and sub-chorionic tears.  And so we know whether we will have a baby or a miscarriage.    

We scheduled our first sonogram for November 15th.  I felt nauseous many, many days (which I hadn't with our 3 miscarriages), so on occasion, I allowed myself to dream about having a successful pregnancy.  I dreamed about how we would tell people and when.  I thought that Christmas would be a wonderful time to share our news.  We'd be right around 13 weeks, through the awful, worry-filled first trimester.  I thought how delightful it would be to feel the baby moving inside of me.  I dreamed about telling people on Facebook and all the wonderful happy comments.  I dreamed about watching my belly grow and wearing maternity clothes.  About those awkward hugs from Andy as my belly got "in the way."  I dreamed about baby names and about labor and delivery.  About nursing and baptism and Godparents.  About Ruby being a big sister!  About Ira being a big brother again.  About a lifetime together.  I let my mind wander to those blissful things on the days I felt nauseous.  Because I actually like that nauseous, sick feeling, because for me that's a sign of a healthy pregnancy.  Those nauseous days are good days - even great.  Which also means that those days that most would consider "good" - the days when I felt fine - those were some of the hardest days.  Those days I just wanted to curl up in bed and sleep, because when I was sleeping, I couldn't think about what could happen.  But as the pregnancy progressed and the nausea didn't, I wondered.  My mind tried to rationalize why I wasn't feeling as sick as I knew I should (eating healthier, staying busier, hormones being just right where they should be, etc.) but in my heart of hearts, I wondered.

We went for our first sonogram on November 15th.  I was right at 7 weeks pregnant.  We were hoping to hear a healthy heartbeat but instead saw an empty gestational sac.  The sono tech thought maybe I was off on my dates, but when you practice NFP because you've struggled with fertility and miscarriages before, you know that you aren't off on your dates.  Not even a little bit.

My doctor wanted to repeat a sonogram the following Monday to see if anything had changed.  Nothing had.  I was diagnosed with a blighted ovum, meaning that essentially as soon as the egg was fertilized, the baby stopped growing.  Makes you really think about the fact that life really does begin at conception.  Because I wasn't pregnant with nothing.  I was pregnant with a baby who is now up in Heaven glorifying God.  And so we began Thanksgiving week knowing that we were losing another beautiful baby and waiting and hoping, even praying for a natural miscarriage (because apparently sometimes with blighted ovum, it can take weeks for your body to recognize that the pregnancy isn't progressing, sometimes so long that you're at risk for infection, in which case a D&C is required - not something I wanted to go through.)

We told our parents right after we found out on the 21st, but it just felt weird to tell anyone else at that point.  Saying "we're going to miscarry" just feels a little weird, because in the back of your mind, until it actually starts, you hold onto that miniscule hope that maybe, just maybe everyone is wrong, that maybe you'll actually see all those things you dreamed about come to fruition.  And in case you're wondering, it turns out it hurts just the same whether you let yourself dream those dreams or not.

I finally, thankfully, started miscarrying on Saturday, November 26th - Andy's birthday.  My niece had a birthday party that day and I didn't want to ruin the day with our less-than-upbeat news.  And then, the longer we didn't tell people, the less I wanted to tell people.  You probably know the feeling, you're just tired of sharing some sort of news, good, bad, or indifferent.  I remember feeling the same way after Ruby was born.  We called our immediate family and one of my best friends (her godparents) and then I just wanted to be done.  It wasn't that the news wasn't wondrous and miraculous, I was just sick of telling people.  I just wanted to spend time with my newly-born miracle.  Same with this, I didn't want to tell anyone else. 

So it wasn't until Tuesday that I basically had to tell my younger sister because I invited her over to learn how to make yogurt.  Tuesday was the day that the miscarriage really started in earnest.  The bleeding became very heavy and the cramping was comparable to post-birth when baby starts nursing - you other moms know the cramps I'm talking about.  Plus, there was just a lot of pressure "down there", making it difficult to stand for very long.  So it wasn't like I could just not tell her - despite really not wanting to.  Then of course, I had to tell the rest of my family the next day.  I didn't want anyone to feel "left out" by not knowing.  Didn't even feel like telling my best friend (Ruby's godmother who has experienced multiple miscarriages as well.)

I knew in my head that I really wasn't facing the grief well - basically just in denial still.  I hadn't even really cried.  Part of it was that we were busy with the holiday, but part of it was that I just wasn't ready to come to terms with it all.  Friday though, a number of things happened that brought me face to face with the fact that we'd truly lost another baby and I spent much of the day sobbing.  And I called my friend and we cried together.  And it was good.  And healthy.  And necessary.

I will say though, this miscarriage has been totally different than the three that we experienced in 2008.  Part of it is that this miscarriage had somewhat of an explanation (blighted ovum) and although we certainly don't know why this particular pregnancy developed into a blighted ovum, we know that it did, and that that's why this pregnancy wasn't successful.  That's much more knowledge than we have, even still, about our three other miscarriages.  And most of it is that I'm in a much better state mentally.  Ruby's birth was therapeutic and redeeming in multitudinous ways.  Before we had Ruby, I worried that Ira would be an only child.  No offense to only children out there, but that is just not something we ever dreamed of or wanted for him.  I felt regret over not relishing my pregnancy, labor, delivery, and early days with Ira.  I just wanted to be done with them, because I naively thought I would get to experience them over and over as our family grew like I just knew it would.  But with Ruby I did relish all those moments as if I would never get to experience them again.  So that if I never got to again, I'd at least have those precious, sweet, beautiful moments committed to my heart.  Before Ruby, I needed another pregnancy to ever feel "right" mentally again.  God, in His mercy, granted me that, although I certainly didn't merit it.  And I don't take that fact lightly.  I was given her and her pregnancy as a pure, undeserved gift.  And it was SO healing.  And although I long for a big family, I feel so grateful for the two precious, beautiful, fearfully-and-wonderfully-made gifts that I have been given.  And I rest in the peace that God's plans for our family are better than my own.