This CAN not be happening to me…AGAIN…

The excitement that set in after the results came back from my bloodwork with what we now refer to as Baby#3, was uncontrollable. We had no reason to doubt that this was a successful and healthy pregnancy. My hcG levels were increasing at a rapid rate, I was experiencing every pregnancy symptom in the book, and I was starting to show JUST a little. NOTHING could have prepared me for what I was going to hear from my doctor on July 11, 2011.

Due to my ever increasing and high levels, the nurse estimated that I was somewhere between 10 and 12 weeks along….HOLD THE PHONE….this was now July and I had taken a test in May that came back negative. And I thought I had a period in June…or did I?! Ten to twelve weeks would mean we would have conceived….around our anniversary in May?! Oh man…I was never going to live that down. You see, we know the exact date that Harper was conceived…Mike’s 22^nd birthday – August 22, 2008. I had yet to stop hearing the end of that one….

I had an ultrasound appointment scheduled for sometime in the morning (the exact time escapes me at the moment). My husband wasn’t able to get time off work to go with me so I enlisted my best friend. I didn’t see any reason that I would need Mike there so I sent him off to work that morning with a kiss, a smile, and an “I’ll text you a picture later”. Instead, my friend and I had planned to have lunch and spend the day shopping, after my appointment, of course.

I arrived at the doctor’s office fifteen minutes prior to my appointment time with a VERY full bladder and a skip in my step. I had waited two years to be pregnant again. After a minor setback in February, today was the day I was going to see our next miracle (again, always the eternal optimist). Luckily, I didn’t have to wait long to be called back into that tiny, very cheerful room. One of the things that I had come to love about my doctor’s office, at that point, was that a lot of the exam rooms reserved for expectant mothers and parents were plastered with pictures of babies: on the walls, the door, even in the ceiling tiles.

The ultrasound technician got all set up while I prepared my belly. I made sure that I had a talk with Baby#3 that morning about not being camera-shy as his or her big sister ALWAYS was on “picture day”. The ultrasound technician got started and confirmed that by the position of my uterus and size of my placenta and amniotic sac that I was 11 weeks, 5 days. That’s about where the good news stopped.

Now, I’ve had my fair share of ultrasounds to know that, by 11 weeks, things should be taking shape. I.didn’t.see….any…thing…in…there…NO! That couldn’t be! My uterus is tilted so it’s harder to see. The ultrasound technician just wasn’t looking in the right spot. We just have to look HARDER….

I could see it not only in the ultrasound technician’s eyes but in my best friends. This was a pregnancy with no baby. All of a sudden, I couldn’t see anything at all. My eyes were FILLED with tears.

“SERIOUSLY, God?! Why are you doing this to me?! I’m a good woman; I am a loving wife and would give the world to my daughter. Don’t you see that? Why won’t you give me any more children?”

I know that to be mad at God made no difference in the outcome, but for a minute I had somewhere to place my anger because I just couldn’t understand what was happening and why.  The ultrasound technician took a couple of more routine pictures and then explained to me that I had a perfectly healthy gestational sac but that a baby never made it to the “baby” stage. It was called a blighted ovum. She took everything out to my doctor who scheduled an emergency appointment as soon as she could squeeze me in about an hour later. In the meantime, my doctor ordered some bloodwork to see if there was anything abnormal in my panel.

My best friend was a Godsend! She cried with me and comforted me. She held my hand and dried my tears. She helped me make a VERY difficult phone call to my husband who was unable to speak. How could he say anything? He was 40 miles away from me, at work, and HAD to finish his day. Not only that, he had a mandatory meeting that night that he had no choice but to attend, knowing that he would be leaving me to grieve another loss alone. Trust me, neither of us wanted that, but food had to be put on the table and the roof over our heads had to be kept. So, he told me how much he loved me, said he would be home as soon as he could tonight, and that he would call in a little while to make sure I was okay.

And then we waited for what seemed like the longest hour of my life. When the nurse finally called me back to ANOTHER room filled with pictures of babies, I was far from finished crying. I was able to compose myself long enough to get the official diagnosis…a blighted ovum. My doctor explained that a lot of times this is the body’s way of fighting off an unhealthy pregnancy. I know that she also explained other reasons this could have happened but, in all honesty, I stopped listening after that. I had already experienced an unhealthy pregnancy that ended in loss; WHY WAS THIS HAPPENING TO ME?! I had a dream pregnancy with my daughter, not a single complication. This made no sense.

After a very confusing visit with the doctor and a lunch that my best friend FORCED me to eat, I returned home. That very same best friend convinced me that I needed to help her figure out how to make some custom hair pieces that afternoon (I think she just wanted to make sure I was okay and didn’t have to spend the afternoon alone; I love her more for coming up with an excuse to stay with me). Thanks to her, I was able to laugh, even if just for a moment, and get my mind off the rollercoaster I had spent the day on.

When she left, however, my world immediately turned upside down. You see, I am VERY good at putting on a brave face, even in times of adversity and pain. So, while I could have cried my eyes out and leaned on one of a few people in my life for support, I decided it best not to and quietly fall apart later.

Here’s the thing about this pregnancy: when I tell people about it, some have reacted with “Well, at least there was no baby”. REALLY?! I don’t care that there wasn’t a baby in there; this was just as much of a loss as my first miscarriage, second baby. This was a chance for another child, baby or no baby. The thing about women is, when they see those two pink or blue lines, that immediately signals a bonding period for them with their pregnancy. This was no different. I saw two pink lines, or well, six pink lines (I didn’t tell you about the pregnancy test I took after we came home from camping, test #3!), and immediately started “feeling” pregnant. I started the bonding process…

Let’s get one thing straight: this was a HUGE loss for my family and I. To all of you naysayers out there, baby or no baby, this was a missed chance at another child. For the time being, please stop telling me that this was not a “miscarriage” because there was no baby, you really aren’t helping. This was just as painful as my previous loss and I still count that baby (or lack thereof) as one of my guardian angels. There is a reason that God didn’t give me that third baby. Maybe one day I will understand it, maybe I won’t. We’ll just have to wait and see.

To my best friend: I dedicate this entry to you. Without you that day, I wouldn’t have made it home safely or realized that sometimes things have to happen for a reason. Without you, I wouldn’t have seen even the smallest light at the end of the tunnel. Without you, I wouldn’t have had a shoulder to cry on while I waited for my husband. Without you, I would have had no one to dry my tears or ask difficult questions of my doctor. Without you, I would have been lost. I love you more for being there for me that day and every day since!

To all of my loyal readers: thank you again for reading and stay tuned! My next post will be difficult to write, and most likely, difficult to read. But you all keep me going.

Fourth of July...and a surprise

I absolutely LOVE the Fourth of July! I think it has a little bit to do with the fact that it is literally THE ONLY holiday during summer vacation that I can enjoy, and a lot to do with the people I enjoy it with. Ever since Fourth of July 2009 (a.k.a. Harper’s 1^st Fourth of July), a small group of friends and us camp for the entire weekend and do absolutely NOTHING! It’s bliss….However, this is not your everyday average camping trip. You see, we camp in a friend’s parent’s backyard….literally five miles from home. We treat it like any normal camping trip and take everything with us, but know that if we forget something, it takes ten minutes to run home and back.

We set up camp Friday during the day and spend the whole day lounging around the pool and indulging in board games and books. When Friday night rolls around, the real fun begins. The boys are home from work and camp is ready…now we can cook around a camp fire, share funny stories, and play telephone (one of our favorite childlike camp fire games, with an adult twist!).

This most recent Fourth of July (2011) was spent like many holiday weekends in the past: camping, reading, playing, and lounging. However, I had this nagging feeling something wasn’t right. I chalked it up to the fact that I was probably just coming down with something and vowed to enjoy myself to the fullest extent. Because of said “yucky” feeling, I didn’t enjoy any adult beverages the first night…ah…well, we still had two more nights there and I was sure I would feel better in the morning. That was the funny part of the “bug” I had suddenly come down with, it rears its ugly head in the morning. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right and spent most of Saturday sitting and/or laying in a chair reading the occasional good book and playing with Harper.

We were preparing our annual Saturday night pot luck dinner, when it dawned on me. This wasn’t just any “bug”: this was nausea, hot flashes, a stuffy nose, and tenderness in my chest. Wow, I was an idiot….here I had been thinking for nearly two weeks that I was just getting a mid-summer cold.

As my friends were enjoying their frozen beverages and a good game of Farkle (one of our faves), I decided to tell them how I had been feeling and why I thought so. I LOVE my friends, but they didn’t believe me for one minute….I was always that woman that thought every bout of nausea was a possible pregnancy. And, given what we had went through in February, and the people that had stood by our sides, my friends were afraid of my taking a test and being disappointed in the results. So…it took me about four hours to convince them that I wouldn’t be partaking in any frozen drinks until I knew for sure.

Here’s what I love about my friends….one of them had an extra pregnancy test at home “in case” a friend ever needed it! What a girl! We went to her house and grabbed the test that would eventually change my life for the third time.

The seven minute drive back to the campsite was the longest of my life. My husband knew I had left, but didn’t know why, and I wasn’t going to take a test until I could get back and discuss my suspicions with him. On the drive, however, I thought about how fun it would be to surprise him with possible good news. When we pulled back in the driveway, my friend went back to the campsite and let me pee on my stick in peace.

I hadn’t even finished doing my business before two VERY pink lines appeared….Uh-oh….here we go again! I think the same type of shock from baby #2’s pink lines set in times about a million that calm, warm summer evening.

My husband is no dummy….he knew something was up so he was waiting for me when I walked out of the house. There was no denying the surprise on my face, nor the smile. We were once again faced with an oh-so-familiar road….another baby!

Mike summed everything up in one simple sentence, shortly after seeing those defining pink lines we had been faced with twice before, “But….we weren’t even trying!!” That’s the beauty of my husband: he is Captain Obvious in his finest. Of course I knew we hadn’t been trying, but that was our plan all along.

Our friends know us better than probably anyone and while we tried, they picked up on something immediately. Of course, all of the girls knew what I had been up to so they swarmed me as soon as I walked around the corner. While we didn’t have much time to discuss our surprising news, we did make one decision: we weren’t going to tell anyone until we had seen the doctor. Let’s just say that didn’t happen. While we are good at many things, Mike and I can never keep an exciting secret for long. This secret lasted precisely seven seconds.

Our friends were, of course, thrilled for us! The entire night consisted of questions and answers we didn’t have and sheer joy at the thought of another baby to love and spoil. In all reality, the rest of the weekend was spent trying to absorb our latest news. Mike was THRILLED; literally, he couldn’t stop smiling. It was cute, really. I loved how excited he was at the thought of being a parent again.

I was really having a hard time believing that the line could show up that quickly and started to get skeptical about the validity of the test. So, because Meijer is open 24 hours and I wanted to be absolutely sure, four of us girls trekked to Birch Run around midnight. I bought a pack of two pregnancy tests, and twizzlers to celebrate. I decided to wait until morning to test again so we returned to the campsite, test and twizzlers in hand to enjoy the rest of our night.

The next morning, I couldn’t pee in peace. I think there were five big, and one little, bodies waiting anxiously outside the bathroom door. Yet again, wasn’t even finished, before those lines showed up. I couldn’t deny it this time….God had decided to give us another miracle!

After our relaxing weekend spent with people we love, we were forced to return to reality. Tuesday morning was spent trying to get a hold of my doctor’s office. Due to our loss in February, I knew she would most likely order some bloodwork and want to see me. Here was the thing…I wasn’t exactly sure when we conceived because I didn’t really have a normal period in June and I had taken a pregnancy test in May which came back negative. Also, I have a fantastic friend who is in the medical profession who convinced me that the quick (and VERY dark) positive would show up for one of two reasons: I was further along than originally thought OR we were expecting more than one! GREAT!!

As I suspected, bloodwork was ordered. I anxiously awaited the results and the sound of the phone ringing one mid-July day was music to my ears. The nurse had good news: my hcG levels were through the roof, like 12-13,000 and I was going to retest the next day. Hallelujah! I tested again the next day and yet again, anxiously awaited that phone call. This time, my levels were 26,000 and climbing. Uh-oh…twins?! That was the only thought running through my head because there was NO way we could have conceived earlier and I not detected it. Due to my increasing levels, my doctor ordered an ultrasound and checkup for the next week. YES! I was going to be able to see my baby and know that everything was fine! I COULDN’T WAIT!

Mike was ridiculously excited; I really wish all of you could have seen him. He was glowing more than I was and I was the pregnant lady! To celebrate our good news, he decided that he and I needed a getaway. We dropped Harper off with her grandparents and went on a Mommy & Daddy camping trip. Time to ourselves?! Really? And a WHOLE weekend?! WOW…..

We enjoyed ourselves and were able to bask in our latest news. Mike treated me like royalty and I was over the moon to be expecting a child again with a father that I couldn’t have hand-picked for our children, he was THAT good!

Our weekend was, of course, way too short and we returned once again to reality. We picked Harper up from her grandparents and went home. My appointment was on a Tuesday so I only had a few days to wait……a few days for something like this made me feel like a child waiting for Christmas. COME ON TUESDAY!!

Stay tuned for the story of an ultrasound and doctor’s visit that would change my life! Thanks for reading!

Moving forward…not on, but forward….

To date, blog entry #3 (Grief and all that jazz…) was the most emotional and hardest to write. I’m telling you this because I think it’s important that you know that these experiences have substantially changed my, and our, lives. Even though we are quickly approaching the one year anniversary of our second child’s passing, it is still incredibly emotional and I find myself on that rollercoaster every now and again (like the night I write said post). Hopefully, you will find this post much lighter and easier to read (I’m also hoping to be able to get through it without crying).

Before I can even begin to think about the healing process following baby #2, I must thank some very key people. I won’t name anyone by name, but I don’t know that I have ever personally thanked each and every one of the people that made it possible to heal.

To my husband, the most loving man I know – You are my rock and I don’t know how I could have done it without you! We not only created this child together, but also lived through its passing, and came out on the other end a stronger team. You convinced me that life was still worth living and helped me renew my faith. For that, I am eternally grateful. You are my partner in everything and I wouldn’t have God’s most precious gift without you. Also, I wouldn’t have a guardian angel without you either….I love you!

To Harper, my most beautiful gift – You are the reason I breathe and the reason I kept going when I felt like giving up. You put a smile on my face when there were tears in my eyes and love in my heart when it was heavy. You put a spring in my step when my feet didn’t want to leave the ground and never left my side when I was convinced I needed to be alone. You will always be my miracle baby and I’ll love you forever.

To my grandmother, a woman who survived three miscarriages and can still talk about it – To date, you are one of the only people that has been open enough to discuss these losses with me. You let me cry and be angry, all the while telling me that “This too shall pass”. Thank you. I love you a bushel and a peck!

To my family – Thank you for understanding when I didn’t want to leave the house or answer your phone calls. You were never angry, but VERY patient!

To my best friend – You heard the most of it….and still love me! You were my shoulder to cry on and my punching bag for when I was angry. You truly are the BEST!

To my dear work friends – You are some of the kindest people I know and I never have to worry about crying on your shoulders; you are always there. You made it easier to come back to work. Knowing I had listening ears waiting for me made the days following baby #2 bearable.

To my boss, a caring woman who never blinked at the time I needed to take off to heal – Thank you for allowing me to worry about me, and not work. Thank you for being a shoulder to cry on, if needed, and for offering me as much time as I needed.

To anyone who offered condolences, kind words, and sent prayers – You truly are a blessing to my life and I can’t thank you enough for thinking of my family in their time of need!

Now is as good a time as any to admit that I didn’t make it through any of the above without crying. Eh….I guess I’m feeling emotional tonight. I PROMISE the following will be much lighter (Well, I’ll do my best, at least).

Now, on to life after baby #2, loss #1….

Once I had made my peace with the loss of baby #2, life pretty much continued as normal. However, there was this tiny hole in my heart that was only filled by the thoughts of my beautiful child in Heaven.

Because our pregnancy was a quick one, we never told Harper that she was going to be a big sister. This made it a lot easier in the days following the loss of baby #2 because she didn’t have any questions that were difficult to answer. However, we have a very strong and sensitive child, who knew something wasn’t right. She never left my side and would spend hours sitting on the couch with me, completely content to just sit. For a child who had never sat still from the minute she was born, that was saying a lot. I loved that, with her, I didn’t have to talk. She was the one person in my life that didn’t want to talk about how I was feeling, offer condolences, or ask countless questions about how this could have happened. I owe a lot to that sweet little one and a half year old because, in reality, her silence gave me the time to reflect and heal.

But, I digress. On to the reason I am writing….moving forward. I realized early on in the healing process that I would never move on. I think that’s important for any woman who has been through a similar situation to realize….you will never move on. You will only move forward. And, that’s what I did. I moved forward with my life. For a few short weeks, life passed me by. It didn’t care that I was wallowing in self-pity and had no motivation. My life was still moving at the same speed it always had and I was missing most of it. So, I vowed to move forward with it. All the while, I never forgot our sweet baby #2.

Following baby #2, as a family, we were as strong as ever. Our faith was renewed and our marriage was rock solid. My husband and I really found each other following that baby. We had no one else to rely on but each other and we made sure to do so. Although we had always known that our precious Harper was a gift, we didn’t cherish the little things the way we did following baby #2. Instead of coming home and making dinner alone, I would include her in the process. Instead of standing at the sink staring blankly out the window while I did dishes, I would talk to her. Instead of grading papers while she was playing, I would play with her and grade after she went to bed. Not that we weren’t in tune with parenting before, but it always seemed that we were so busy and sometimes, if I’m being honest, Harper didn’t get the attention she deserved. Following that fateful day in February, Mike and I vowed to cherish each day with her and not let a moment slip past where we didn’t tell her how much we loved her.

We celebrated the holidays, big and small following the loss of our second baby: St. Patrick’s Day, Easter, our anniversary, Mother’s Day, and of course, Harper’s 2^nd Birthday. Harper’s 2^nd Birthday, to me, was even more special than her 1^st, given what we had lost in the meantime. We didn’t do it up as big as her 1^st, but we definitely did it in style. We celebrated with family and friends at our home, and boy, did that child get spoiled (mostly by us, but hey….she was our only one at the moment! Why not?!)! I think it’s safe to say that the adults had more fun putting together all the cool stuff that we didn’t get to play with as children, than Harper did actually playing with it. Her party was a success and, at the end of the day, we had a beautiful two year old sleeping soundly in her bed.

Guess what decided to creep up on me the night of Harper’s 2^nd birthday, precisely at 8:48 P.M? Ding, ding, ding…you guessed it - that ever present itch for more children. However, this time I was a bit more cautious, given everything my family had endured the past few months. Mike and I started discussing the idea of more children and leaving it up to God once again. Our doctor assured us that it was completely safe to start trying again. Well, not “trying” because we said we didn’t want to “try”, but not preventing either.

In the meantime, we also celebrated birthdays big and small as well as Father’s Day. And, of course, my favorite holiday: Fourth of July…stay tuned for more on that weekend in my next post (you won’t want to miss it)!

Thanks, once again, for reading!

Loss #1: Grief and all that jazz...

I think, before I get into the meat of my newest post, I need to clarify a couple of things. First of all, I absolutely LOVE my doctor and am not upset with her whatsoever for sending me to Emergency when I was in the middle of my first miscarriage. That loss was most likely inevitable and any other treatment probably would not have changed the outcome. Second, I think I may have come off as a little harsh and self-fulfilling with all the comments about my care. Not that I know anyone that just loves hospital visits, but I literally almost go into a panic attack when I have to step foot inside the revolving doors. Not only that, I didn’t (and still don’t, really) know how to handle the fact that I was not able to carry God’s most precious gift to birth. The best way I knew how to heal, and the best way I know how to describe my emotions at that time, is through sarcasm. I’m sorry if I offended anyone, but as I have said before, this is a taboo topic and I have yet to come across a handbook on how to handle this type of situation. I’m doing the best I can….

Now, back to the reason I am writing this next entry….”healing” with the loss of baby #2. In the hours and days following my first miscarriage, I literally ran the gamut of emotions: disappointment, anger, sadness, embarrassment, fear of the unknown, etc. I had only known a handful of people who had experienced that type of loss and they tried to help the best they could (thank you, by the way…you know who you are!). However, no matter how much you talk to someone else who can sympathize with your situation, you are not going to feel better. I think it’s best to get that straight right now! For most people, this is an unimaginable experience. Not only that, it’s safe to say that I had a Superman mentality when it came to the loss of a child…”That will NEVER happen to me!”

I have the WORLD’S BEST husband (I know, I know…at some point, we probably all say that), but in this case, I couldn’t imagine having gone through all of this with someone else. After everything, there is no doubt in my mind that God hand-picked Mike for me. Why am I telling you all this?! Well, because what I am about to tell you may shock you, and please, don’t hold it against him. Mike wasn’t exactly “there” for me after our first miscarriage. In retrospect, I can understand why: Mike was only 22 when Harper was born; he was terrified to become a parent but parenting fit him like a glove the minute she was born. Because the time span from the positive pregnancy test to the miscarriage was only seven days, he didn’t exactly have time to get super excited about this pregnancy and bond with me and the baby as he had while I was pregnant with Harper. While the loss of baby #2 shocked him, he didn’t really know how to handle everything because, let’s face it, dads don’t always bond with baby during the pregnancy. How can they?! We, as moms, bond the minute those two pink (or blue) lines show up on the test; it takes longer for dads. Mike is a realist….he started to get excited for our first baby when he saw an ultrasound first hand and heard a heartbeat. Without that chance with baby #2, it wasn’t that real to him. 

So….he went to work the morning after our fateful visit to the hospital and CPR training on Saturday (just 2 days after our Emergency Room visit).

Now, it would be dishonest of me if I told you that I wasn’t incredibly upset with my husband for leaving me in my time of need. On top of everything else I was experiencing emotionally, I felt completely alone in my grief. I mean, this was a child we created together, right?! After much consideration, and careful discussions with my loving husband, I now know why he wasn’t there: he couldn’t be. It was absolutely heartbreaking for him to see me cry for hours on end and not eat for days. Not only that, he had made his peace with the situation and with God that night in the hospital. He was afraid that if he stayed home with me, while I was healing, he would start undoing everything he had already done. He would essentially become a blubbering hot mess much like myself. It took me a LONG time to accept that; it took a lot of heated discussions and soul searching on my part, but eventually, I was okay with the fact that he left me alone to handle my feelings.

I know what you’re thinking….I must be a crazy woman to be okay with that….well, I just might be. But I also knew that I would survive this and so would my marriage. I had to let go of the things that I could (i.e. Mike’s way of healing), and take care of the things that I couldn’t let go (i.e. How could this have possibly happened to me?!). I needed to prioritize…#1 was making sure that I could still go on and be the best mother I could to the beautiful blessing God had already given me. #2 was making sure that I took care of me and did whatever was necessary to help me heal. So, I let go of the anger I had toward my husband and accepted the fact that I wasn’t the only one that had experienced this loss and he found a way to grieve and let go of the things that were out of our control.

So, on to my healing. I went back to work on Monday, just four days after receiving the most devastating news to date. Why, you ask? The wallowing in self pity and laying on the couch, while it felt okay, was getting me nowhere. If I didn’t get up off the couch two things were going to happen: #1-I was most likely going to slip into a state of depression and #2-there was going to be a “Sam”-shaped body print in the cushions. Neither of those sounded like fun to me. So, I picked myself up by my bootstraps, so to speak, and headed off to work. Was it easy? Absolutely not! I was faced with a roomful of children who were all healthy enough to be sitting before me and I couldn’t bring another healthy child into the world.  Doesn’t that sound terrible?! I felt AWFUL each time I thought it, however, I promised to be honest when I started this blog and that’s as honest as it gets.  I found one thing to be true: the busier I was, the less my mind wandered to what I had lost. If you were to go back now and ask my teaching team about the first few weeks after my return, they would probably tell you I was a powerhouse and moving every second I was at work. They would most likely also tell you that I took on a lot of responsibilities in those few weeks. I had no choice…I had to keep my mind busy, because when I didn’t….the waterworks would flow.

So, I would go into work each morning at 7:00 A.M. and leave at 5:00 P.M. utterly exhausted. I literally would try, in my ten hour work day, to absolutely exhaust myself so that when I got home I didn’t have the brain power or will to think. It didn’t work very well. As soon I as I got home, I would fulfill my wifely duties: cooking, dishes, laundry, bath, book, and bed time. But the minute Harper went down at 7:00 P.M., I was that hot mess from just a few days ago. I cried every night for weeks, until I finally had no tears left to cry. It was the only way I knew how to mourn the unexpected end to my second pregnancy. When that last tear fell, I knew it was God’s way of telling me “Don’t worry, I have this. Your baby is safe with me and you will one day meet him/her. Until then, pray, love, and live life as normally as you can. But, I’ve got this.” A weight was lifted and I felt as though I didn’t need to grieve anymore. I had lost 5 pounds, laid around, and cried enough to be able to live with what had just happened. I had also been forced to renew my faith in Him and know that He has a plan for all of us and this was just part of His plan.

In that instant, I thought of my Grandpa. For those of you that knew him, you know there was one thing that he cherished more than anything around him: his grandchildren. We were his world and he was ours. Grandpa passed away on my 21^st birthday, September 11, 2006. In that instant, when I cried my last tear, I thought of Grandpa. I thought of how excited he must be to have one of his great-grandchildren in Heaven with him. I saw him throwing him/her excitedly into the air, playing a game of catch, and fixing the seat on a bicycle. I knew I didn’t have to worry about my baby: he or she was perfectly fine and well taken care of by the man that I had loved so dearly for 21 years.

I think of that baby everyday. We are quickly approaching the one year anniversary of his or her passing. I often wonder what he or she would have looked like. Would I have given Mike a son or another daughter? What kind of person would he or she be? What kind of big sister would Harper have been? There are so many unanswered questions and unknowns. However, I made my peace with the situation some time ago and have to leave it at that. As of February 17, 2011, I was a mom of two children. I will never  NOT look at it as that. No matter what, that is my baby and my first guardian angel.

I think it’s best to leave it at that. Thank you, once again for reading!

February 17, 2011: What I THOUGHT was the worst day of my life….

So my last post was all about where we started, and many of you may be thinking that I will be able to sum up my story in just a few short posts. I really wish you were right. I do want to brace you, however, for what may be a series of too much information and heartbreaking confessions. All are a part of my healing process and what I am hoping will eventually help someone else.

If I’m being completely honest, Harper wasn’t even a day old before I felt the itch to endure another pregnancy, more labor pains, an increasingly difficult delivery, and the joy that comes with meeting your child face to face. I WANTED ANOTHER BABY! Call me crazy; Mike did! However, I knew the moment I laid eyes on our beautiful creation that I was hooked….hooked on being a mommy! It was like a drug to me…I wanted more! I wasn’t going to be satisfied until I had a whole houseful of children!

Mike and I had never really discussed how many or in what duration we would have children. Our first one, while a blessing, was a complete surprise to us! We had a plan…a very good plan, we thought, to wait about five years after we were married to have a baby. We wanted to experience things: each other, life, being married. We wanted to have all that down pat before we brought someone else into it. Boy, did God know better!

We were honeymooning all over again with a new baby in the house! I just knew this was what I was put on this earth to do and I was doing everything in my power to make sure I was the BEST!

Harper celebrated her 1^st birthday in style on May 13, 2010. It was bittersweet for me. My baby wasn’t a baby anymore…but growing up and becoming this AMAZING little person! At precisely 8:48 P.M. that night, I felt that ever present itch even more.

Mike and I started discussing the idea of more children shortly after Harper’s first birthday. I was pushing for more immediately and he was the practical one (always is!).  We decided to wait.

I think now is as good of time as ever to tell you that Mike and I had set forth a very specific plan for our family, and one that to this day, I hold very sacred:  we never wanted to TRY for our children. We wanted God to give them to us when He knew we were ready.

So, you will imagine my surprise when, in early February 2011, I was faced yet again with two defining pink lines (just to be sure, I took four tests! I know, a little excessive…). We were ELATED! Even though our plan was to wait a little while longer, it didn’t matter! We were going to have another baby and couldn’t imagine any other feeling in the world than sheer gratitude to a God that has a plan for us. This baby MUST have a part of His plan for us…and we couldn’t wait.

Now, I have never been a person who liked surprises, except for these special bundle-of-joy surprises, and couldn’t EVER keep a secret (just ask anyone who knows me) so we started announcing pretty much as soon as we had a due date. Why not?! We had a picture perfect pregnancy the first time so this, we assumed, would be no different.

Well…to put it politely…we were wrong. I found out we were expecting on Thursday, February 10, 2011. I immediately called my family doctor who ordered a blood test. Now, I should have heard it in the nurse’s voice when she called me the day following my lab work. However, I am and always will be an eternal optimist so….I was told that my hcG levels were low and that they wanted to order more lab work for me in a few days and maybe a few days after that to make sure they were increasing correctly. I wasn’t too concerned because the nurse told me that my levels were JUST below normal and that could mean that I ovulated late and detected my pregnancy early….no big deal, right?! I tested again two days later and two days after that. Both times my levels were JUST below normal.

February 17, 2011 will go down forever in infamy in my life. I had a perfectly normal day at work and had really experienced no complications involving my newest endeavor (i.e. baby#2) so I wasn’t at all prepared for the long night I would have this fateful day…

I remember well the events that transpired….It was the end of the school day, 3:00, and I had released my students to their waiting busses and parents with a smile on my face when I realized something wasn’t right. I called my friend who had been through four pregnancies and had four BEAUTIFUL children to show for it, to ask her if my light spotting and mild cramps were anything to worry about. I didn’t really have time to hear what she said because, as I was speaking to her, I felt a gush (I warned you about the amount of information I was going to be sharing). Nothing SUPER heavy but enough to make me instantly call my husband and request that he SPEED on his way home.

We made the necessary phone calls to make sure Harper was picked up from daycare and taken care of, and made our way to Covenant Hospital. Now, mind you, I wasn’t at all prepared to be here this soon! I assumed the next time I would be walking through their double doors would be a crisp, fall day in October, when 

I was about to give birth to our 2^nd miracle. I had called my doctor ahead of time and she told me to go to Emergency and make sure they processed me right away.

Umm…ok, doc….have you ever been in an Emergency waiting room?!

I sat there for FIVE hours before I was even admitted and taken to a room. I sat in an Emergency waiting room, terrified, with my equally terrified husband, all the while I was bleeding and cramping and losing my baby. Brace yourself…what I am about to tell you may shock you… While I was spending the five longest hours of my life in the waiting room, I knew the exact moment I lost our precious gift. I had tried explaining to the intake nurse that I was not some crazy person who was pregnant and THINKING she was miscarrying; nor was I a first time mom who was afraid of any little spot; but that I had been through a dream pregnancy and detected this one early and I KNEW what was happening to my body. None of that, as you can imagine, mattered much in my being taken to a room.

I will spare you all of the gory details that go along with how and when I lost our baby, but will tell you that when I was eventually taken back, I was apparently important because the nurse made sure that all of my labs and tests were taken care of STAT.

Hi, lady, where were you FIVE hours ago?! How come no one else could make me feel as though I was being heard and taken care of?! (Now, I’m not trying to say that my emergency was any more important than someone else’s; however, I am just trying to provide you with the full effect of my situation and how I was feeling.)

When push came to shove, all of my tests showed that I had in fact miscarried. The exact time could not be measured by hospital personnel, but I can tell you: it was 6:53 P.M., February 17, 2011. Scary, right?! You have NO idea! After my diagnosis, I wasn’t able to leave because I still had to have a bunch of labs run….SERIOUSLY?!

After being poked what seemed like a million times and having been given the worst news of my life to date, I sat in my little room waiting for a RhoGAM shot. I was assured that I wouldn’t have to wait much longer and I would be able to receive my shot and be on my way…an hour and a half later I finally told my husband to tell the nurses I would get a shot the following morning at my doctor’s office and I was leaving NOW! I had spent the last few hours sobbing and I was ready to go home…my shot came five minutes later.

We left the hospital crying and holding each other. It was well past midnight at this point and I had strict instructions to get a few prescriptions filled on our way home…

Well...do you know any pharmacies open past midnight? Yeah, that was a scavenger hunt we weren't ready to go on! (I filled my prescriptions the next day.)

Needless to say, we went home and fell into bed. I did much more crying than sleeping that night…how could I have possibly lost a baby? (By the way, the term “lost” a baby is totally unnecessary. I didn’t LOSE a baby…my baby didn’t live to be born…I don’t really know how else to say that other than to put it bluntly.)

I spent the better part of the weekend fighting a losing battle within myself. There is no handbook on this subject and, I found, people don’t really know how to talk to someone about this situation. I was taboo….that was not a fulfilling feeling. I learned, eventually and VERY slowly, how to handle my grief and pain.

Stay tuned…..my next entry will discuss just that! Thank you for reading!