"Are you guys going to try for a third child?" The well meaning guy behind the counter innocently asked. My 'inside voice' said, "Two weeks ago our third child was scraped out of my uterus by my doctor." But instead I shrugged, "I don't know." It was the honest answer and the easiest.
Very sweet people who are close to us want to know what happened, but I haven't wanted to talk about it. I still don't. But I'm hoping that by writing about it here that those questions can be answered and maybe even another step toward healing can happen. The biggest thing I've learned through this experience is how many, many people have gone through this. So I know I don't have the market cornered on losing a pregnancy by any means. This is just my experience of it - which is, unfortunately one of many.
It was a strange thing to have to admit that I had to be out of work for a D & C. Still being in the first trimester meant most people in my life didn't know I was pregnant, and now I had to share that I was and I had lost it, and needed a medical procedure to finally end it. That's a lot of information to have to share and absorb in one moment. But this story didn't start off that way - in the beginning it looked like it would be a really good story to share someday...
At the end of August, I took a test and learned I was pregnant. This was our third child, and would be our last. I was ecstatic and relieved. A year ago, we "tried" and it didn't happen. I was beginning to wonder if our moment had passed - maybe it wouldn't happen for us this time. I had shared with Chris a month earlier my fear that it might not happen for us again. Then there it was: 2 lines on a stick. It was happening.
I even vacillated over whether or not to tell him right away. It was a Monday morning, and I drove David to school so I could think about what to do. I finally decided I had to tell him, but how? I wanted to be creative. I remembered he had asked the day before if he could read my sermon from that morning (I had supplied somewhere and he went to our usual parish with the kids). So I raced home and pulled up my sermon. At the end I typed, "The test was positive. I am pregnant. Amen." [Some might remember that he proposed to me in a similar way.] He came downstairs and I asked if he wanted to look at my sermon before I closed it on my computer. He said sure and sat down to read. At one point, he stopped reading and said, "You know - I've been thinking about Moses..." and as much as I wanted to shout just read it, I bit my tongue and bantered with him. He went back to reading. I moved behind him, and when he got to the last page, he sprang up and goes, "What does this mean? What does this mean?" I just smiled and nodded. He hugged me so tightly and laughed - and cried;. He was so happy, and so was I.
And then I got sick. Really sick. Sicker than I had ever been in two previous pregnancies. It was hard not to just tell people that I was pregnant to explain my green-ness or bad attitude. But I wanted to adhere to the first trimester don't tell rule. We did in the past, and it made sense to do it again.
Except we have a five year old who has been praying over the past year almost constantly for a baby sister. Not telling him was so hard. But we waited until we saw in black and white that little flutter of a heartbeat. All was well! So we told the boys that night. David was ecstatic! We told him it was a secret and we'd just share it with our immediate family for now. Apparently he proceeded to tell his friends and teachers at school though. Asking a 5 year old to keep this secret probably wasn't very fair...
Since the baby was measuring only 7 weeks 4 days at that first appointment (about a week behind schedule), the NP recommended we come back in 3 weeks for another ultrasound. That's when we learned the sad news. At first, she couldn't find the fetus. Then it was there and she zoomed in and moved around, and squinted. There was no heartbeat. She turned on the Doppler which last time sounded 147 beats per minute, this time was silent. I began to cry and so did Chris. This is every parent's worst nightmare. And it felt like a nightmare. But it was real.
Telling David was the hardest. I told him that at the doctors office she found that the baby isn't there anymore, and that sometimes God decides that this isn't the right time for this particular baby and takes it back to heaven. He asked why God would do that, and I told him I don't know, but that we are very sad about it, and its ok to feel sad. He turned and buried his face in the couch and began sobbing - a pure mixture of sorrow and anger. "But I want THIS baby!" he cried. "Why would God take it away from us?" These were the lamentations of a 5 year old - the lamentations we would likewise scream if we weren't so grown up. We cried together and I reminded him that we have each other and our families and all of this love would get us through. He decided he was too upset to go to soccer practice, and it seemed right to honor that feeling.
Two days later, I sat on the bed with David and explained I was going to the doctor that day and they were going to fix something inside me, and that I wouldn't feel good and would have to rest for a few days. "Will this bring the baby back?" he asked. "No baby, it won't," I said, my heart breaking all over again. He had asked me the night before if it was ok for him to start praying for another baby. I didn't know what to tell him. I still don't. I fell back on the, "You can always talk to God about anything you want," advice...
My OB practice is amazing. Even though they knew the result wouldn't change, they let us come early for another ultrasound - just to make sure. The little one still measured exactly 8 weeks, as it did two days earlier (it would've been 10 1/2 weeks by then). So we knew for sure. We walked across the street to Trinity Cathedral where Dean Baker met us to pray with us and anoint us before we went back to check in to the surgery center. The kind nurse took me back and I changed into the hospital gown. I sat on the gurney trying to focus on reading my Glamour magazine. The curtain flew open and three nurses came in bearing blankets and charts - and I burst into tears. I knew this pregnancy would end in surgery - I just didn't imagine it would be like this. And, as often happened when I did CPE, upon seeing my tears, the nurses freaked out. "I'm just really sad," I told them. "I'm ok." They were very sweet and waited for me to compose myself before they continued. Having just anointed someone in the hospital, it was very hard to be suddenly on the other side of the medical procedure.
Chris brought me home from the procedure, but recovery was slow. Slower than I thought or wanted it to be. Having been so sick for over 2 months, I just wanted to feel better, to be back to normal again. It took about a week, but I got there. My extreme nausea is gone, my little baby bump is gone, my energy level is back. But the sadness remains. Yet, there are a few things that I'm grateful for. I'm thankful that we have 2 beautiful, healthy children. I'm thankful that I have an amazing family, colleagues, Board members, and students who rallied to make it ok for me to be off work. I'm thankful I have an amazing husband and that we can lean on each other through this (and that he was my side all the way through).
As I would imagine everyone who goes through this feels, I feel guilty - wondering what I did or didn't do, even though I know this was unpreventable. That pregnancy was brutal - being so sick, and tired, and having every nasty pregnancy symptom all at once. You get through it because you know the payoff will be worth it. There is no payoff here - and that is unspeakably tragic. And the way I thought these next 8 months would play out is now over. Our world changed with that pregnancy test - as it has twice before. But now that world has imploded. And I know so many women have gone through exactly this - there is some solace in that. The NP said 40% of pregnancies end this way. So we are not alone. But the pain is still there and I doubt it will be going anywhere for awhile.
We will heal from this, and all will be well again, but for now, we grieve for the flutter we will never meet, the due date that will never come, this little one we will never see except on a blurry ultrasound photo. My sweet little niece suggested I could have one of 'her' babies - her little sister or brother. I told her it doesn't work that way. I mean that's the big question now, right? One of the first things the NP said to us was we'd just have to wait a cycle or two and then we could try again. Try again? It's hard to think about that. There is no way to replace this lost pregnancy. The loss will always be there. But to risk all of this again - I just don't know...
We have drawn so much strength and hope from hearing all the stories that so many people have shared with us about their experiences with miscarriages. And from all the prayers and love and support that everyone has offered us. To say I'm grateful is a huge understatement. Y'all are amazing. I'm guessing there will be moments of sadness (hearing "The Circle of Life" on the radio had me in tears the other day), but as time goes on we've taken refuge in our family routine. And work. And the knowledge that God has not forsaken us and that we have much to be grateful for. And we truly are.
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