I spent a good amount of time today, reading my old blog. It was the blog I started during my single, traveling all over the world years. I got caught up in nostalgia...and part of me ached to chase those waterfalls in Africa again, to spend Saturday's on food tours in Manhattan, to galavant around Europe, or eat pancakes in Thailand. That was my life?
And then there is THIS blog. The one that reminds me why I am so incredibly lucky to be married to Aaron to be home, my own home, with him. I am fortunate to still be doing what I love (teaching) at an amazing high school. I am surrounded my constants: faith, family, friends.
From the time I was a teenager I have spent a lot of time with children. My first babysitting job, when I was eleven, nieces and nephews, 10 years of nannying, teaching preschool, volunteering in orphanages, studying early childhood in college, teaching child development. None of this qualifies me to be a mother more than anyone else, but it did make me into a person who was susceptible to comments like, "you are going to be a great mother some day", "you will have the cutest kids", "you are going to be married and have kids before any of us"(friends from high school), and now that I am married..."you and Aaron will be the most amazing parents". I suppose all of those comments are compliments, but still it doesn't and hasn't qualified me to be a mother more than anyone else. I've learned this the "hard" way.
Aaron and I got married when we were both 33, so we didn't want to wait to start having children. We felt that we'd gotten what we needed out of our twenties and were both ready to start a family. After what seemed like a century, we finally became pregnant ten months into our marriage. Looking back, that seems like a very short amount of time...but we REALLY wanted to be parents. This child's birthdate was July 4th. We joked about always celebrating with fireworks, or me waiting a couple of extra days to deliver so the baby could share a birthday with Grandpa Tom. We wanted to send holiday cards with a cute picture and a due date announcement. Everyone would be so excited. We never sent those cards. Aaron and I shared this excitement with each other for about a week before I miscarried our first child. I had big plans about "how" I would tell my family on Thanksgiving, but on November 18th, 2014 I called my mother, worried sick and told her for the first time that I was pregnant, but I was losing the baby. That was the hardest phone call I've ever had to make. We were shattered, confused, disoriented, in disbelief. We were supposed to be the "cutest" parents. I was "born to be a mother" right?
I remember people telling me things like, "this is just nature's way of telling you something was wrong with the baby" or "things happen for a reason". Comments like this come from a good place, they are well intended but when you just want your baby to have lived, to be parents...they just don't make the cut.
The months that followed were hallow, but we tried to fill the holes by buying and renovating a house, throwing ourselves into classes. I tried to "fix" the problem by seeing a holistic nutritionist and read just about every article you can imagine about miscarriage. I don't recommend that by the way. The day we bought our house, we went for a consultation at a Fertility Clinic. We'd waited a year and a few months after marriage so we thought, maybe we will get some answers. Everything "looked" ok. We got pregnant before so infertility was looked over. Month after month, we were still not having any luck. If anyone reading this has ever "tried" to get pregnant, you know that every month without a pregnancy is like a punch in the gut, a break up, a slap in the face.
In October of 2014 I couldn't take it anymore. We scheduled an HSG test. They basically put dye into your reproductive system so that they can see if the fallopian tubes are open or if there are any other blockages. Fallopian tubes did fine. Ovaries were on point. Uterus...whoah...there's a huge polyp in there!. Two weeks later I was on the operating table to remove it. The doctor said that she was pretty sure this was the reason I'd miscarried the first time and that removing the polyp "should" correct the problem. Everything else looked great. Aaron and I practically bounced out of the doctors office. There was a reason. We're good now. What a relief.
To our surprise, just a month and a half after the surgery I was pregnant again. I didn't believe it at first. I took 8 home pregnancy tests before confirming it through a blood test. Aaron actually got the phone call that I had missed and brought home flowers and a card that told me the test was positive. We were elated, beyond excited. I was also scared to death of losing another baby. Because I had the surgery, my doctor there told me she would do some early ultrasounds if I wanted. 7 weeks, as I have come to find out is much earlier than "normal". On the day of the "seven week heartbeat" ultrasound, we had it all planned out. I had asked my mom to come with me to the appointment, but I told her it was a follow up to the surgery. We wanted to surprise her. Just before the doctor came in, we told her we were pregnant and this ultrasound was to see the heartbeat. She was so happy.
Doctor came in, started the ultrasound. Silence...followed by a "Well, I can see the sac and fetal pole but I can't see the heartbeat, we will have to check again next week". My heart sank. Aaron and I cried together in my mother's van. My parents did not know what to say. How in the world was I supposed to get through the week? We decided to tell our families, and asked for their prayers. I pleaded, and begged with my Heavenly Father to wrap his arms around this embryo and save our baby. Surely, with all of these people praying He would answer.
In the weeks that followed, the ultrasounds confirmed our fears. We never did hear that heartbeat. The baby had stopped growing at around 6 weeks. I remember looking at the doctor with a blank stare as she laid out the "options" methods for miscarriage. I didn't feel like this was a choice I should have to make. I couldn't even cry. I don't think I heard anything she said. This time, I stormed out of the doctors office, got in the car and stared out the window. How could this be happening again? Why? How come Aaron and I have to go through this over and over? So many questions.
The only medical explanation you get when you miscarry is that there was a chromosomal issue, or something genetic but that the testing is inconclusive. It did help me to know that this happens at conception, so all the worry about what I ate, if I moved wrong, could go away. But still...it's not much of an explanation and there is nothing really that can tell us if it will happen again. You are not "high risk" until after three miscarriages, but isn't one enough?
There are no right things to say at a time like this. I think every woman who has experienced a loss has the phrases that they need to block out. For me, the phrase, "At least you were able to get pregnant" makes me angry. That phrase hurts me a lot. It's like saying to a person who just went through a heartbreak, "At least you got engaged". Another phrase, "You will have so much empathy for other women". While that is true...I didn't ask for empathy, I asked for a baby. I asked to be a mother...and it's not working. So far...the prayers have gone unanswered.
I have spent the past month and a half in a state of shock, disbelief, deep sadness, fear, anger, bewilderment, wonder. It is fitting that it is Easter Week because the Atonement is so close to my heart. Only the Savior knows to the depths that losing a baby, twice, has stung me. Countless friends and family have sent messages, encouragement, and at time have had faith "for" us. Those friends, family, thoughts, and messages have been our tender mercies.
So why would I share this on a blog, a social media site? Why would I be so candid? It is because there are millions of women, many I know personally who have either experienced this or could be experiencing it right now. They are feeling isolated, and alone. Even years later they might be feeling this way. Even if no one reads this, it is cathartic for me to write it. People don't talk about pregnancy loss or infertility because it is uncomfortable. It's not "happy". And people who have not experienced this do not know what to do or say, and that is ok. Some of the most helpful people to me in this situation have been friends who cannot relate on a physical level, but who can relate on a spiritual level. They've saved me. They are the friends and family who make me feel valued even though I'm not a mom. They don't define me by my ability or inability to be mother. They just like being with me. And to my friends who share this experience, and who have cried with me, our bond is deep and forever. To my pregnant friends and new mothers, I pray for you and for your babies to be healthy, I know how scary it is.
So what is the next step? Move. Move forward. Have faith that things will work out for us. That's all I can do really. We don't really know the outcome or what our family is going to look like. We hope that someday we can send those holiday cards. For now, we have to wait, and sometimes waiting is really hard. But we know that we have a Father in Heaven who loves us and has a specific plan for us. We know that we have a Savior who suffers along with us. Who understands. We know that being kind to everyone we meet is important, because we don't know what battles they are fighting.
Thank you for allowing me to so freely express my heart. -Holly
