I'm not entirely sure how to begin the post, and at first, I wasn't even sure I was going to share it, but it's a part of my journey. A journey that I am quite tired of trudging along... It might be a little TMI, but I am going to share it as delicately as I can. I hate sharing the personal details, but in some ways, it's unavoidable to get to the heart of where I am.
Friday, I visited my rheumotologist, who is weird - but that's a side story, for my regular 6 monthly check-in, and had assumed I had began a period. She took labs and a urine sample and checked my joints and sent me on my way. My last period was early January (the 5th, I think) and because it's always been irregular, I thought nothing of it. Literally, a non-event.
Saturday morning, we went and visited with my grandparents, got some mulch for the yard and we were working in the yard for the afternoon, taking advantage of the pretty weather despite the chill in the air. Jake was busily taking down an old holly bush where I plan to plant azaleas, and I was cleaning out old pots of dead flowers from the porch when I felt a strange feeling and went to the bathroom. Without sharing more details that I have to, I realized this was no period. After a while, Makinzy came in looking for me, and I yelled for her to tell her Daddy it was an emergency and he HAD to come inside. So he did, and he held me, and I sobbed. It was unbearable physically and I was in shock, emotionally. I called my obgyn using the on-call number. The nurse called and said the doctor would call me back immediately, and she did. Dr. Miller looked through my history and knew I knew what was going on, and advised me to get to the hospital. So, I called my parents, who were out shopping at the time, and they came as fast as they could. I insisted that Jake finish the yard work and shower first, then come on to the hospital, that Mama would take me and Daddy would stay home with Mak. So that's what we did. Then, despite what doctors will explain are agonizing contractions 2-3 minutes a part, I had to wait in the ER, and I called back Dr. Miller, who then called the head nurse and essentially told them to make room and get me out of that waiting area. I'm so thankful for that, because I had barely ended the call when my name was called, and by this point Jake had made it there too, and he and I went back.
The ER doctor was extremely skeptic at first. I guess that's what happens to doctors in the emergency room. Believe nothing. After blood work and a urine sample, he confirmed pregnancy. 11 weeks.
I miscarried heavily, painfully, and thoroughly between 4pm and 11pm, and by 11, an ultrasound indicated that it was "completed" and I would not likely need a D & C, something that financially, is burdensome. We still have medical debt we're paying on from the last 4 hospitalizations. He said, echoing what Dr. Miller said, that I would need to go to the obgyn Monday for more tests to confirm that it was, indeed, completed. So around 1:30, I was told I was free to go, and by this point I had had zero pain medication and while the ER nurses and doctor were nice enough, they had very little bedside manner, lacking the sensitivity and understanding that they really need for a patient experiencing what I was. Luckily, Jake was everything I needed and more.
I had no idea I was pregnant.
Each previous time, I had every classic pregnancy symptom immediately and to the -inth degree. Massive nausea and crazy morning sickness, tenderness, bloating, food cravings and aversions, moodiness, fatigue... everything to the extreme.
This time? Nothing.
I was tired, yes. But that's 'cause February is exhausting. I was hungry because it was winter. I was gaining a little weight because I baked a lot and worked out way less because I was cold, and I was tired. Not pregnant though.
I had no idea I was pregnant.
It's tempting for me to fill myself with guilt this time. I had a few drinks one night. I didn't take a prenatal-aspirin-folic acid-progesterone-B6 cocktail each night. I drank copious amounts of non-decaf coffee. I worked out a few times. I went sledding down on my stomach. I ate whatever I wanted, including blue cheese and lunch meat. I did nothing by the pregnancy book, particularly a high-risker like me.
But I also didn't stress, worry, or fear.
Last year, we did this. Almost to the date. It was a pregnancy full of hope, as we heard that flutter of a heartbeat, and there was so much darkness when it ended. I am grateful this time was not as such. I refuse to beat myself up over what I didn't know, and really, what wouldn't have made a difference anyway. My care (and seemingly, the lack of care) of my body during pregnancy makes no difference in the outcome. Last time, I was the most careful, most proactive, most perfect mom to be. It still ended. I didn't know, didn't make the best choices, and it still ended. If anything, this proves that there is something going on that is beyond my control, and until my doctors figure the mystery out, it's going to keep happening.
Emotionally, I don't know how I feel. I feel like I was in a wreck. I'm shocked, I'm sad, and I'm dazed. In some ways, it's been less traumatic- the emotional ups and downs didn't happen. In another way, the loss has been more traumatic. It was so sudden. There was no mental preparation. Physically, it was more painful and more intense, but shorter lived. I didn't have the surgery stupor. I just don't really know how I feel.
It. Just. Sucks.
Today is Palm Sunday, a very meaningful day for me. It was the story of Palm Sunday that lead me to Christ as a little girl. I learned, and sat fascinated as I heard, that this Jesus loved me so much, He rode into town on that donkey fully aware and knowing His fate on that cross, accepting what was to be, and riding in with His head high, accepting what the Father had in store for Him, His will to be done. All out of love.
How fitting that today be Palm Sunday. What an example for me. I have to take Jesus's example and ride through this life fully aware and fully accepting His will, because of His greater plan. I don't know why this is "my cross" to bear and why in the world He continues to allow this to happen. I can't pretend I get it. But I do accept it. I know Jesus, fully man, did not want to ride into a town where the very people waving palms to welcome Him would slay Him on a cross soon after. No one wants to die like that. But I know Jesus, fully God, knew that it was the Father's will, and it would be done.
I don't want to go through this anymore, but I am a child of God, and my Father allows this for a reason that is beyond my knowledge and understanding, but as His child, I trust Him.
I am sad. But I trust.