As is true with any new year, I find myself doing a lot of reflecting. It’s crazy to think how much happens in a year. If I had to sum up 2019 in two words it would be Tough and Humbling. The last decade would be Blessed and Memorable.
Blessed and Memorable. I say that because everything that happened in the last 10 years has led to the beautiful life I have today like buying our first house, getting engaged and (finally) getting married, starting a family (adopting Wally and having Mackenzie), graduating from grad school, and landing a job at Target.
Tough and Humbling. I like to think of the first four months as the “dark days” because it seemed like a blur of ER visits and hospital stays. We spent a grueling 5 hours in the ER in the middle of the night because Mackenzie spiked a 104.3 fever. Turns out she had pneumonia and RSV and was sick for a week. My mom was in a long-term care facility as she continued to heal from her stroke while at the same time my dad was in the hospital for nearly a week because of his heart failure. During spring break my oldest nephew was hospitalized and is now on the list for new kidneys.
Then, a ray of sunshine poked through the darkness. A positive pregnancy test. A new life, new addition to our family, new sibling for Mackenzie (other than Wally the dog…although he is a good big brother!). But the anticipation of that first doctor appointment at 8 weeks to confirm a heartbeat was different this time around. I didn’t feel the same confidence I felt with my first pregnancy. I was scared and kept reading the statistics on “chances of miscarriage at 5 weeks…then 6 weeks…then 7 weeks…” It’s like I knew that something wasn’t right but didn’t want to acknowledge it out loud or believe it. So when I went in for my 8 week ultrasound, I had an unsettling pit in my stomach. When the tech couldn’t find anything, my heart sank. She kindly told me she’d try and do the ultrasound vaginally to see if maybe it was too small to detect.
Sure enough, it was too small to detect because it was only a yolk sac which, at 7 weeks (what I measured at), there should’ve been a fetal pole and a heartbeat. And we had to wait an agonizing 45 minutes for the doctor to tell us that.
As I was trying to hold back my tears, the doctor proceeded to tell me my options: wait for my body to miscarry naturally, take a pill to speed it along, or have a D&C. I wanted it to be over as soon as possible so I opted for the D&C, which they were able to schedule for the next morning. I think I cried on and off for the next two days as I grieved for a baby that never was and worked through the guilt of my body not being able to sustain life this time around – even though the doctors reassured me there was nothing I could’ve done to prevent this from happening.
I read this article (can’t remember where) that gave me some solace that said, “The body is an incredibly wise being. It can recognize very early that a pregnancy won’t result in a living child. Miscarriage is a way the body protects itself from risk of pregnancy if that risk is not outweighed by benefits.” So my body knew it was too risky this time. Sure, I guess I could live with that.
Several months of hoping and praying so hard for another pregnancy followed…and I’m still waiting. In God’s time…not mine.
It took me awhile to share my story because I needed time to heal without a barrage of questions and “I’m so sorry’s.” And now that 2019 is behind me and it’s a new year and a new decade, I’m ready to put it out there. Because more than anything, I want someone out there to read this and not feel alone in their grief. To know that it’s okay to be sad, it’s okay to talk about. And it’s okay to take time for yourself to heal privately.
As I look to 2020, I think of two words that I hope will sum up the year for me: Joyful and Impactful.
Whatever God brings my way, I will rejoice and be thankful. I will pray more and worry less. I will aspire to be a better version of myself.