12/ 05/ 2017
The following excerpt is from a journal entry I wrote last month.
It has been four days and it still feels like a dream. Like the doctor’s office is going to call and say, “You’re not going to believe this, but we gave you the wrong results! Your levels went up not down! Everything’s okay. lololol.” But that kind of thing only happens on bad sitcoms and this is real life, not a sitcom.
I was five weeks pregnant with our fourth baby when I had my first miscarriage.
It doesn’t matter that I won’t make it to my first appointment, feel a flutter, or get to pick out a name. Grief doesn’t have requirements. Loss is loss. It doesn’t matter when, it doesn’t matter how. Heartbreak is personal and individual and real. This weekend, I lost my next baby and that has left a hole in my heart I can’t ever fill.
As soon as Cory and I saw those double pink lines, we started planning. We spent our nights talking about baby names and scheming summer plans around our July due-date. I told him as soon as we knew the gender, I was going to start buying bows and coordinating sister outfits for her and Jude, because it was a girl this time. It had to be a girl. On the off-chance it was a boy, we talked about getting a bunk bed for Ez and Zeke so there would be enough space for all three boys in their room.
On Tuesday I went to the library with the kids and on the drive back, I was hit with this giant whiff of freshly baked bread. I don’t know where it came from, but I texted Cory as soon as I got home and told him my need for homemade bread with strawberry freezer jam was REAL. I’ve never had cravings like that before. They hit me with such specific intensity. Cory came home that night with fresh bread and strawberry jam. If it weren’t for that loaf of bread and two positive pregnancy tests as proof that my pregnancy was real, I’d think last week was a dream.
I started last week pregnant and planning and so, so happy and ended it crumpled in bed because of the ache in my heart and the pain in my body.
The bleeding started on Thursday morning. I went to get my blood drawn that afternoon so we could check my HCG levels. The doctor’s office called me that afternoon and told me my levels were good. It was positive. I was pregnant. They told me to take it easy and reminded me to go back on Saturday to get my levels checked again. I feel awful admitting this, but despite having good levels, I didn’t have much hope they would rise. “I know what’s normal Cor. This isn’t normal. It doesn’t feel right.” As I said my prayers that night, I pleaded with Heavenly Father to please, please let this little baby know how loved she was. That, no matter the outcome, she was loved and it was okay. I asked Him to hold our baby and tell her that we were ready whenever she was.
On Friday I shut down.
I had to go back to the hospital on Saturday afternoon for my final blood draw. As the nurse finished up, I could feel tears start to form in my eyes. She was gone. I knew it. I could feel it in my heart. That final blood draw was the last thing I would do for her. My heart broke all over again.
I went to church on Sunday because I didn’t know what else to do. My physical pain had subsided and I knew I couldn’t let myself shut down again. As badly as I wanted to, I knew if I shut down on Sunday it would be easier to keep shutting down. I knew it would be easy to let my depression to take over and justify my downward spiral. And THIS felt very justifiable. With the help of Cory, a blessing and so many prayers, I picked myself up and did the dang thing. As I sit here and type this, I still can’t believe I did it. Cory was speaking in another ward, so it was just the kids and me sitting on our bench. I remember sitting in Sacrament meeting looking around and thinking, “Last week I was pregnant and no one knew. This week I’m not and no one knows. My whole world changed twice and no one has any idea.” It’s crazy how you can be surrounded by so many people and still feel so alone.
I waited until 10 o’clock on Monday morning before I called my doctor’s office for the results. The nurse sounded distracted and eager to get me off the line. She told me my levels went down.
“So, it was a miscarriage then?”
And that was that. I was so mad at her for making me ask. I didn’t want to ask, but I had to hear it. Even though I felt it, I wouldn’t believe it was true until I heard it.
I cried a lot today because I’m feeling the loss all over again. Despite this devastating heartache, I’m so grateful to have had some moments of peace. I have found peace in Cory’s voice, snuggles from Zeke, Ezra’s cheek-smushing hugs, and Jude running up to me, telling me she loves me. I know the only reason I’m able to feel this peace so soon is because of the gospel. I am so grateful for the promise and reality of eternal families. Cory and I believe with all our hearts we are going to be able to raise our sweet angel baby either on earth or in heaven. The timing may not have been right now, but it will be some day. One day we’ll get to hold our July baby and tell her how loved she is.
Until then, I’ll hold on with faith and hope for the promise of one day.