If you are just joining me today, I encourage you to start with
my first post on Infertility and Hope from yesterday.
*****
I knew even before I tested that I was pregnant.
I just knew.
The doctor told me not to test. To wait and come in for a blood test twelve days after my procedure. But I couldn't wait. I tested two days early and the faintest of faint lines came up and I knew.
I didn't cry. I don't even remember how I reacted other than a silent thank you to Jesus and a shaky hand as I hid the test back up in the cupboard.
I tested again the next morning. And eight more times after that.
When you've spent years getting negative after negative there is just something reassuring about seeing those two little pink lines show up over and over again.
I announced to Popeye the day after I first tested by having Swee'Pea wear a cute "Big Bro" shirt I'd ordered of Etsy months before. He was shocked and asked if I was sure and said we should probably wait until the blood results came back the next day. I remember being angry and hurt and frustrated that he wasn't giddy with joy, but at the same time I had to admit to myself that I wasn't all that giddy with joy either.
There is a lot of fear that comes with infertility and with fear comes the natural reaction to protect your heart at all times so that you won't be disappointed. My frustration with Popeye, I later realized, was also at myself. My heart just didn't feel settled and although I knew I was pregnant there was also this nagging feeling that this just wasn't meant to be.
My blood test the next morning came back positive. "Congratulations!" the nurse at the office giggled over the phone. "Come back in on Wednesday and have it taken again to make sure your levels doubled." I ignored the nagging feeling and filled my journal with praises to God and doodles of my favorite baby names.
Wednesday came. My blood was drawn. The numbers didn't double.
"They rose but not quite enough. Come back on Friday."
I asked Popeye to make the call on Friday. I was in a car full of women on the way to a retreat and I did not need to deal with bad news from a doctor during the car ride. He called and left a message that my levels had in fact doubled this time. "See. It's fine. I told you." Never the worrier, that husband of mine. The Lord knew what he was doing setting the two of us up together. I spent the weekend still worrying, of course, but continued to praise God for the miracle he had done inside of me.
Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.
Let your reasonableness be known to everyone.
The Lord is at hand; do not be anxious about anything,
but in everything by prayer and supplication with Thanksgiving
let your requests be made known to God.
And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding,
will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
Philippians 3:4-7
A week later, at the first of many ultrasounds, we saw a tiny egg sack. "It's still small, and I can't tell if there are two babies or one," the doctor said. "Come back next week."
Waiting a week to him felt like an eternity to me.
Our next appointment did not go as hoped. "Still small. We should be seeing a heartbeat by now. Come back next week and we should see it then."
Seconds felt like hours those next seven days. Every breath I took felt labored and painful as I prayed harder than I ever had before.
The next appointment was even worse. "Still small. And the embryo has moved. It might be twins, but I can't tell. I just can't get a good measurement. And there really should be a heartbeat by now. But come back next week, we'll try again."
I held it in as best I could but the moment I got home I threw myself on my bed and cried harder than I had in a long time. That week was agonizing. Days dripping by in slow motion. Taking pills, taking shots, taking hormones. Anything to keep my baby... my babies... alive. Anything to get them growing, to get their hearts beating, to save these wee ones I'd worked and prayed so long and hard for. Crying, screaming, begging to God to save them.
Do not hide your face from me in the day of my distress!
Incline your ear to me; answer me speedily in the day when I call!
Psalm 102:2
The final regular appointment was the breaking point. "I just don't think your pregnancy is viable. And because you've carried so long, there is a great risk in continuing this pregnancy and allowing yourself to miscarry on your own. Come in next week for a final ultrasound. If there is no heartbeat we will have to operate."
We finally broke down to our parents. They knew something was wrong... everyone knew something was wrong. But it wasn't supposed to be this way. This wasn't how they were supposed to find out! Balloons and confetti and cheers and cries of joy! That was how I wanted my pregnancy to be shared! Not in tears and whispers and condolences over precious lives we would never get to meet.
Within minutes of my final ultrasound the doctor was calling the hospital and setting up my appointment. "You have to go now," he said. "Before you start bleeding." I was on high dosages of blood thinners to help prevent the very miscarriage my body was now unable to perform on its own. The risk of completely bleeding out was too high, and no matter my feelings about the situation, my safety was most important at that moment.
We checked into the hospital. "What are you here for?" someone asked. "To have a baby," I retorted back. The first nurse blew my vein. My blood pressure dropped and I began to weep and another nurse finally came in and helped start the IV. "For your nerves," she told me as she dispensed a small vial into my tubes. "I lost one too, sweetie. I am so sorry for what you are going through," she whispered. Out of everybody who gave their condolences that day, that somehow meant the most to me.
They wheeled me in. They strapped me to the table. They told me to count down from ten. I fought it and I fought it but my eyes closed somewhere around seven. And at ten weeks along, my long prayed for baby went to be with Jesus.
*****
Nine months later we were pregnant again. This time on our own.
And I knew.
I knew before I ever even took that test.
I knew I was pregnant as I hunched over the toilet and cried and threw up and begged for some respite from what I later realized was just a terrible flu.
Popeye came home that evening from work and saw me in my ragged state.
"What are you pregnant or something?" he asked.
"Yes, yes, I am." I told him. "I took a test this morning but it was barely positive."
"Let's wait for a heartbeat," he said.
And he was right.
But I just wanted to be normal. To talk about baby names and window-shop for strollers online and talk about switching to cloth diapers and just be like a normal happy couple without the baggage of infertility.
On Monday the blood result came back positive but low.
On Wednesday it did not double.
On Friday it had already started to go back down.
"I'm so sorry," my friend told me when the nurse called me. We had gone to the zoo with our kids together that day. I'd hoped it would get my mind off of things. But I was sick and cramping the whole way to the coast and even with her reassurances that everything was okay, I just knew that it wasn't.
I finally told my mom on Mother's Day over the phone, sitting at Dodger Stadium amongst a crowd of crazy fans next to a little boy I love so much it hurts. We spent the day laughing and traipsing around Los Angeles like two peas in a pod and for a beautiful moment I hardly remembered the reality that was waiting for me at home.
I lost the baby the next day, and an ultrasound and blood test the next week showed that it was complete and the doctor assured me we could try again.
But I knew I needed a break.
A break from trying and calculating and counting and pill taking.
A break from scheduling my time around temperatures and ovulation sticks and doctor's office hours.
A break from waiting on bated breath for those two little blue lines to darken
and those two little pink lines to show up.
A break from feeling consumed at every waking moment with some thought of infertility.
I was just ready for a break.
{please join me tomorrow for part three.}
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