So a year passes, I have to go back to work full time (not because I want to, but I have to - and for all those moms who truly know what this feels like you know it is pure hell) and we start talking about baby # 2. And we try and try and try and nothing - must have been trying too hard I guess.
Finally, we got the + on the stick, closing in on the Christmas after my son turned 2. It would've been great timing. He'd almost be three and we'd give him a little brother or sister. It was my favourite Christmas present that year. I was naïve, just thinking that this pregnancy would be exactly the same as the first one. I was sick as a dog (wasn't sick at all with my first pregnancy), I had some minor spotting, but didn’t think much of it. My doctor's office changed their policy and began doing early dating ultrasounds to get the most accurate due date possible. So, I was pleased I was going to get an early glimpse of my baby at 9-weeks.
On seriously the coldest day of the year in January (-35) I hopped in my car for my 8:30am appointment and headed up the street to the medical imaging centre. I told my husband not to come because he wouldn’t see much anyway this early on and he could join me at the 20-week appointment. Little did I know how stupid that was of me. My ignorance to the fact that something could not work out all "rosie" blows my mind when I look back on it. I could tell something was wrong right away - the ultrasound tech quickly switched from the external to internal exam and left the room twice to talk to the radiologist. The doctor came in to explain what had happen - there was definitely a baby in there, but it had stopped growing at about 8-weeks and there was no heartbeat. A miscarriage was going to happen, was just a question of when.
My heart instantly froze, broke maybe, and I doubt it was the weather. I was stunned and unsure of how to truly feel at that moment. I thanked them politely for their compassion, got dressed, and walked over to Second Cup next door with tears streaming down my face. I texted my sister and treated myself to a cup of coffee. Got back in my freezing cold car and sobbed until I couldn’t sob anymore. I didn’t want to go home and break my husband's heart too, but what else was I suppose to do? I needed a hug. I needed to breakdown.
We decided to get the D&C done, as we didn’t want to wait and be reminded of what wasn't meant to be. A gut wrenching feeling - watching my husband sit there before they wheeled me into surgery, trying so hard to be strong for me but I knew his big heart was broken too. I imagine most husbands that go through a miscarriage with their wives feel so helpless and broken, both by the loss itself and having to see his wife look and feel so hopeless, sad, and empty. Time healed the wounds; we hung on to faith that God would bring us through the pain and that he was purposeful in the situation. Both of us were ready to try again and thought this was just a one time experience that we could put behind us and never deal with again. An event we would grow, learn, and be stretched by.
It only took a few months from the "all clear" to get pregnant again, this time in May. I randomly bought the pregnancy test because I was a few days late (which often meant nothing in the whole trying process) and decided to just give it a go. WAHOOOO! I was excited, wrote dates on the calendar, told my little guy there was a baby in my belly, and even did a little nerdy happy dance. This pregnancy "felt" different from the first miscarriage and I never imagined it could happen again. But it did. I went in for an early dating ultrasound and the tech was stone cold silent, which I found super unnerving. He said things were very small and perhaps my dates were wrong - to come back next week to repeat the ultrasound and see where things were at. Ummmm, my dates weren't wrong, I knew it, and once again my heart sunk. At 9 weeks, they should have been able to see a baby and pick up a heart beat. I saw or heard of neither. Made an appointment to see my doctor the next day who said that she wanted me to think with the glass half full and hoped that my dates were out and I wasn’t as far along as I thought I was. She did tell me that they did pick up a heartbeat very briefly, but they couldn’t pick it up again. I had my HCG levels checked and they told me they were relatively high, which was a good sign and assisted me in getting through the week "glass half full" like my doctor had suggested.
The second time around the ultrasound tech was much more mothering/sympathetic. I told her I was nervous, having had a miscarriage in January and being really uneasy with my last ultrasound. It did not take long for her to say nothing had changed from last week, and knowing that an embryo changes so much week to week, especially in the early stages, I knew right then that I was headed down a road I had been down before I never wanted to be down again. She did NOT tell me I was going to have a miscarriage. She told me that they would try one more time in a week, and then they would be able to be to give more conclusive answers. Confused? Yah, I was too. HCG levels were checked again and had fallen drastically. The follow up lady from my doctor's office called me at work right before I was to head out camping with my family for the August long weekend to say "I understand you were told a miscarriage was imminent at your last ultrasound?" No, no I was not. I read between the lines yes, but no one hinted at that word. Wish they had. I think beating around the bush (which believe me, I am really good at) hurt even more. The confusion muttled everything and made the sting that much more painful. A few weeks of setting myself up with false hopes was beyond taxing on both my brain and my body. Another D&C, another explanation (or lack there of) to excited grandparents, another few rounds of tears that couldn't be fought off.
Now, I know I am not the only one who has gone through a miscarriage or two. I know people who have lost full term babies at or near birth, which completely mortifies me. My husband or I could be terminally ill, but we are not. We have stood strong in the face of our sadness and know that God see's what our family looks like and treasures it. He knows the desires of my heart, he knows what I can handle, and I am resting in his love. My doctors believes both miscarriages were unfortunate cases of bad luck and given my age and health are convinced we will go on to conceive and add another healthy child to our family in the not so distant future.
As we enter the stages of trying again again, I find myself eager and prepared for the very best. My son just turned three and is too smart for his own good. He needs a sibling to grow old with. Someone to challenge him. Someone to teach new things to. Someone to fight with him. Someone to play with. Someone to love. And this mommy could really use a new little someone in our family, someone less independent to snuggle and take care of. In due time…
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