The Scoop

So here's the scoop.  What I had thought was a miscarriage, what the doctors told me was a miscarriage, I found out 6 weeks later to be an ectopic pregnancy.  And I didn't find out because of a scheduled ultrasound, or because the doctor saw something particular about my symptoms to alert them.  No, I found out after I decided to go to the ER after a second batch of unbearable pain.  Lovely.

The ER story goes like this:  I was at my father-in-law's house for a going away BBQ with Dustin's family.  We were to fly to NY to move in 3 days.  After telling my mother-in-law and sister-in-law how great I was feeling, finally, and that I thought my miscarriage and the 6 weeks of bleeding and cramping were over, I started to double over in pain.  I had felt similar pain 2 weeks prior, but when I had called my doctor's office, my practitioner had waived my pain away and told me that sometimes miscarriages took a while, that the pain was to be expected.  My HCG quants had mysteriously gone up 4 weeks after they had started dropping, but she wasn't worried.

In pain once again, I had Dustin drive me home while I curled up in a ball on the passenger side seat and gripped the door and arm rests until I could get home, pump my system full of Advil, and sink myself into a hot bath.  Dustin asked if he should take me to the ER, but the thought of sitting at the ER in that much pain sounded awful.  He took me home, I went through my cramp diffusing routine, and curled up on the couch knowing the pain had exhausted me enough to sleep.

With my assurances, Dustin went back to the family party to collect our son and to say his goodbyes.  By the time he got I home I was feeling better enough to devour some Wendy's and think clearly.  I couldn't move to a new state, without a doctor, and without a clue as to what was going on with my body.  But it was Saturday, we were leaving Monday night, and I was sure that my doctor would brush me off again or not schedule me for an ultrasound until later in the week.  We thought about going to Urgent Care the next morning, but then we ran the risk that they wouldn't have the right equipment if I did need an ultrasound.  So we left J. with my parents and headed out.

It felt pretty ridiculous going to the ER at this point.  I was feeling a lot better.  I looked fine.  I sat in the waiting room cracking jokes with Dustin, watching the news, pretty much expecting to be sent home with a tummy ache.  That was not the case.  Instead they forced a catheter on me, did an intrauterine ultrasound, stuck me with methotrexate (to end the "pregnancy"), pumped me full of morphine, and admitted me for the night.

The ultrasound was a difficult moment.  My budding doctor of a husband watched the ultrasound, and with the pieces of knowledge that he has, he saw what he thought was a heart beat, and he noticed a mass.  This made the news that my pregnancy was ectopic especially hard to hear.  I had already mourned the miscarriage, I had pulled my sorry butt out of my depressed state and and gotten all giggly about my future NY move.  I was over it.  But the new information broke my heart.  I had no choice, a life can't thrive in a fallopian tube, but it still seemed unfair that I had to do with drugs what my body couldn't do for itself.

The methotrexate made me feel awful, dizzy, hot, cold, and I couldn't control my emotions.  Luckily, however, sleep won out and I felt much more myself in the morning, just in time to make my next decision.  My doctor came to the hospital and told me that I could do surgery to remove the pregnancy now or wait for the drugs to do their work.  But I didn't hesitate.  I had had 6 weeks of not feeling well, of being unsure what was going on with my body, of being constantly reminded of what I had lost, and I didn't want it to go on a day longer.  Lucky for me, when I went under they found that my colon was wrapped around my fallopian tube, there was blood in my abdomen, and that my fallopian tube was a mess.  So I lost a tube, but I gained a newly healthy body and freedom from the nagging sadness.

Dustin had to move to NY a few days ahead of me while I healed, and the next few days were exhausting, but overwhelmingly I was happy for all that happened.  At the church I now go to I have had startling moments of revelation about my faith that have been answers to my prayers.  I have a renewed sense of gratitude for all that I have and am able to experience.  And very strangely, I feel that the loss of what seems like a very necessary organ, will actually lead to our gain.  I don't know what will happen, but I know more children are in our future, and I am sure we will know soon how that will come about.

My lesson learned on faith: Our trials remind us of our faith.  We don't have faith in an event or a blessing, we have faith in Christ, that he knows us, loves us, and that our faith will bring us eventual joy, even if it is not the way we have planned.

Another One Bites the Dust

The title of the post pretty much sums up how I have been feeling lately: sarcastic, a little bitter, with an underlying sadness that creeps up on me when it is most inconvenient.  Yup, Dustin and I have just had our 3rd miscarriage, so we are officially a part of the chronic issues club.  Now not only do I struggle with getting pregnant, but keeping the baby seems an impossibility as well.  One scenario where a 2fer is not appreciated.

So, I guess I will start at the beginning, and lucky for readers, conception isn't necessarily the beginning of this story, so the details won't get too juicy.  Dustin finished his first 2 years of medical school in May and, after we moved our lives from the beautiful Caribbean island of Grenada back home to our parent's in Phoenix, Dustin checked out of our lives for all practical reasons to study for his Step 1 exam.  However, despite the huge transition and the looming lack of husband for the summer, we felt a lot of hope and excitement.  We were back in the States!  We were among Target, Costco, Children's Museums, and summer sports opportunities.  We could eat out anywhere and everywhere, and our families became closer than a Skype call away.  Most importantly, we could start the adoption process again.

We wanted to wait until we made our next move, to where Dustin would be completing his final 2 clinical years of medical school, but I still made phone calls and checked off the necessary boxes to make sure we could hit the ground running.  My sense of urgency had grown tremendously over the previous months, and I wasn't feeling the same sense of peace about not having a new little one in my life.  I knew family members were getting ready to grow their families, and Jackson seemed to be crying out to have a sibling as a companion.  My anxiety was building and the sleeping giant of my infertility was rearing its head.  I needed a baby, and I already knew from experience that adoption was a blessing of an option.

Of course, settled on adoption, heart and mind set in one direction, that is when I found out I was pregnant.  Having taken a pregnancy test, brought on by sore breasts and fatigue, I sat in the bathroom, elbows on knees and head in hands, crying over the positive result.  It felt miraculous.  I took Dustin to lunch and showed him the test afterwards.  And after a few exclamations, we drove home in awed silence, smiles on our faces.

I went right to the doctor, having an ultra sound and blood tests, and Dustin and I had conversation after conversation over his feeling of peace and my anxieties.  We told parents, and I planned in my head over and over again how I was going to make the big announcement.  I bought the book What to Expect for the 3rd time, subscribed to 2 or 3 different pregnancy websites, downloaded 2 pregnancy apps, got on progesterone, started popping prenatals, stopped caffeine, took a break from exercising because of the doctor's recommendation, and monitored every twitch or ache in my body.  I did all of this in the one week I was pregnant.  And by the following Monday I had blood work back that said I was miscarrying.

Since then I have felt slightly lost.  I struggle with the idea of faith because I can have faith in God's plan for me, but I don't have, or don't want to, have faith to get and stay pregnant.  What if I were to put all of my faith in that and it isn't meant to be?  I don't understand how it is supposed to work.  I don't understand why Dustin felt at peace.  I don't know if I will get pregnant again soon or in another 4 years.  I don't know if I should pursue adoption or work on my reasons for miscarrying.  And through it all I have a little boy who needs another little person in his life.  He is getting older and older and something is missing.  He may not feel it, but I feel it.  Our family is so incomplete, and the hole is only bigger because of the miscarriage.

Yet life calls, and we do swim lessons and play dates, laundry and work, dinners and bedtimes.  I am fine.  I laugh and joke and play and pray.  Mostly I just want all of this emotion that is boiling under the surface to go away.  I want to not ache when it is quiet.  I don't want to cry when I push myself too hard while working out.  I want the stupid weight I gained from the progesterone to disappear, and I want to stop waiting around everyday for this miscarriage, which I am waiting to take place naturally, to be done with.

So, I guess that is it.  I  finally felt settled enough to write this blog, so I guess that is a step in the right direction.  I have the most fabulous of husbands who took off precious time from studying to take care of me physically and emotionally.  I am surrounded by family.  And my sweet boy, who I think needs a sibling so desperately, needs me ever more, and I love that.  Hopefully I will get back to all the hopefulness this blog is supposed to be about soon :)

P.S. I love information, it makes me happy.  Feel free to share anything you have learned about your own miscarriages.  Research calms me and gives me somewhere to put my emotions.

P.P.S.  I want that shirt!

Damon's Story

My friend Emily, whom I met while doing a study abroad program in Paris, is beautiful inside and out.  If you think I use the adjective beautiful too often to describe my friends, its true, I am constantly surrounded by beautiful women.  Emily's husband created a video of the story of their adopted son to share with others.  If you are like me, you will bawl your eyes out.  I love how Emily and her family are another great example of a unique and brave family.

Damon's Story

Denial

Am I the only one in constant denial? Does anyone else not take the evidence that 7 years and 2 miscarriages makes this month an unlikely one to get pregnant? It doesn't matter if I have been having cramps, I still think there is a chance. I could have been spotting, and there is still a chance I could be pregnant. I could have been using a tampon for 3 days, and there is still a chance I could be pregnant. I hate the thought that flashes and then lingers, whispering, "you could be pregnant". And why? Why must I believe and hope and try and try again. I don't want to ever hear the words that solidify my fears that I will never get pregnant. But then again, it would be nice to no longer have my crimson smattered underwear crush my hopes month after month. So...am I the ONLY one in denial?