I don't remember this being so hard to write about, before. The last time this happened, the words came pouring out of me, just as fast as the tears ran down my face. This time is different. Every time is different.
We found out I was pregnant on my husband's birthday (12/30/19). I took three tests, just to be sure, before wrapping a positive test in tissue paper for his gift that evening. We were so happy to have another chance. Because, as we are well aware, that's all a positive pregnancy test is to us. A positive pregnancy test is not a certainty that we will be holding a precious baby in nine months, but it's a chance.
I hate that I couldn't immediately fall in love with the life growing inside of me, as I'd done three times before. As soon as I saw the positive test, a guard went up. All of these months since my last miscarriage I thought I was waiting for a positive test but, in that moment I found I was still going to have to wait.
First, I had to wait to get bloodwork done the next morning (12/31).
Then, I had to wait for the results, which would take an additional day because of the holiday (1/1/20).
My pregnancy was confirmed with bloodwork but, I had to wait for more (1/2).
My guard was coming down, I was able to talk about September (due date month), and how we'd be receiving a new baby while our first (living) baby would be starting kindergarten. I allowed myself to dream; to fall in love a little.
We got the results on a Friday that the HCG was increasing but, not doubling. My guard went back up. More waiting in the abyss of uncertainty. Each day felt like a month.
On Monday, another round of bloodwork (1/6). This time, the results came back in the same day. They came in through an email at 7:30pm while my doctor's office was closed. I couldn't check the number, myself. I handed it over to Nick. We were looking for a certain range of numbers. I couldn't even be near him while he checked. I stood across the room, studying his face for a clue of what the next moments, and remainder of our lifetime would bring.
I wish I could stop writing this story, now. I wish there was an alternative ending; an ending where Piper will become a big sister this year. But, no.
No, no, no.
The HCG level dropped but was hanging around the same number. I wanted to scream and cry but, I had to wait. Piper was still awake. As soon as she fell asleep, I sat on the couch next to Nick and mourned it all in an instant. I cried a deep, gut wrenching cry. With my eyes squeezed shut, I gritted my teeth, balled my hands into fists and groaned from the depth of my being. If grief had a sound, I imagine it would sound similar to that deep groan of anger and sadness from that night. I remember catching my breath enough through the sobbing to growl the words "she's going to be 6" like an animal, while mourning Piper's loss. Because, as a mother who is miscarrying, we don't only mourn our loss. We mourn our husband's loss. We mourn our living child's loss. We mourn it all.
The next morning (1/7) we found out that since my HCG numbers were not falling or rising in the correct increments, it could mean that I was carrying an ectopic pregnancy. So, we were presented with the fact that not only were we losing another baby, but this loss could result in an emergency surgery and possible tube removal. But, we had to wait to find out what kind of loss this would end up being exactly. They wanted me to wait an entire week before doing another round of bloodwork. I sat with all of this information for a day. The longest day.
As soon as the doctor's office opened in the morning (1/8), I asked for more bloodwork to be done. I couldn't wait. I felt normal. Physically, I didn't feel like I was going to be miscarrying this pregnancy at all, but I had this acute awareness that it was coming to an end. I didn't know when, or how, and I've learned to stopped asking "why" a long time ago.
I finally found out "when" and "how", later that afternoon. As soon as I got in to my house from being out that morning, the familiar cramping and bleeding began. I don't feel guilty for saying that it felt like a relief for the wait to be over.
The doctor's office called within the hour. The HCG had dropped significantly, indicating we no longer had to worry about the possibility of this pregnancy being ectopic. I was relieved to be experiencing "just a standard miscarriage", all things considered.
Now that some days have passed, I am so thankful that physically this has been the "easiest" miscarriage out of our three losses. Mentally and emotionally, however, I am wrecked all the same. Again. Of course.
Despite my fear, I know that God is good. I know that my hope is in Him, and He has also been gracious to give me undeserved hope for our future.
In my experience with grief, I know the days, weeks and months ahead will be all over the place. Some days, I will be so grateful to be feeling normal again. Other days, that same normalcy will feel like a slap in the face. Some days I will just want to sleep, all day, and maybe the day after that, as well. Some days, I will want to talk about it. Some days, I will not. There will be days where everything will be going fine and then, something will trigger a feeling like a gut-punch that makes me lose my breath, and makes it all crash down around me, and inside of me, again.
Today, I needed to write about it so I could move on, but maybe not in the way that you're thinking. Because I know that we don't move on from it, we move on with it. Loss becomes a part of us; it transforms us into something new.
God, please make this into something new.
