To Love and Lose

I almost didn't write this, because... well, it's sad. It seems most of us are willing to share our happy stories, but when it comes to the flip side of that coin -- the not-so-pretty side of things... the things that make our lives challenging; the things that make us cry... we keep them tucked away, out of sight, while we suffer silently. I know often times that's what I do. There is so much fear in sharing sadness... Most of us wait for time to soothe the hurt...

Life is filled with many things... Beautiful moments -- so perfect and graceful, laughter, fear, and sometimes grief. Sad times are important because they teach us who we are, and they show us how deeply grateful we should be for the lovely things we are fortunate to have.

With that said, here's my sad story.

Two weeks ago, life was normal. When I say 'normal' I of course mean the usual chaotic, busy, light-speed-paced schedule... There is little downtime during a typical day in our lives, as we bounce from one activity to another, packing what seems like each and every minute with wall to wall stuff to do. So it took me a minute to put the signs together... I had been exhausted for the past several nights. The girls had invited me to their "Reading Party" upstairs on my bed at 8pm the past few evenings, and while normally I could read with them for an hour, then head downstairs for a few more hours of hang-out time with John before I'd feel sleepy, I found myself snoring away before I had even finished a page of reading. Then there were the frequent potty breaks. Like, waking up several times per night. The final hint was the charlie horses in my calves -- a tightening cramp I had only experienced, yep you guessed it, when I was pregnant. Oh, and of course the cherry on top, a missed period.

So, with not a small amount of fear, excitement and denial, I marched myself into Bartells, and bought the pink box, which now in these modern times proclaims it can tell you "6 days before your period" if you're knocked up. Brooklyn was in preschool and the older girls were at school when I came home with the box. I went directly to the bathroom and pee'd on the stick. I watched as my pee moved across the window, and scrutinized the white to see if I could make out anything colorful developing. Despite all the clues I had that were screaming "yes! you idiot... you're pregnant!" I waited for the window on the test to turn up stark white. There's no.way. I thought. But, watching with bugged eyes, a line did in fact develop. It was pink and it was solid and it was very much there. I blinked at the line and waited for it to fade. It didn't... In fact, it was darkening before my very eyes. My hands started shaking and the reality set in. I counted back through the days and tried to figure out 'how this happenened.' What I realized, after I (not so very quietly) yelled to the bathroom walls, "You have GOT to be effing kidding me!" was that I was excited. Nervous, but thrilled. Just like that, life turns on a dime.

Before this revelation had come anywhere near sinking in, it was time to pick Brooklyn up at preschool. I got in the car to make the 10 minute drive down East Lake Sammamish, and noticed everything looked different. It was a fantastically beautiful fall day. The sky was crispy blue, and all the trees along the glistening lake were heavy with yellowy, orange leaves. Some were spiralling down from the branches like golden coins in the wind. Everything looked magic. I felt in that moment a little bit magic, too. I felt lucky and proud and part of something amazing. I felt like this must be meant to be... especially since we hadn't planned it - it just 'happened.'

I love that it just happened. Anybody who knows us well knows that we have been riding the fence about having a fourth child for quite a while. And yet, we haven't been able to pull the trigger for whatever reason... And realistically, there are several... Reasons. Not far along on the short list (mine) has been Fear. Fear that a fourth child would put us over the edge, or perhaps not be healthy, or perhaps end in a loss... But here was this pregnancy, which essentially fell into our laps. We didn't plan it, or work on it... It just Happened. I loved that.

As the day progressed and I turned the news around in my head again and again and again, other feelings cropped up. Fear was there, for sure. It's incredible that it happens so soon, but already there was love for the life I knew was getting a start in my body. I was intensely protective already, and I was hoping that this little one was getting a nice firm grip in there, and would hold on... because I wanted him or her. Very much. The reality of the matter, I knew, is that many early pregnancies end in loss. Unfortunately, I knew this from experience. My body remembers that pain, and knowing I was carrying a new little life made that pain manifest itself as fear. And yet, I also felt a very distinct amount of peace. Whatever the outcome, I told myself, I felt blessed being pregnant at that moment. It was so sweet.

John was excited. No, I think "elated" is a better word. He, like me, could not believe it. Why is that? Women get pregnant everyday... but when it happens to you, it feels completely miraculous. I think for John, there is a certain degree of pride. 'I did this to you' sort of thing.

I scheduled my first doctor's appointment and went about life as usual -- only now, life as usual took on a whole new meaning. In my mind and in my body, I was making room for something new. Something wonderful and mysterious and already, very much loved. My thoughts were consumed with wrapping this new thing around in my mind. I turned it over constantly. I felt lucky and excited and happy.

One week is not a great deal of time, but that's exactly how long it had been when I went to the bathroom and saw that first speck of blood. My heart instantly sank because I knew. This is how it begins. Or rather, how it ends. Many people say spotting can be part of a normal, healthy pregnancy, but every time I've seen blood, it has meant it's over. I didn't cry. My peace and joy and my feeling of being blessed hardened into an angry fist in my chest. I hardly slept that night, and when I woke up there was more spotting. I called the doctor, and I was advised to go to the lab to get my beta hcg and progesterone drawn. Both give clues as to how the pregnancy is progressing. As I drove to the lab through the rain, the sun suddenly parted the dark clouds and shone brightly -- even as the rain continued to pour. It was rather beautiful, actually. The drops, instead of looking grey and cold, as they did moments before, were bright silvery yellow, and the spray being kicked up from the car in front of me was making misty rainbows that I was literally driving directly through. In my desperation for everything to be okay, this seemed like a sign. Something that on an ordinary day, I probably would have completely overlooked... but on this day, when I needed so much, there was meaning in the simplest of things.

Brooklyn sat on my lap while I got my blood drawn. I watched the vials fill with the dark liquid and I pictured what it would look like at the lab, in all the machines as it was getting tested. I willed my blood to have positive information in it. I wanted my blood to carry good news. Brooklyn told me I was brave, and the Tech. who drew my blood gave her princess stickers.

That night, as I sat in the parking lot while Peyton took her Taekwando class, the nurse from my OB's office called with the lab results. My beta was 200, and my progesterone was 2. Both were extremely underwhelmingly low, low, low numbers. I knew the nurse felt the same because she told me she 'was so sorry.' She told me they had to treat this like a viable pregnancy, though, and she prescribed a progesterone supplement. She also told me to get another blood draw in the morning to see if my numbers increased. I knew though. And I was devastated.

The following morning, the bleeding increased dramatically and when I got the lab results that afternoon they confirmed what I already knew. The numbers were dropping. The pregnancy was gone.

I felt robbed. Like the entire experience was a cruel trick. Why get pregnant unexpectedly, get excited and welcome it, only to have it taken away? What seemed 'meant to be' turned out to be nothing of the sort. What was the point?

I wish that I could sum this up with an anecdote about how I have derived some meaning... some reason... some shred hope from this experience. But I can't. I've merely been left with a deep sadness that I can't make sense out of. Perhaps in more time I will be able to get myself to that place in which this doesn't feel like one of life's betrayals. I will. Eventually.

What I do know, is that I'm already very lucky. My family is everything to me. They are my heart, my love, my happiness... and they will get me through this, and anything.

Thankful

Often times these days, I look at my three girls and find myself unrealistically willing them to not get any older. Peyton, at age 8, is still a Mommy's girl. The other day when I was driving her to Tae Kwan Do, she told me, unsolicited from the backseat, "Mommy? When I finish college I want to travel around the world with you and Daddy... and buy you lots of souveneirs." I know I have about two years until John and I being included in her 'traveling around the world dream' will be aced. I asked her the other day if she still believed in Santa. When I was her age, the cat was way out of the bag... She looked at me, horrified... "YES!" She said without hesitation.
Quincy, at 6, is still my loveable lap girl. She often times crawls onto my lap and asks me to tickle her back. While she's lying there she'll tell me "I'm the best Mommy she ever had." She has such an abundance of love in her, and she gives it away without being asked -- to just about anyone who she comes into contact with. She is my bright sparkley light.
Brooklyn, my baby at age 3, is growing fast -- out of diapers, going to preschool, full of ideas and independence... and yet several times a day will pull at my legs and say, "I want to hold you." Her favorite thing to do these days is to "play food," which means going to her room and serving me from the array of wooden play fruit and veggies she has. She sings me happy birthday and makes me feasts.
I love these ages... They are sweet and innocent and brilliant. I know they must grow older, and in all honesty, I look forward to that as well. Right now I am just thankful for the people they are and the joy they give me.