day of days

The past couple of weeks I have spent dreading December 15. It may seem like any other day to you, or it could be your birthday as it is for four of my friends today (thank you, Facebook). Today was the day I was supposed to become a mom. Well, until I wasn't.

I fell off of blogging earlier this year about a month before I found out I was pregnant with my first baby. Steven and I were over the moon. We'd been trying/not trying and seeing what happens/maybe we'll never have kids but let's just have sex anyway/whatever for 2 years, finally gave up, and then the stick turned blue (yes, yes. I can hear you loud and clear, mom. You told me so). I took the test expecting the same old rigmarole (NEGATIVE), so when it didn't turn out that way I was shocked. When I let Steven know (3.5 miliseconds after reading the pee stick result), it sounded more like a question. "I'm pregnant?"

Four weeks after the stick turned blue, after 4 doctors appointments, 3 ultrasounds, and a couple of blood tests, our obstetrician confirmed that we had lost the baby.

Just like that, the pregnancy and child that my husband and I had hoped for was gone.

Miscarriage is a crazy thing. I didn't realize that there were different types of miscarriage. I kind of assumed all along that they were all the same. Developing fetus one minute, not the next. I guess it all boils down to that eventually, but it's so much more complicated at the same time. The miscarriage I had is called a blighted ovum or early pregnancy failure. Essentially, there was something funky afoot chromosomally speaking that resulted in a baby never developing. All I had was a fertilized egg that became a gestational sac that implanted in my uterus, got my hormone factory all hot and frenzied, and then stopped developing. There was nothing I could have done to prevent this from happening. Let me tell you, lack of control over things is not my cup of tea. Knowing that I couldn't have done ANYTHING to prevent the pregnancy loss was devastating.

The other crazy thing about it is that it is a loss, there is grief/grieving involved, but there's no physical object to grieve. The expelled tissue was flushed like a deceased goldfish. I still feel a little guilty about it seven months later.

Why was there flushing of tissue involved? I'm getting to that.

I didn't have a D & C - dilation and curretage for those of you not in the know on the acronym...essentially the same surgical procedure as an abortion (lovely thought, right?) - although it was presented as one of my 3 choices for course of action after the miscarriage was confirmed. One of my other two choices was to wait it out. I considered it, but I felt increasingly more frustrated experiencing the symptoms of pregnancy knowing that nothing was going to come of it. I wasn't morning sick or anything, but I felt differently enough from normal to know the difference. The option I picked was a BRAND. NEW. CAR. Actually, it was medication that induced contractions and forced all the tissue out of my bun-baking oven. Lovely thought, right? It was equally lovely to experience the crippling cramping of uterine contractions and bleeding like crazy. I'll leave it at that.

I blame hormones, but I got all dark and twisty (thank you, Grey's Anatomy) after that. I was really depressed. And furiously angry. I even yelled at pregnant people for being pregnant. Way to stay classy. It was a chapter of my history where I believe I experienced the greatest growth of character I had to this point, but not without hitting some ugly lows and threatening some very dear relationships in the process. Thankfully, I have incredibly gracious friends who chose to love me through the ugly.

Early this fall, there was a day where I realized I hadn't thought about the fact that I wasn't pregnant for a few days. And I couldn't tell you how pregnant I would have been, which was something I had tracked (my brain wouldn't allow me to NOT think about it). Humpty dumpty had started to put the pieces together again. Yeah, there were times when a baby announcement or a person complaining about how miserable they were feeling at X stage in their pregnancy would touch the soft spots of my soul where I hadn't quite found ALL the pieces. I guess that's what happens when you break till you shatter.

All that feeling whole and (mostly) healed changed about 2 weeks ago when I realized December 15 was coming. The baby's due date. The day of days.

The Lord does not bring us to something if He is not willing to also bring us through said thing. "Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess for He who promised is faithful." Hebrews 10:23. I woke up this morning and told myself (and my Facebook status) that today was going to be a good day. While I can't divulge the details now, let's just say that today completely exceeded my expectations. Somehow there was beauty from my pain, but as always not in the way I expected.