a sense of hope

This week, April 22-28, 2012 is National Infertility Awareness Week.

Click here to learn more.

As my friends, family, and long-time blog readers know, infertility is a battle that my husband and I have been a part of, since before our marriage.   I've known for years (since puberty) that something was 'wrong' with me.  I shared these fears and worries with Jake before we ever discussed getting married someday, and from the beginning, he's stuck by me.

We were married for over three years, hoping, praying, and trying to begin a family.    We were married on August 5, 2006.  After the urging and prompting of a dear friend, we finally sought the help of a reproductive endocrinologist in November of 2009.  It was there I was "diagnosed" with Poly-Cystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS).   (I use the term "diagnosed" loosely, because it's not something they necessarily tested for and labeled me as in a chart, but rather, they ruled out other issues via blood work and ultrasound, and based the PCOS diagnosis on my presenting symptoms.  I have quite a few PCOS symptoms.  Click here for more PCOS information.)  We sought the RE's guidance, and with the help of oral medications to induce ovulation, as well as an hCG trigger shot, we went on our marry way, trying to conceive.

On February 22, 2010, I tested positive, on a PREGNANCY test.  I couldn't believe it!  We were absolutely overjoyed.   After a fairly wonderful, healthy pregnancy, Spencer was born on November 1, 2010.

On August 7, 2011, after a few more months of seeking the help of our RE, following the regime that helped us conceive Spencer, I tested positive on another pregnancy test.  Though, as life would have it, we lost Baby "Sprout," at 8 weeks gestation.  (You can read about that pregnancy, loss, and journey healing here.)

Though devastated, we never gave up.  After two months of being on birth control to help my system "heal" after a D&C, we tried again.  And on December 12, 2011, we learned that I was pregnant for a third time.  The pregnancy with Baby "Bojangles," or "Bo" for short, has been going well, though I've always been a little edgy about it going rapidly downhill like my last one.

In a nutshell, that's my infertility journey.  You can read more about it through these posts, if you'd like.

Once you've begun to struggle with infertility, you never forget the grasp it holds on your heart.  A Facebook status I read, and shared yesterday, hits the nail right on the head.  It reads:  Infertility is a heart-wrenching, faith-questioning, relationship-testing, life-altering experience. April is Infertility Awareness Month. Whether a friend, a family member, a colleague or yourself has fought through this difficult fate that MILLIONS of women and men are fighting day in and day out. Post this as your status if you or someone you know has walked to hell and back for the chance to be a MOM or DAD.

I remember, when we first started trying, it felt so hopeless, so very often.  I had a few other friends that were also struggling with the infertility demon alongside of me, which made it more bearable, but not always more hopeful.   I could read, and did read, many testimonies of people who struggled and eventually held a miracle in their arms.  I knew you could become a mother through adoption.  I knew I was never without all hope.  But it didn't always feel that way.

It honestly wasn't until a friend, and then another, the same ones I struggled alongside, got pregnant, that I really felt there was true hope for me.   I had prayed to God throughout the journey, but it seemed, to me, at least, I needed reassurance, close-by and interacting with me on a regular basis, that it REALLY could happen for Jake and I.

And, it did.

When I blog about infertility struggles, or the struggle of healing after a miscarriage, or the joys of being a parent post-battles, I do it for me, of course, to document and share my thoughts, with myself and my friends and family.  But, I also do it for people I don't know.  It may sound strange, but I do anyway.

And, occasionally, I receive messages from friends, acquaintances, and even people I do not know, sharing with me what I shared with my two supports.   That my story gives them hope.

I feel beyond blessed to read messages like that.  Do I deserve to have them sent my way?  No, not really. I don't feel like I've done anything spectacular for others that warrants me to be a beacon of light or hope in along the darkest path known to a woman who wants to be a mother.  But, I am blessed to be, and to know that I have been.

It always hits my heart like a dagger when a friend tells me that they've been trying so hard for so long, that they suffer with infertility, too.  Especially if it's been going on a while before I knew.  I don't feel like I need to know, by any means, but when I do know, I can instantly relate to them.   And, knowing how ashamed one can feel when they feel broken, insufficient, or inept, I feel honored that they trust me enough to share that secret with me.  Not everyone who suffers through this battle is public about it.  That's okay.   But, sometimes, I must admit, it does help to reach out to someone.  Whether you know them or not.  Just to let someone out there know.  Have someone to cry to if you need to, or to vent to, whatever.  

There is hope out there.

I feel like I've been babbling for quite a while, so I'm going to go.  But, I'm going to leave you with a video that another friend of mine shared yesterday.  It is... powerful, for lack of a better word.  I can relate to it.  So can my husband.  So can some of my friends.  So can millions of others that I do not know.

Dear Sprout,

Dear Sprout,

Today was the day that your father, your brother, and I were "due" to meet you, see your face, hold you in our arms. April 18, 2012 was the predicted date that you'd enter this world.

I can barely wrap my mind around the fact that it's been 32 weeks since your heart stopped beating. It's been 31 weeks since we found out you were gone. It sounds so recent, and somehow, it seems like forever ago. I sit here, tears falling softly down my face, as I remember how beautiful my life was with you in it, and how devastated I was when you left.

Somehow, though, I feel strong. I wonder how long that strength will last.

My goal for today, while I celebrate your Auntie Allie's 13th birthday, while also observing the life you barely began to live is simply to smile. I hope to fight back tears and carry on with the day. I want to embrace the joy you brought us, as I embrace your father and also your brother. We have gotten through the loss so far, and I know that we can continue onward.

While I am sad that your'e gone, I know you're in a better place. I know that you never suffered the cruelty that this world can bring upon a person. You lived, so briefly, in a serene, calm place, and then ever so quietly went to meet our Maker.

I know that He has held you in his arms, even though I was unable to hold you in my own.

I know that there's a purpose in all of this- in your short life inside of me and the eternal life you began living, what I deem to be "too soon," and while I often sit and wonder what it is, I have decided to let it go. Someday, I will know. Until then, I will just embrace the fact that you happened to me- to us, and that it was a perfect and beautiful gift.

In a way, I suppose I should thank you, too, for giving your father and I the chance to become parents once more- for giving Spencer the opportunity to be a big brother to your little brother or sister, who we currently call Bo. It breaks my heart that there is no way that the two of you could exist in this household, on this earth, living this life together, but again, I know that someday, we all will be reunited as a family. I know I will live my earthly life imagining, from time to time, the day that the reunion comes true.

Baby, sweet baby, I miss you. I love you. I thank you for giving us the opportunity to know you exist and to love you forever. I carry you with me always.

Someday, Sprout, I will hold you.

Love, Your Mommy

Almost Due.

It's almost April 18, 2012.

That wonderful Wednesday, my youngest sister will turn 13. Man, that makes me feel old!

That same Wednesday, last August and September, was slated to be our due date with Baby Sprout.

I can so clearly recall how "perfect" we thought that pregnancy worked out to be. I mean, really, being due on my sister's special birthday!? It was AWESOME. I for one, had prayed about it constantly since I calculated what that date would be, just asking God to allow it to happen. When I tested positive early morning on Sunday, August 7, I was shocked with disbelief, but through the roof with excitement. We told my sisters about the baby that morning already, we were so overjoyed!

And, as life would turn out, we lost Baby Sprout in the middle of September. Grieving and healing from the loss of the baby was a huge process to me. It was overwhelming for days before I finally could make it hours without crying. And over the weeks, and months as my body healed from my D&C, my mind started to heal as well, with the prospect of trying again for that second birth.

A sidenote: Sometimes, I get confused as to what to call Baby Bo. Is Bo my third child? Or is Bo my second child? I opt to say second child because it's less confusing for everyone else. Second child, third pregnancy, perhaps?

Anyway... On December 12, 2011, I tested positive again, and was cautiously optimistic and excited with the "perfection" of this pregnancy as well. As I had calculated that due to be August 26, 2012, which was just days after Jake's twin and his girlfriend, one of my best friends, were to be home for a wedding from Alaska. It seemed another pregnancy too "perfect" to be true, and for weeks I was scared of the same fate. Jake and I relish every movement (even if they wake me, or if Bo seems to be trampolining off my bladder during a 2.5 hour car ride) that we feel, knowing that Bo is alive and growing and gearing up to meet his/her family.

Now, I'm 21 weeks along, with an adjusted due date of August 19, 2012. We, again, are beyond overjoyed at the idea of bringing a sibling into this world for our wonderful son.

When I got my memorial tattoo for Sprout in November, it really helped me to find peace in the situation. Never once was I really mad at God (as I shared in a group not long ago at Operation Prom Dress), but I was frustrated, sad, and disappointed that it all happened. But then, it was like a release. Letting go of the sorrow as much as I could, I guess, and moving on to what lies ahead.

And I don't think I've cried over the loss since.

Until last night. Out of nowhere, it seems. I guess I was thinking about what the date would be next Sunday, when Jake and I have plans, and how my sister's birthday is only a few days after. And then I realized.. that was our due date. If that pregnancy had gone well, I would be due any day now. Or maybe, just maybe, we'd have already met Sprout. Maybe we'd know if Sprout was a boy or a girl. Maybe... And I got to wondering if Sprout was our son, or our daughter. I feel like the baby was a boy, though of course, there was no way for us to know.

I started sobbing. I told Jake that in over a week and a half, Sprout would have been due to be born. It was so overwhelming.

But, of course, I realize I am already over halfway through this pregnancy with Baby Bo. God gave us this gift, too. And this time, God willing, we've been able to progress smoothly, and God willing, will be able to meet our son or daughter in 19 or so weeks.

While it doesn't take away the loss, it helps to cope, some, I guess. But I'm torn. It's hard to be sad about the child we lost while we are getting ready for another child, now. But, Bo will never replace Sprout. Bo is just the given we were given after Sprout left us. And it's okay to be sad, I think. It's okay.

I'm not going to let it bog me down. I'm not going to dwell on it and take away from my sister's birthday. I decided if I wrote out how I feel, maybe, once again, like it did right after the loss, it will help me cope and move on. So, here's to that prayer.

Scared-y-Pants can hit a ball!

Two months, or so, ago, my reproductive endocrinologist told me that I was going to be put on birth control and Metformin for two months, to let my uterus heal, post D&C surgery, before he would feel that we could "safely" start trying for another baby.

Well, two months is almost up.

When he first told me that, it felt like a giant stab in the hope sector of my heart. I felt like birth control was the complete opposite solution to my problem (though, medically, I understood why he was suggesting it, and of course, agreed to take that route), prohibiting us from having another child (temporarily, of course). The past two months, I have struggled with that over and over, each night as I took the tiny pill. I swallowed it hard (literally and figuratively, haha), and what do you know, I made it through it without excessive amounts of emotional baggage. Woohoo.

Now that we're getting closer to "starting over" on our journey to bring a brother or sister for Spencer into this world, I am nervous. More nervous that I was before we conceived Spencer or Sprout, I think. Maybe not more nervous. Maybe different nervous. And somewhat scared. With the potential to be terrified.

I am not necessarily scared that we won't get pregnant. I believe that we will. I hope it is sooner than later, even.

But, I am afraid of being pregnant again. I know that sounds strange, but hear me out.

When I was pregnant with SJ, I was super excited. I was nervous because we found out before I was four weeks pregnant, and cautious about it at first, until we heard the heartbeat. Then, we shared the joy with the world, and a few months later, Spencer was born.

With Sprout, it was the same. I was nervous (more so than with Spencer, looking at the event retrospectively, but we found out just one day earlier than we did with Spencer, too), and when we saw the heartbeat for the first time, we shared our joy publicly again.

Only, of course, we lost Sprout.

So, when we find out we're pregnant again, I'm nervous of how I will feel about it, and how I will react. Will I be invested in it, filled with joy? Or will I be totally detached and terrified to lose another child? I can't know, of course, and I hope it's the first option, but knowing myself, I could see the second coming to fruition just as easily (hey, I'm being honest).

Will I be too nervous to be "normal" feeling about it? Will I be overly-cautious? Will I over analyze every little thing and foresee another miscarriage? I sure hope not. I will try not to. I will pray that I don't become "that kind of woman," but, the possibility is seriously there, and it makes me nervous.

When we see a heartbeat again, will we feel comfortable sharing? I feel like we would, because, following the same path of thought as the first two pregnancies, if we share the news, we enlist countless friends and family as a prayer and support system. So, probably.

But, will I ever feel "at ease" being pregnant again? Or will I just be terrified?

I try not to think about it, but I can't help it.

I know they say that a miscarriage doesn't usually mean and increased risk for another miscarriage. But, you just never know.

So, there you have it. I'm a big scared-y-pants who wants to be pregnant so intensely, but isn't quite sure how to handle herself when that time comes again.

New subject.

Racquetball! Yeah! I never really saw myself being a racquetball player. I won't lie. The most I'd had interest in racquetball courts was in college when Jake and I would sneak our guitars into the racquetball courts at SMSU, turn off the lights, and play guitar and sing in the dark. (If you've never done that, do it, it's a phenomenal experience acoustically.)

But, a few weeks ago, I decided I would like to join Jake at the wellness center, and by golly, he invited me to learn how to play racquetball. Feeling a bit spunky and daring that day, I agreed to do just that.

Now, I won't brag, but I am a great racquetball player.

Haha, no I'm not. I am a great loser though. Meaning I haven't scored more than 6 points total (if I recall correctly) in my entire career (which is about three weeks long now), but I tell you what, I have FUN. Yes, I will admit, I enjoy playing racquetball!

Jake is a really good sport about it. He doesn't play "full force" against me, and he intentionally avoids beaming with the ball, especially in the head (I actually haven't been hit once by Jake, and I have accidentally hit him at least 3 times (which I apologize for repeatedly as he tells me it's his own fault)). He doesn't hit the ball insanely fast either, so I actually have a chance of lugging my slow self toward it and may actually hit it!

I have scored points though (not sure if they were "pity points" or not, but I'll pretend they are legit), and I have caused quite a few (at least 9) side-outs, AND I HIT THE BALL many, many times. I can even serve fairly reliably! Yeah. That's right. I'm a player. (Haha.)

Some day, maybe I'll even start scoring enough points to warrant having my own racquet, and not have to touch the creepy over-used-super-germy-from-tons-of-sweaty-hands racquets at the wellness center. That's my goal. To be good enough I can buy a $30 Wilson Hope Racquet (because it's a girly one that donates to breast cancer research).

And, to note, while I am "not good" at racquetball, I think I might be even worse at Squash, which Jake taught me to play on Sunday. But, again, it was a fun game!

Of course, the extra perk to my new found interest in racquetball is that it is making me go to the wellness center more and utilizing the membership I've been paying for, while also benefiting my health. ;-)

And now, to check on Wendell, who has been whining in the bathroom for about 45 minutes after I gave him a bath because he got sick all over himself in the kennel earlier, and I wouldn't let him tear around the house soaking wet, but didn't feel like wrestling him dry.

In honor of my babies.

Many suggested after my miscarriage of Sprout, that perhaps I should buy, find, or do some sort of "memorial" to help with the healing process, and also to hold onto our baby's memory.

I contemplated this for quite some time.

I researched different ideas, and the one I seemed to bond with most was a necklace. I liked the idea of planting a tree, but we rent our place, so it just didn't seem... fitting, to plant a tree here. I didn't want to plant a tree at anyone else's place, though I contemplated that too.

The more I thought about the necklace, though, I just wasn't... sold on the idea. I love necklaces, don't get me wrong, but with Spencer around, and working as a childcare provider, the thought of wearing a necklace all the time that would just get yanked on and choke me wasn't as appealing as I had originally thought.

That's when I decided what I'd do.

However, when I decided what I was going to do for Sprout, part of me felt a little... ashamed, to be blunt, that I wasn't doing something to memorialize Spencer. I mean, sure, I HAVE Spencer with me, and I can see him, hold him, hear him, watch him, smell him... but, it just didn't feel right to not celebrate him in a way that I would Sprout, despite Sprout never being a "full" part of our daily life, I guess.

So, I decided I was going to do something in honor of both of my babies.

Here's what I did in Spencer's honor:

And here's what I did in memory of Sprout:

Yes, that's right. I got tattoos. I decided that it would be perfect to get a tattoo of Spencer's birth footprints (scaled down) on my abdomen, in the place I remember feeling him kick the most often. I had them scaled to about 1 inch.

For Sprout, I drew "generic" footprints, and had them placed near my heart. I had originally wanted to do just an outline of the footprints, because I never "felt" them, so they were kind of "empty" if you will, but the size I had them done (smaller than Spencer's) the artist said that the toes would be filled in, and the smallest, detailed/curvy parts of the prints would look filled in, and the rest wouldn't, and that might look strange, so he filled them all in. I decided on that location, however, because even though I haven't yet met Sprout, he/she definitely left a print, a mark, a lasting encounter, on my heart.

Truthfully, I am pleased with the result. The location of Sprout's is a little higher than I had hoped it would be, but I will deal with it. If it were a necklace I was wearing, it would be noticeable. The tattoo will be visible if I wear lower-cut shirt lines. So, if I "need" my tattoo covered, that's not a real problem. I was afraid it would look "trampish" at first, but, hey, it's baby feet. And, as I said, if it were a piece of jewelry with baby feet on, people wouldn't judge. And, I'm proud that I tried, that I was pregnant, even if I lost the baby.

I know, I know, you can reference the Bible and tell me "tattoos are bad because you're defacing your body." I wish I found myself believing that 100%, but I just don't. In the same reference in the Bible, it tells not to trim your beards, (Leviticus 19:27-28) too. So.... yeah. I won't go into that debate, sorry.

A very deep, heartfelt thanks, to my sister-friend Samantha M., for helping me to attain these memorials this past Wednesday. <3

In totally unrelated news, I am having quite a long night! We are getting new neighbors upstairs, apparently. They're moving in tonight, after Spencer went to bed, naturally, and are very loud, and keep waking him up. Blah.

My friend Ryan fixed our computer! Wahoo! And, in light of that fact, I dumped all the photos I had taken over the last few days onto the computer, which effectively erased them from the memory card, and then I sorted them and such, and somehow in the process completely erased all of Spencer's first Halloween photos. NOOOOOOOOOO! I about broke down sobbing. Though, Melissa, Dez, and Ryan all suggested a recovery program, so I've been working through various free trials to see what I can recover off the memory card and put back on my computer. I know to some it wouldn't be a big deal, but to me, it is. But, it's going to be a long night of clicking through thousands of "possible recovery" files. Hence, my blog post, a much needed break from the stress of that situation.

I'm an emotional lady.

I'm an emotional lady. I think I'm always emotional, to be honest, but sometimes, my emotions are displayed more strongly. I don't say emotional meaning "sad" either. I just... experience emotions very vividly, intensely, however you would prefer to describe it. It's not in a manic-depressive (no offense to any readers) way, either. More that I just embrace whatever emotions I have, usually pretty straight on, and I am not afraid to show them.

That said, I've had an emotional evening.

Yesterday, I decided on my personal memorial for Sprout. I will share more about it at a later date. I have been thinking about it fairly continuously since the idea came to mind. I reworked the idea a time or two since then, but I think I've decided fully.

Thinking about the memorial so often has, of course, caused me to think about Sprout. Sometimes, it seems like a dream, the month and a half of knowing I was pregnant, and then the loss over a month ago already. I find myself, at times, wondering if it really happened or if I'm in some sort of psychologically twisted movie. It's hard to realize I'd be in my second trimester. I could possibly be feeling Sprout move.

Spencer turns 1 in one week, on 11/1/11. How cool a date is that? His golden birthday is nothing but ones.

It's bittersweet, of course. I mean, I am overjoyed that I have had a son for almost a year already! That's so crazy. Another surreal sort of phenomena, I'd say. I have been quite nostalgic the past few days, thinking back to a year ago, when I was pregnant, and called my dad for his birthday (which was two days ago) and his first question was whether I was in labor or not. (Of course, reflecting back to a year ago, being pregnant, does nothing for helping me feel better about not being pregnant still this year when I just was...) I remember sitting at home, having contractions for weeks, not too painful, but wondering when they'd get "bad."

I remember doing a CPR glass at 39 weeks pregnant. That wasn't... fun, by any standard. But, I passed, and did it all on the floor with everyone else in the class. What a rockstar. Haha.

I remember taking Wendell for a walk about this time last year, and he pulled me over a step on the sidewalk I didn't see and I biffed it and told Jake, and he freaked out.

I remember calling Jake from Wal-Mart while I was shopping with Tarah, and I said something like, "I've got sort of a crisis, call me back." He thought, of course, I was having Spencer. Really, I just needed to know which deodorant he'd prefer because the scent he always used for his favorite deodorant was nowhere to be found. Boy, did I get a lecture on using the words "crisis" or "emergency" loosely.

I watch him moving across the room from me at random parts of the day, just in awe of the fact that he is standing. That he's turning from an object he's standing by and taking steps away from it. That he signs for "more" and "milk." That he knows the sign for "bath" and gets super excited. That he says my first name!

He's definitely a dream come true. He is DEFINITELY a miracle.

And then, of course, I go back to knowing that we aren't having a second baby any time "real soon." I haven't even fully finished my first month of birth control plus Metformin. UGH. I feel a small stab in my heart every night when I take those loathed pills. Yes, I know they're supposed to help. It doesn't help me feel better about it sometimes, though it should. It depends on the day, I guess.

I've been struggling with my self-esteem and my hatred toward the PCOS diagnosis I have been given. PCOS is evil. Really. It causes acne, obesity, irregular cycles and infertility, excessive hair growth. Not one of those things is something anyone aspires to having. And, like many with the condition, I have all of those that I just mentioned. And, sadly, sometimes they just continue to get worse with age and time. Not always. I pray mine don't.

And it's even more frustrating because it feels like, especially with the acne and the hair issues, it's going to be a life-long battle. The solutions that they give for those, medically anyway, you can't really DO when you want to have children. You can't take the inhibitor medication for hair growth if you're wanting to have children, not until you're done, I've read, anyway. And with acne, they say birth control can help, but hey, that's not helping with building a family, either. So, I feel like I have to give up on more long-term solutions to those issues and wanting to feel like I look beautiful or even slightly appealing, because I want more children.

So, I deal with temporary fixes and the nuisances those bring.

But, I want children. Jake and I both want children. We have a child, but we hope to bring a sibling for Spencer into our lives, sometime in the next year, if possible.

And, as much as Jake tells me not to worry and stress about it, I am pretty nervous and worried about his upcoming appointment with the orthopedic surgeon to discuss the results of his shoulder and elbow MRI that he had done on Monday following a work-related injury. He doesn't think he'll need surgery. But, if he does, it could be a while before he can work, or work "fully," or whatever.. and, let's face it, the childcare business isn't a money maker.

Well, there you have it. My griping, whining, and emotions for the night. Tomorrow, I'll wake up, and probably feel a bit better about it all. But tonight, I'm kind of in a funk.

In other news, I am really looking forward to the next week or so. On Sunday evening, we're getting to see Jesse (Jake's twin) and Samantha (Jesse's girlfriend, my "sister" and a best friend) for the first time since August! Yeah! They're coming "home" from Alaska for a little over a week. I can't wait! I miss them so very much.

Monday, Spencer's going trick-or-treating. His first Halloween!

Tuesday, it's Spencer's FIRST BIRTHDAY!

Wednesday, we're celebrating Spencer's birthday still/again, and Samantha and I have a date planned.

Thursday... Friday... who knows.

Saturday, I get to see Rena, and Samantha! I think. Right? And Shari and Alyssa. And maybe my family! Who knows! Lots of preparation for Spencer's birthday celebration.

And then that Sunday... Spencer's birthday celebration! Woohoo! There will be quite a few friends and family there. I am very excited to celebrate the joy that Spencer's brought to our lives with them!

There, see, I ended with lots of joy and happiness. Hopefully, that helps offset the stuff at the beginning, especially for those readers who like a "happy ending."

Godspeed.

standing three feet in front of square one

This morning, I had my dreaded post D&C appointment. I had been avoiding thinking about it as much as possible, because, frankly, it bummed me out, knowing the reason for my return to the reproductive endocrinologist. If all had gone well, I would have been done seeing him and already seeing my regular doctor for typical OB appointments.

Obviously, that is not the case.

So, I woke early to get ready for my 7:45 appointment, contained my emotions as best I could, and left on my five block journey to the RE's office, not knowing what to expect.

The appointment went well, I suppose, all things considered. Had a consultation to make sure I healed well physically and had seven large vials of blood taken from me for a slew of tests. Truthfully, though, I left feeling discouraged and frustrated.

As I told a few friends (and similarly posted on Facebook), we are back to the beginning- square one, if you will, but instead of actually starting there, we are starting behind square one, looking at it from the outside, waiting to begin where we were.

Let me explain. We had been (for both Spencer and Sprout) taking oral ovulation inducing medications. Specifically, I was taking Letrizole and using an hCG trigger shot to cause my follicles to mature and then release an egg.

Now, instead, I get to take birth control for two cycles. Medically, I understand, as it should regulate my system and prepare it to try again. Emotionally... not so much. I cried at home and on the way to work.

I just feel as if someone took a dagger to my heart. Didn't slay me, but sliced me quite enough.

I went from being pregnant to losing a baby instead of birthing one, and now instead of trying, it feels like we are preventing. I couldn't really get pregnant "on accident" before, and now... yeah.

It hurts. Even knowing the medical logic behind it doesn't make it easy for my heart to handle.

I pray the next two cycles pass quickly so we can be back "to square one."

in the middle of the night

It seems to me that my demons are lurking in dark shadows.

Specifically, they're waiting for me in the wee hours of the morning.

Oftentimes, when I wake in the middle of the night after being stressed during the day, I find that I lie awake, my mind teeming with thoughts that aren't necessarily "good." It always seems even worse when Jake isn't home, or is so sound asleep that I can't even wake him for a hug.

Tonight, I woke to Spencer's screaming, with Jake on his overnight route, and after changing a diaper, I headed back to bed, where, out of "nowhere" I find myself thinking about how hard it is to be alone.

That leads to how hard it was to be alone after the miscarriage, which leads to those feelings of abandonment, which I was able to shut out and move on from, but then the next monster lurking in the shadows came to get me.

Self-blame.

Yup, it got me. Snatched me right out of an exhausted state of mind and shook me to tears as I replayed the week leading up to the death of our unborn baby.

Now, I know, founded in scripture (which, for the life of me, I cannot quote, but I know it's there... or I feel it is...), that God didn't take my child. And, I know that my child waits for me in Heaven.

I believe that my child doesn't feel blame or animosity toward me, but of course, in the still, lonely, stressed out night, I begin wondering if he or she might.

But the blame game... ack! I can't handle it at night, especially. It's like my intellectual side has taken a nap and left only my overly exhausted emotions to roam free. That's not a good recipe for a tear-free existence, I will admit.

What if I did kill our child?

I didn't. I tell myself that. But then, what if?

What if? That's another wretched game.

I decided I had to get out of bed, and walk around, look at Spencer, pet the dog, and then get these tempting self-blaming ideas out of my head so that I can hope to sleep a little more this evening, between Spencer's abnormal waking every hour or so.

But, let it be known, when I wake in the middle of the night, things always seem so much darker than they really are.

I have a hard time with thoughts like this in the middle of the night. I've had nights sobbing for hours while my thoughts rampage through my mind leaving me feel bitter and scarred. I HATE it.

Hopefully, I will wake in the morning with a sense of renewed peace.

The report is in.

Today, I received a call from the doctor's office telling me that the results of the pathology report from the D&C were in.

According to the nurse, they found nothing abnormal or "wrong" with Sprout's tissues, leaving them unable to determine the cause of fetal demise, though it rules out chromosomal abnormalities, which is considered to be the most common cause of miscarriage in the first trimester. I was "hoping" that they would have found that to be the reason we lost Sprout, but, unfortunately for my "peace of mind," it was not.

There were no hormonal problems with my bloodwork that they found when I first found out I was pregnant, nor at the following appointments, and my levels from the day we found out we lost the baby were also perfectly normal, so that rules out another of the most common causes.

They found no malignant tissues, either.

As far as I was told, or could see during ultrasound, the cause wouldn't have been improper implantation, either.

They say that stress doesn't usually "cause" a miscarriage to occur, but a physical trauma to the mother's body could cause a miscarriage.

It leads me to wonder... I was having some pretty stressful days leading up to the date that they believe Sprout stopped growing. Could that have been the cause?

I was drinking low amounts of caffeine, though not ever day. What about that?

I fell backward into our wall and entertainment center two days before the aforementioned date. Would that have done it?

I don't know. I might never know. I try not to blame myself, because I don't believe that I really caused the miscarriage to happen, but when I hear the news I was dreading, that it wasn't something the doctor's could distinguish... well, that makes it a little harder to not wonder if it was my fault.

Someone asked me if I would really want to know the exact reason that Sprout didn't make it. I contemplated this a while. Right now, with the uncertainty and the borderline self-blame I am experiencing... yes, I think that I would like to know. I would like to know if it was something I did, truthfully, so that I could prevent it in the future. Granted, I will be trying to avoid the things I think could have caused it next time around, but I would like to know for sure if that was the case. If not, I would like to know if there's a genetic risk I carry, or Jake carries, or if it was just pure happenstance.

But, I guess, I will never know. Time to make peace with that.

A Good Weekend.

It's amazing how you can sit and talk with a close friend from high school (or elementary school, college, work, church, camp, etc.) and even if you are only together for a matter of minutes, your mind can be flooded with the memories you made together.

Tonight, as I lay in bed (where I am writing this on my phone), I am playing a memory in my mind where my dear friends mart, Jason, and I were going to a movie together one summer evening. Jason was driving, with his Nickelback cd playing, and one of them decided he knew a short cut to get to the town with the theater. As it turns out, he was very wrong, and we got a but lost, and were too late to really enjoy the film, so we went back to Jason's house. On the way, a surprise thunderstorm and torrential downpour happened upon our journey, and we had to pull over and sit on the highway, being blinded by constant lightning so bright we could barely see. I remember hoping we didn't die. Haha.

I miss those days, but I am grateful for the present, too.

I had a pretty good, back-to-normal sort of weekend of minimal tears, comparatively, and less heart ache.

Saturday started out pretty stressful as our initial plans for the day were nearly ruined, but it ended in just a two hour delay, in which we missed Jason's wedding ceremony, but were able to make it in time to the reception. We were fortunate to be able to spend a few hours with some of my good friends from high school and some of their children. In fact, we filled a table with good conversation and tons of laughter. I love having friends that I can see rarely but still hold close in my heart, if that makes sense.

Sunday, I received hugs and prayers again at church, but I managed not to cry. Impressive, i think. Though, admittedly I cried st the end of the service, knowing it was the last service a friend of ours would lead.

Following church, we spent the remainder of the day with my dad and sisters (and one of my sister's friends). We had lunch, spent a few hours at Falls Park enjoying the weather and each others company, had frozen yogurt, and finished the evening with some laughs and conversation at our place.

Again, I made it through all their hugs without tears. I didn't start tearing up until just bow, writing this actually, and thinking how Sprout's due date would have been Allison's 13th birthday.

It helped seeing Spencer so happy on both days. He loved "chasing" and watching our friends' three daughters at the wedding, and seeing him smile and interact with my family and his daddy, and hear his silly laugh so often today, really helps me cope and realize that life is good, even when bad things happen.

I am exhausted.

A pretty good day.

Overall, I would say I had a pretty good day today. In fact, it's probably been the best day I've had, mood wise, in over 10 days. Crazy to think about it that way.

Again, I admit, I cried a few times, but it wasn't broken-down sobbing today. Just... calm, quiet tears. I was shocked, actually.

I thought about Sprout a lot today. I wondered if our baby would have been a boy or a girl. I wondered if Spencer would have fallen in love with his brother or sister. I imagined, as we went by the hospital on our way home, going back there in April to bring new life into the world.

My heart still aches for our baby, but, I held it together pretty well.

It definitely helped that I was given some wonderful hugs by Tarah (again, she's so wonderful to me, so... so wonderful), Auntie Kat (she gave the BEST hug of the day, sorry Tarah and B), and Uncle B. Yes, multiple hugs after a long day sure does help turn spirits around.

It helps, also, that I was able to just stare at my son at random intervals and realize how incredibly in love I am with him, how he is a literal miracle in our lives, and how blessed I am that he's with us. I will admit, at times, it's hard to watch him play, because for seven weeks, I had envisioned him playing with Sprout someday, and those images still pop into my head. I can hold one baby, but not the other. So, sometimes, his existence does rub a little salt into the wounds of my heart, but even so, I wouldn't give him up for my life.

I am optimistic that we will still bring home a brother or sister for Spencer, in time. Hopefully, sooner than later. Yes, we still want another child, close in age, to our first. Our loss does not change that, but rather, affirms those feelings.

I know that having another child will not be a "cure" for the heartache we've endured. And no other child will replace Sprout.

I'm babbling. I'm exhausted. But, tonight, I am in a pretty good place, overall. Praise the Lord.

It's been a week.

It's been one week since I woke up in the hospital, after my D&C. It seems so far away one minute, but then the next, I'm reliving it as if it was this morning that it happened. So is the paradox of life, I guess, where time moves just as quickly as lightning but as slow as one-legged turtle.

I am proud to say that today, I have shed less tears than I have in what seems like ages. Yes, I cried multiple times, but I cried less. Knowing that, I find some comfort.

As I mentioned yesterday, I've been listening to my husband's Sanctus Real "Pieces of a Real Heart" CD as I make my way around in the car. Today, another song hit me. It's called "the Redeemer."

Here are the lyrics:

Sometimes I just want to start over, 'cause everything looks like a wreck
And I need the courage to carry on, 'cause I can't see what's ahead
And there are places I've wished I could be, battles I've wanted to win
Dreams that have slipped through my hands
I may never get back again

But I'm still a dreamer, a believer
Oh, I've lost my faith in so many things, but I still believe in You
'Cause You can make anything new

Sometimes I just wish we could say all the things that are easy to hear
Ignore the injustice we see and explain every unanswered prayer
But I'd rather speak honestly and wear a tattered heart on my sleeve
'Cause in the middle of my broken dreams, redemption is here

And I'm still a dreamer, a believer
Oh, I've lost my faith in so many things, but I still believe in You
'Cause You are the answer, the redeemer
Oh, I've given up on too many things, but I'm not giving up on You
'Cause You can make anything new

I don't have every answer in life
But I'm trusting You one day at a time
'Cause You can make a weak heart stay alive forever
this is where Heaven and Earth collide
I lift my hands and give my life
This is how my weary heart stays alive

I feel like this song also fits my current life situation perfectly. Yup, pretty much every sentence I think was written to apply to me and where I am right now.

I was musing with a friend last night, and my cousin tonight, that there must be a purpose to all of this. I mean, I know that God didn't "take" my unborn child away. But, He did receive Sprout. I know that Satan wants me to blame God, and I absolutely refuse. As I said last night (I think) that's a very new thing for me.

And with that new way of approaching this horrific situation, I find that I have hope that there's a real reason for why this happened to us. Not that it's a good thing to have happened, but something wonderful is bound to come from it, if you're optimistic enough to think so.

I think something will. I don't know that I will know about it, but I frankly don't care. I just have to have that hope to help carry through, I guess.

I like to think that my suffering and sorrow will help someone out there someday. Maybe there's a woman out there who lost a child, or will lose a child, and somehow, they'll happen upon my journey, my emotions, my struggles, and my faith. And, maybe that will inspire her.

I know that I've gone through feelings of absolute abandonment and being morbidly alone in the last week or so. I know that I am not, but my demons allow me to think that from time to time. (Sidenote: here's a fantastic quote that I hadn't thought about before, although I use the phrase "my demons" occasionally. It's from the Beth Moore Bible Study I am doing at church called "When Godly People do Ungodly Things." Ah, fail. I can't figure out where Jake put my study guide, so I'll paraphrase. She muses that since Satan tries to mimic God to fool us into following him, he probably sends demons to each individual as God sends Angels to guide and protect us. What a war, right?)

But, I am sure that out there, somewhere, some woman is going through this alone. She may or may not realize God is there, and she may or may not have any other support. I like to imagine that a purpose for my suffering is to inspire or help that woman out there cope with one of the greatest tragedies and losses in her life.

And maybe I'm way off on all of my thinking. But, a woman can hope, right? I feel like I can hope these things, especially if they're helping me to overcome this intense struggle inside of myself.

That's all for tonight. I am exhausted to my very core.

The Power of a Song.

First, let me say that I made it through today, a week exactly since learning of Sprout's birth into Heaven, with less tears than I anticipated that I would have shed. Granted, it started out pretty rough, from 1:30am until about 4:15am, but the majority of the day, I was pretty calm and collected.

I did have an emotional time at Bible Study, which I was "brave" enough to go to, despite some hesitation and barely having any homework done, but having a wonderful table leader and friend in Kyla, who has been a big support during all of this, definitely helps. But, I made it through that with less hardship than I anticipated, too. God is good.

Today, I was driving to Barnes and Noble in search of God and in search of courage (that's where I did what little Bible study homework I finished), and I realized that for the past four or five days, I have been listening mainly to one song on repeat in the car. Jake had left his Sanctus Real CD in the car last week, and there was one song in particular that really caught my heart.

Here are the lyrics:

I wanna know why pain makes me stronger
I wanna know why good men die
Why am I so afraid of the dark but I stray from the light?

I wanna know why You gave me eyes when faith is how I see.
Tell me, is it easier to doubt or harder to believe?
Oh so many questions stiring in me.

[Chorus]
And I'm wondering why.
Sometimes the truth ain't easy to find.
I want to know all the answers, but I'm learning that;
These things take time, yeah
These things take time.

How can success make us feel like failures?
And the harder we fall the harder we try
The more I have the more I need just to feel like I'm getting by.
Oh so many questions in one short life.

And we spend so much time
Chasing our tails
Hopin' to find
Every last answer
To everything in life.
So many questions
Not enough time...


We all want to understand why;
Evil lives and good men die
On the way to Heaven the truth unwinds.
These things take time
These things take time
Yeah, these things take time.

I got to thinking about how I seem to have a pattern of finding a certain song or two for big events in my life, and they end up being played on repeat as I cope with hardships or exalt in joy. A few of the songs on the "soundtrack of my life" as I decided I would refer to it as, are "Martyrs and Thieves" by Jennifer Knapp, from my camp days, "If I Am" by Nine Days, from high school. "Name" by the Goo Goo Dolls, from my high school days. "Crash Into Me" by Dave Matthews, from falling in love with Jake. Those are just a few. I could go on and on, but I won't.

But this song, "These Things Take Time," that's the one I'm playing now. I, being human, want to know WHY this has happened to Jake and I. I want to be able to be done grieving and to be healed NOW. But, I won't know why, and I have to accept the fact that I can't just instantly be okay with it all. That's a short bit on why the song is so meaningful to me.

I feel like I'm starting on the upward climb toward healing. I feel moreso now than over the past week that I will get through this, with God and with Jake both beside me. I need them both, and I am not ashamed to say it.

At Bible study tonight, we were discussing how Satan attacks those who are strong in their faith and who are standing for the Lord. Part of me wonders if that might be part of what happened here. Jake and I conceived Sprout after joining a church, finding a faith family, and after I, personally, feel stronger in my faith than I may ever have in the past, that I can recall, anyway. And then, this tragedy strikes. But, instead of blaming God or being angry at God, or blaming myself, I decide to pray to God and take up at his side to help me get through it. In many other struggles I've gone through in my life, that wasn't the case, and I found myself trapped in powerlessness and sadness, numb to God and numb to myself, for quite an extended period of time. Reflecting tonight at Bible study really gave me hope that I am going to get through this, more easily than other traumas and tragedies and rough times in my life, even though, by far, I think this the saddest, darkest season I have had to face thus far.

That's reassuring.

And I know I've said it before, but I will say it again. I am so blessed by the support, encouragement, and prayers of my family, my faith family, and my friends.

Yes, tonight, I am still sad. I will probably shed more tears over our lost child. But, they aren't tears of hopelessness. And when I wake up in the morning and drive to work, I will hear the current track of my life soundtrack, and be reminded that it's okay to be where I am, to grieve how I grieve, and that I WILL be okay.

Sorry if this was mumbled and jumbled. I am exhausted.

Back-and-forth and to-and-fro, around-and-around I go.

Today was a back-and-forth kind of day. I didn't cry on the way to work, though I was close. I didn't even cry for a while at work. Though occasional thoughts and lines of conversation had me in tears, I did a pretty good job stifling them.

Some difficult conversations were had along the course of the day, however. There was one in which I was reliving one of my personal worst experiences within the entire thing, in that I went through the day of the D&C procedure, as well as the day after, without my husband anywhere near my side, or even in this town. I am not mad at him for that, but the pain and heartache are definitely still there. It's one of those things that the only person I really wanted or needed to be there with me was very clearly... not at all. It kind of kills a person, a little bit. But, I do not hold a grudge against him, I just pray I can sort through the feelings and hurt that his absence caused me.

Another conversation was about the entire mess of infertility coupled with the miscarriage. It can be very exciting to find out at 3 weeks, 5 days pregnant, but it's also a very nerve-wracking time, in that you have about 9 full weeks of first trimester fear to endure, where you're most likely to miscarry. This time, I thought we were "safe" like we seemed to be with Spencer, because at 7 weeks we saw the heartbeat. Little did I know that six days later (two weeks from today) that heart would stop beating. And it's hard to feel like it wasn't a child of mine, because for six full weeks (give or a take a few days), we were overjoyed at the possibility and then reassurance of this brand new life, this child we created... and then it felt like it was all ripped away.

I know it's not "as bad" as carrying a baby to term and then having it pass away, or have it pass away closer to term, but it's not "any better" either. It's still a lost child, deep down. That's how I feel anyway. It doesn't make me correct, it's just how I feel, so if you are reading, please do not be offended.

I know that many people name their unborn children, even as early as being lost in the first trimester. Some people have suggested that to me. I thought about it, but I don't feel like giving our baby a "proper" human name would bring any more closure to the situation. To me, Sprout is perfect. And someday, in Heaven, I will know if Sprout was a boy or a girl. Until that day, it doesn't much matter, I guess, because I refuse to dwell on that. Sprout is perfect as he or she is right now.

Anyway, even, amidst the tears, at one point, I had a hood laugh as Jillian reminded me of our hug on Sunday where I cried and shook in her arms, and squashed Spencer between us as he flailed to get free.

Fortunately, there were some very wonderful moments to help balance out the sorrow... like when Spencer and Grayson started playing with pans under the stove.

Or when Spencer, on his first ever attempt, climbed all the way up Jillian's stairs.

The drive home was on of the most difficult parts of the day, as instinctively, almost, I delayed last Tuesday in my mind, where I had started spotting heavily at work, and just felt panic and terror and completely broken as I called my doctor on the drive home, where the tone of her voice made me realize how serious my situation was becoming. When she said, "that worries me a bit more" after I told her I was cramping, I felt my heart sink into the pit of my stomach and became incredibly nauseated and overcome.

I tried to call my husband but he didn't answer, so I pulled over on the road and sobbed until I could focus to drive. Spencer patiently sat in the backseat watching passersby and playing with his toy hammer. What a sweetheart.

Thankfully, Spencer was able to bring me back to the present at bath time. I was sitting there, recalling how I was barely even able to put him in the tub last Tuesday, when he decided it was the perfect time to stand up in the tub, and almost instantly, start peeing. He watched himself going pee in his bathwater, saying "uh-oh" over and over, until after he was finished. I laughed so hard. Then, he was kind enough to dump a cup of water down my front. Needless to say, he brought me out of my funk and misery of the past week and into the present moment, where I have a beautiful, charming, and somewhat hilarious (in my opinion) miracle living with us.

Now that he is back in his crib, I can't help but picture myself last week, as I lay on the couch, weeping with my entire body, as I plead aloud to God, "Lord Almighty, please don't take this baby from us." I wept it over and over and over again. Am I mad at God for not answering my plea? No. Little did I know, Sprout was already with Him.

I have a stinging feeling that I will have a hard time falling asleep tonight, but hopefully, Jake will soon be here to hold me as I likely cry myself to sleep. Or maybe, I will find the peace I need beforehand, and I will drift off soundly. I pray that is the case, but if it isn't I won't be angry.

I know I still have a long road of recovery and healing before me, but at least, tonight, I'm going to take some relief knowing that I can still laugh and smile, and that with Spencer's help especially, I have done so more than once in the last two days. As small as he is, he is a big part of the strength I find that is carrying me through my sorrow. Even if I am sobbing uncontrollably, he finds a way to make me smile through my tears. It's incredible. Someday, when he's older, though I have been telling him now, I will tell him about how he helped me get through some of the darkest days of my life.

I am nervous for tomorrow, because I know that with the excellent memory God has given me, I will undoubtedly be having flashbacks to last Wednesday. But, instead of dwelling on that fear and anxiety, I am going to relish the fact that I made it through today, and pray that I make it through tonight. I will fight my battle and trudge through my mucky road and what lies before me tomorrow... tomorrow.

Thank you to everyone who has been reading my blog, following my story, inviting yourself into my sorrows, and befriending and praying for me along this journey.

Oh, hey, Monday.

Today, I went "back to work."

I cried pretty much the entire way there. I was having quite a rough time the night before, knowing I am not fully mentally prepared to be out and about on my regular routine. But, I suppose admitting it to myself is a step, at least. I prefer not to live in denial telling people I am perfectly fine, when, chances are, I'll burst into tears shortly after and they'd think I was a basket case anyway.

I made it through the half day, only crying a couple times. Perhaps the roughest part was watching my son play with his friend who is about 22 months older than he, and realizing that could have been what it would be like for Spencer had Sprout been born in April, and lived to be Spencer's age. Yup, that was a rough segment of time. Really rough.

Sunshine was brought to my day after work, when I had both Spencer and Grayson with me, and I had to stop at Walgreens to pick up something. I had contemplated not taking a 16 month-old and 10 month-old with me at the same time and just returning later, but I knew when I would arrive at home I would most likely not want to leave my sanctuary, so I was ballsy and took them both in.

They were a riot. They were both standing in the cart (yes, that can be considered unsafe, but I moved super slow and paranoid that they'd jump out, watched them like a hawk), waving and telling people "hi!" (Grayson) and "go!" (Spencer). They made quite a few "friends." And, they were quite the little musicians too, as one shook a noisy box and the other jingled my car keys. They were laughing at each other. It brought me quite a few smiles.

I came home and was able to catch a short nap with Spencer before I woke up from a day-time 'night mare' and decided to wash some dishes.

I looked around and was overwhelmed with the amount of things I have yet again, fallen behind on, housework wise. But this time, it was more overwhelming than usual, because I just didn't know what to do. Like, my feet were stuck underneath me and I just didn't know how to proceed. It was almost hard to breathe.

This evening, Spencer wanted me to play on the floor with him. Or anywhere with him, so long as he was basically on top of me, or touching me, and I did not make one small flinch that he would perceive as moving away from him. Considering I am still having cramping (which they say is normal) and my back still hurts from the back injury.. or whatever it was, a week ago, it was pretty hard on me to sit there. And, Jake called, so I was talking to him, and had to get up so that Spencer would stop pulling on the phone. Spencer lost it, and I lost it.

I feel like it's impossible for me to be a "good mom" to Spencer when I feel like I'm not even doing a good job just being Nicole. I don't know if that makes sense to anyone but me, but it's how I feel.

Now, I'm not doing a "bad job" at being a mom, I know. But, I'm not doing as good a job as I would like to think that I could do right now. That kills me a little inside.

And I'm sure if he was able to articulate his thoughts, they wouldn't be anything like "you're a bad mom" or "you don't love me enough" but rather, "Mom, I know something's wrong and it makes me sad too," or "I just want to be with you right now." And those things are okay.

But, it's still hard.

I called the doctor today and talked about my intense lack of sleep that I've been having for almost an entire week now. It's not that I can't sleep at all, it's just that I wake up in the middle of the night, after finally falling asleep, usually after an intense cry, to a nightmare or something, and can't fall back asleep. Or, I just wake up, for apparently no reason that I can recall, and cannot relax enough to fall asleep. I thought the oxycodone/Percocet would help with that, as did the doctor, but apparently not so much.

She asked if I thought I was depressed. I mulled the question over a bit, and decided that I do not think that by a clinical definition, I am "depressed." But, I am sad. I'm heartbroken currently. I'm devastated. My baby died inside of me. I don't feel like that's the same. We discussed that, and she agreed that she didn't think I needed to consider myself "clinically depressed," and suggested I try a sleep aid for a week or so, and then if that didn't help at all, we'd discuss "other medication options."

I don't want to take anti-depressants right now. Okay, I might have a little "post-partum-death-of-baby-blues" going on, but I don't think that is the same thing. Not for me, anyway. I don't know, you may think different after reading my blog. But, I felt good knowing that she didn't think I really needed that kind of medication either.

Though, I have been contemplating seeing a counselor. At least for a little while. But, I'm torn on that, too. I know that I am perfectly able to pen my thoughts here, or to my husband, or a few good friends, without putting up a wall. But, would doing it to an anonymous professional help? Would it make me "heal faster?" I don't know. I was a psychology major for a while and a social work major after. I respect the profession. I'm just undecided if I need to arrive there yet.

I feel like maybe, I should just give myself a little more time. It's not even been a full week. Maybe, I need to just let myself cry if I need to cry, without wondering if people will think I'm nuts or think that I'm perfectly incapable of functioning on any level. I know I can trust myself with my child alone, though it's hard and I do cry, but I'm not worried for his health or safety. Even in the midst of my deepest sobs, my mother instincts kick in. I've seen it happen many times over already.

I feel like my mind actually stopped... thinking... for a while. Just now. I'm going to savor that.

My mind is a jumbled mess.

I have so many thoughts running through my mind right now that it literally almost makes me dizzy. Of course, I've been kind of lightheaded and dizzy with a slight lack of balance since the procedure on Thursday (which I called about, and they said was okay, so long as I didn't spike a fever or lose a lot of blood...), but I feel like when my mind starts going, I get thrown a little more off-kilter.

Today started out with me waking, but not anticipating the day in a very good way. Today, I had to get up and get showered, and get Spencer ready for church. Now, I feel like I shouldn't have been thinking negatively about it, really, but I was very apprehensive and feeling quite overwhelmed. I guess that's what you get when you're public about your grief, right?

I knew that there was a 98% (roughly) chance that as soon as I entered the doors, I would come face to face with someone who knew of our loss.

Well, I was right.

First, John greeted me, and with a hand on my shoulder, asked me how I was.

"I'm okay, right now, I guess." I believe were my exact words. He inquired about how Jake was doing, and my answer was "he's kind of angry. But, I think he's doing okay this moment, too." Of course, that was just a general assumption, because I hadn't really seen Jake yet, but he seems to usually be doing okay in the midst of the church. So, I thought it a safe guess.

I made it through that encounter without crying. Then, I saw Robert and Jillian standing with Jake by the nursery. Jillian opened her arms as I walked quickly to them, a "safe spot," as you might say, and I dove into her arms crying immediately. In fact, I was so encompassed by her embrace, I ceased to notice Spencer was in my arms, a bit squished. Whoops.

Then, another friend, Wendy, came by to offer her condolences. Her exact words, I will not post, though I remember them clearly. And, Wendy, if you read this, the words you shared were perfect, even if you thought you didn't know exactly what to say. Coupled with your gesture of love, they were perfect. I held strong and didn't cry for a few minutes.

And then, I took Spencer's bag into the nursery, and was embraced by Jenn, to which, I sought shelter in her embrace and began crying again. I confessed to her "I just want to be home." But, I admitted it was good that I was at church. I honestly hid inside the room for a bit to try to compose myself before Jake took my hand and lead me to the sanctuary.

The service... I wish I could say I remembered clearly, but I really did. I tried so hard to focus on the pastor's words, but I found it very difficult. I sat there, "talking" to God in my mind, and trying to focus on my praises to him. It was hard, I will admit. I have no problems praising Him and rejoicing of Him. I am not mad at Him by any means. But, of course, it's always a struggle to be exuberant when you are in pain and sorrow.

Following the service, another dear friend, Carmen, sought me. As soon as she hugged me, I began sobbing again. And she held me so tight, and prayed for me and with me, and Jake, as I cried. And, in a whirlwind, it seemed, moments later, Lance (the pastor) and Joan (his wife) were by our sides, praying for me, for us, as well. I cried all the way through the "Amen," and then, momentarily, the tears ceased. I held strong through a short talk with Hal, and then again with Jenn, before finally meeting up with Kyla. I didn't cry that time either, as she offered words of wisdom, comfort, and hope before I left the building.

Lunch was good, though I don't know that I was "all there," either, as we met with Jake's co-worker/friend, and her fiance.

The rest of the day.. buzzed by. We went grocery shopping, and I text my brother. My mother called and offered words of comfort and her own experiences, and expressed her love for me, until she had to go. It was so wonderful to hear her voice. I turned off my emotions as best as I could as I watched a documentary.

Then, I realized it was almost 8:00pm and Spencer hadn't had supper yet, and Jake was asking me about what I wanted. Instead of being able to answer and make a decision, I broke down sobbing and exited the room.

For some resaon, those two simple instances got me thinking, "I am not okay."

I sat on the bed, in the dark, my entire body sobbing, curled over in a ball nearly, as I gasped for what air I could take in as the tears rained down to my lap.

When Jake asked what I was thinking, I could barely proclaim, "It's NOT OKAY!" He asked what, and I said, I believe, "the whole situation."

I tried to explain my thoughts... on how I feel like I don't know how to take care and cope with myself, when I don't realize how late it is and our baby hadn't eaten. What if I can't take care of him? What if I'm not a good mom? What if my sorrow makes me a failure for him?

Realistically, I know it won't, because I know I will move on, but right now, I'm stuck, and I realized it.

I don't know how I am supposed to function tomorrow when I have to get up for work, and go to work, to take care of other people's children. These people who we all just recently told of my exciting pregnancy. Yes, the children can sometimes be a distraction, but it seems like in the random moments, the miscarriage overwhelms me for no particular reason, and I am stopped in my tracks. What if I spend the day there, just me and the children, sobbing uncontrollably. What if I cannot pull it together?

And then, when I come home, and Jake is not here to comfort me, how will I cope? I feel like right now, I need him available to me to run to at any given moment. And tomorrow, that will not be the case.

The selfish part of me wishes the world could just stop turning for a while. Activities could pause.

I honestly do not know how I am supposed to fall back into my old, typical, daily routine, and have to operate like things are okay. I feel like people will expect me to act like things are okay. And clearly, to me anyway, they are not. Not yet. They can't be, when in a split second I can go from happy to hyperventilating and overcome with grief or anger. Things just are not okay.

I am scared. The world is moving on, or not taking notice (not that I want everyone to take notice, that too, would be overwhelming), but I am not. I am still here, where I was on Wednesday morning, trying to overcome the loss of a child.

My thoughts on public grief in regard to my miscarriage.

I know it is a fairly common practice to keep a pregnancy a secret until one is considered "in the safe zone," or the second trimester. With Spencer, we told the world as soon as we saw the heartbeat. With Sprout, it was the same. I had always thought that I would love to share as soon as we knew the baby was healthy, meaning we saw a heartbeat, so that no matter what happened, we would have people praying.

I am glad we were able to share the joy of Sprout's blessing upon our lives with the world. As short lived as his or her presence was, at least we were able to really celebrate it. And, in a way, I think it may make the great loss a tiny bit more tolerable.

I think had I been forced to bury the miscarriage in secret, the pressure of having to "put on a game face," and pretend nothing is wrong would, undoubtedly, shatter my already broken heart.

While it may seem excessive grief to some, for example, those who do not wish to be a support to my family, at least I am fortunate to be able to grieve, as strong as I need, how I need to, without shame. I am a woman who has always been "blessed" with intense emotion, whether they're positive or negative, they are always strong. I cannot help but weep uncontrollably at the loss of the child I had been waiting to meet, and laugh uncontrollably at the joy of the son I already have. And, I think that's okay.

Writing, for example, my blog, or poetry, has always been a therapy I was gifted to be able to give myself. And, I like to hope that tete will be one person out there, somewhere, who can relate to my words, and find some solace, comfort, or understanding, in my story. From the struggle of infertility, to the joy of the birth of a child after winning the battle, to the joy of a second miracle, to the overwhelming loss of a baby, (or really any situation in between) no one should have to go through any season of life alone.

I can't say that I am not afraid people will judge me or think I'm "pathetic" or "weak" for being as heartbroken and sorrowful as I am, but, I have decided not to let that get me further down.

As I laid in bed before needing to clear my mind in hopes of another night's rest, I realized how absolutely surreal it is to me that in less than a year's time, one of the happiest days of my life came upon me, when our son Spencer was born (read here), and also one of the very saddest days of my life also occurred, the loss of our beloved and anticipated second child, Sprout (read here).

Goodbye, Sprout.

This is one blog post I had never imagined having to make. I knew there was always the possibility that this situation would occur, but of course, I had hoped and prayed it would be avoidable.

Alas, what do I really know?

Seeing as how the Oxycodone I took two and a half hours ago did not make me fall asleep like I was told it probably would, and I cannot turn off my mind, I decided maybe I would share what was on it, and hope to find some peace... or at least wear myself out enough to fall asleep. Heck, at this point, I'd give for falling asleep in our computer chair....

On Monday evening, I started spotting. It was light, and when I called the doctor the next morning, they said it was normal and okay. So, I tried not to think about it.

Tuesday afternoon, though, it became suddenly heavy, and I started with light cramping. I called the doctor back on the way home from work, and she was more concerned. I was told to go home, rest, put my feet up, and do as little as possible. If it got worse, go to the ER.

Well, it got gradually a little worse, but come bedtime, it was starting to get better. Jake and I had been enlisting prayers all night, and I thought that perhaps, they were working.

Right before our scheduled ultrasound appointment on Wednesday morning, the spotting started returning again. I looked out the bathroom door at Jake, and simply said, "It's back." Right then, in the pit of my stomach, I felt like I knew what it meant, but I tried to remain positive, anyway.

One of the worst moments of my life came at about 10:40 on Wednesday morning. As soon as the ultrasound images showed up on the television screen, I knew. Before the ultrasound technician said anything about it, or even "looked" at Sprout, I knew. There was no movement at all. There was no pulsating little heartbeat. Just stillness.

And Jake knew it too, I think.

After she looked around at other things, she zoomed in. After a few moments, she uttered, "I'm sorry guys." Tears flowed freely from my eyes. I was right. Sprout was gone.

She asked if we wanted a printout of the image, and I said yes. Now, I have no idea why I did. I can still, very clearly, see the most haunting image in my mind. It's burned there. I don't need or want a photo of it to commemorate that saddest moment.

We cried in the room for a while before moving to the next, where they explained that at about 7 weeks, 6 days, Sprout's heart stopped beating and he/she stopped growing. There was nothing they could have done to prevent it, and it was most likely because there was something "wrong" with the fetus, chromosomes and the like. It was nature's way of protecting us and the baby, basically.

They explained options, and sent us on our way. I bawled all the way to my chiropractic appointment, and then somehow made it through, but on the way home, I broke down again. I laid in the bed, sobbing. Our baby died. The heart stopped beating. I thought I was going to throw up all over myself.

Then, I realized I was lying there with our dead child inside of me. They told me they wanted me to try to "pass it on my own" over the next week, but if I hadn't, they'd do the D&C surgery to remove the tissues. I decided, after talking with Jake, that I didn't know if I could go a week with the constant reminder of what was going on, and then maybe still carrying around our child, no longer living or growing, inside of me. And what if I didn't pass the tissues and have to have the surgery in a week anyway?

Emotionally, I just didn't think I could handle it. So, we called, and scheduled the D&C surgery.

I spent the majority of the day on Wednesday crying uncontrollably. I kept apologizing to Jake. I KNOW it's not my fault, and I was not in any way blaming myself (though, sometimes I feel it would be easier if it were my fault and I had someone to blame), but I was apologizing because I was genuinely sorry for him that his child was no longer growing inside of me, either. Sprout was not just my baby, after all.

I did have a few moments of happiness, of course, where I was not sobbing. Undoubtedly the best part of my day was when I was sitting in the chair by the window, crying so hard, and Spencer was on my lap eating a snack. He peeked his head around to face me, smiled, and shoved a puff snack straight into my mouth, then laughed. I couldn't help but laugh. And then, he kept doing it. It was the first time he willingly shared and allowed me to keep something without taking it back to be funny. It was the sweetest moment.

By the end of the night, I was terrified for today to come. I knew that Wednesday was hard, perhaps the hardest day of my life to date, but the next day was to be the procedure that really finalized our loss.

And to make matters worse, while at first, Jake thought he could/would be there for the procedure, by the end of the night, that wasn't the case. He couldn't switch his route days, and he didn't think he could wait until the middle of the afternoon to get going. So, we settled for him being there until I went in for the procedure.

I hugged him goodnight, and cried some more, letting him know how sorry I was that he lost a child. I couldn't stop crying, I didn't know how. Thankfully, he held me in bed so I was not alone.

This morning, I had a hard time getting out of bed. I prayed it could still be night. I didn't want to wake up, because I knew that in waking up, the nightmare would still be my living reality and there was really no escaping it. To make matters worse, I knew that I would be going through the procedure alone.

Not totally alone, of course. I had God with me. And my mother-in-law, Angela, was also there, as Jake asked her to come to be my support. And while I appreciate it greatly, of course, it wasn't the same as having my husband with me.

Angela and I left for the hospital, as I fought back feelings of being abandoned and alone, and Jake took Spencer to stay with some dear friends, because post surgery, I would not be able to care for him.

The ultrasound I had this morning to confirm wasn't as hard as I thought it would be, initially. But, tonight, I can see it again in my mind. I laid there, eyes transfixed on the screen, seeing the image of Sprout, even more lifeless looking than the day before. And no one was there to hold my hand. Following, the doctors and nurses went through the procedures with me, then I went to the lab for a blood draw, and then it was off to surgery.

Around noon, they took me through the freezing cold hallways into the even colder operating room, where, after a few agonizing and terrifying minutes, they finally put me to sleep.

The worst part of my day was what happened next. I woke up, cold, in pain, and alone, in a sterile, noisy, hospital recovery room with a bunch of medical personnel I did not know. I couldnt' even ask for my husband, because he was not there. I was there. No Jake. No Spencer. No Sprout. I began crying somewhat hysterically as the situation hit me. The nurse gave me oxygen and wiped away my tears as I tried to deal with the fact that indeed, I was no longer pregnant, and Sprout had gone to meet our Maker, instead of waiting to meet us in April of next year.

I don't know that I'd ever felt so lonely. It was truly overwhelming.

When I finally calmed down, they had me recover before meeting Angela back in my personal recovery room.

Seeing her helped me regain my calm. I was able to talk, to smile, to laugh again. We talked about our loss and the heartbreak, but we talked about the good things too. She reassured me that it wasn't my fault, and that these things, as sad as they are, happen.

When I was finally released, we came home, to find the door was locked. I had forgotten my key, so we ended up having to drive to meet Jake to get his. The car ride was a challenge. I felt very sick to my stomach and was fighting back emotions that I just did not want to deal with at the time. Angela was very helpful company then, too.

It wasn't until after she left for home that it started to hit me. I had been relatively numb for the majority of the day. But, I sat down on the couch, next to Wendell, and looked at the toys across the room. Spencer wasn't here, and he wouldn't be having a little brother or sister any time in the next 7 months, after all. I cried.

To cope, I went online and chatted with our friend who he is staying with, so I could hear how he was doing. That helped subside the tears a while. It was a nice break.

At 9pm I took the Oxycodone that they said would most likely make me dizzy and drowsy, and I went to lay in bed. I called Jake. He didn't answer. I waited and called again. No answer. Eventually, he called me back, but it's his busiest night on the route, so he didn't really have time to talk.

Needless to say, I felt abandoned and lonely again. I know, of course, that wasn't his intention, but with the huge loss of the day, the terrifying procedure, and all of the emotions I have been trying to deal with, I just felt... dejected.

I sobbed even harder than I had since finding out about our loss. I tried to call my dad a few times, to no avail.

I know that sometimes, it's easier for some people to cope or to deal by removing or distancing themselves from a situation. Unfortunately, it's really hard for someone who needs the person closest to them to be with them to deal with their own emotions. It's a huge conflict, really.

I can't sleep. When I close my eyes, I see the haunting image of Sprout's lifeless body on the screen. When I open my eyes, my husband and my son are gone. It's just me. When I wake up tomorrow morning, it'll be just me.

I just hope it's not just me for long. I don't know how to handle that.

I will admit though, that the countless prayers, the condolences, the kind words and sweet messages, on Facebook, in my email, and on my phone, truly are immeasurable in worth. I cherish every single one of them, even if I haven't the words or the energy to respond right away. I have never had to deal with something like this, and I'm just living moment by moment as I go along.

I know that it's not the same as losing a child you've given birth to, held in your arms, and watched grow. But, we loved Sprout from the very moment we knew of his or her existence. We were already planning for the future, shaping hopes and dreams. Sprout was definitely a part of us, and a part of our family. And while we did not get to hold Sprout in our arms, he or she definitely took up strong residence in our hearts. In that way, we very much lost our child.

And, I can't say that it'd be easier or harder to go through a miscarriage after struggling with infertility and the invasive and ruthless battle that it takes to conceive a child. I wouldn't know. I have been trying not to think about it. But, when it does cross my mind, I do feel like it is a double heartbreak for me. The rounds of assistance where you get a negative result are harder than I can describe. But then to have that positive result taken away from you... I just don't know how to deal.

I wish it made it "so much easier" to know that I'm not alone in this, and that many of the women I know have miscarried a child also. But, it doesn't. Well, it does, but it also breaks my heart. No one should ever have to lose a child, before or after they are born. It's a heartbreak I never would wish upon anyone.

I wish I knew a way to find closure in all of this. There's no funeral for a child lost before birth, really. It feels absolutely surreal at times. Did this all really happen? Surely it did, as I have the physical evidence and hospital discharge paper to prove it.

But don't worry. I am not angry with God. I refuse to lose my faith. God's what will really pull us through this. God, and the support we find in each other and in our friends and family. And of course, this doesn't mean that I do not appreciate the miracle child that I already have. Of course I do. I may even love him more now.

I am sorry that this was so long and disjointed. But, if you've read all the way through, I thank you, sincerely, from the bottom of my broken heart.