Of loss and hope...

I have been postponing this blog entry for months, but with the new exciting announcement that we are expecting I knew the day had come and I couldn't write about anything on this blog without mentioning something that was so sacred and that changed me in so many ways, but it hasn't been until now that I have found the courage to write about it.

Back in November of last year, Brian and I found out I was pregnant, we were really happy and excited about what this meant to our little family. We spent Thanksgiving with my in-laws and other than more appetite than usual I really had no other symptoms. This continued for the weeks to come, and I found myself thinking that perhaps this pregnancy was going to be morning-sickness free! I had been SO sick with Alex that this was a very welcomed surprise. Yet, I couldn't help but worry, because well I worry that's what I do, but also because I had a feeling I couldn't quite put my finger on, but I would dismiss it.

Then the week we were supposed to go to get our first ultrasound and hear the baby's heartbeat, that something that you never think it's going to happen to you happened. It was a Wednesday morning and as I woke up and headed to the bathroom I knew that something was really wrong. I called Brian with shaking hands and he tried to comfort me letting me know to not panic until we knew for sure. I called the Doctor's office who asked for an emergency ultrasound - never a good sign - at the hospital. There I went with little Alex who had no idea what was happening, and by this time I had begun to experience pain, so I was trying to keep myself together. I hate that stupid policy that the ultrasound technicians can't tell you anything about your ultrasound until the office calls you. They didn't have to, I'm no expert but it was clear that the little baby had no heartbeat. Still, I hoped that maybe I was wrong and headed home anxiously waiting for the call. As I was putting Alex down for his nap, the call came: I'm sorry Mrs. Chaney but this pregnancy is not viable, there is no heartbeat. Tears started rolling down my face, and I felt angry at that nurse with her use of fancy medical terms..viable pregnancy? Seriously?! You have just confirmed that I was in the process of losing my baby, so I was mad at her choice of words. I called Brian, who couldn't speak for what seemed like an eternity, and tried some comforting words when I knew his own heart was breaking. I put Alex down for a nap and called my older sister, she took upon herself to tell the rest of my siblings and parents as I just couldn't repeat myself all over.

As I found myself succumbing to despair I heard a knock on the door, it was my little brother who had left work to be with me. He brought me some "conchas" (delicious sweet bread usually found at Mexican stores) and his arms for me to weep. We tried some distraction and started watching a cartoon that we both loved when we were in Brasil, dear Monica, it brought many good memories and a realization that my Portuguese is getting rusty! And then I heard the garage door open, and there was Brian with a face that described how I felt on the inside. He simply said: I just had to be with you. So we sat on the couch while Alex napped, and cried and cried, all this time him trying to comfort me as the physical pain was now almost overwhelming. I came to found out that it was not until I stopped going to all of the doctor's appointment that I felt I could heal, for my body was a constant reminder that we had lost our baby.

Throughout the whole process I felt deep deep sadness, but also anger as the office handled it SO poorly. There was such miscommunication that when I arrived for an appointment the nurse hadn't even bothered to check the notes and was happily congratulating me on my pregnancy, when I was there because I had already lost the baby. This happened twice. Needless to say I won't be returning to that office.

Back when I was doing my Master's I remember that one of my cohort friends had done a presentation on miscarriage, and had described the whole thing as "ambiguous pain." At the time, that phrase stuck out and thought that it made sense. But it was not until I experienced it, that I realized that the whole ambiguous side of it was the hardest for me. I felt that I was mourning over someone I had never seen, or really know. I felt that I had almost nothing to remember him by - from the beginning I had a very STRONG feeling that it was a boy, still believe it! - and that I was gathering what little I had to make it real. It was ambiguous, and it was awful. I got myself a little memory box from Willow Tree that had a boy holding a heart that says "you will always have a place in my heart." I have placed inside what little I do have, and in time that has become enough.

Why do I share this now? First, because I feel I'm finally ready. Second, because I gathered strength from the experience of other women who had the courage to write down their own experience: I was not alone. And third, because well I got pregnant so incredibly fast after losing the other baby (it was not planned nor expected but a huge blessing nonetheless), that I feel I never had closure as morning sickness did come with this one - still going ugh! - that I had to focus on managing my symptoms and taking care of Alex, and now that I was ready to share the news and that I do have some good days, I knew closure was around the corner. Which brings me with a piece of advice, I had some well-intentioned friends/family who told me that I was young and I would still have other kids, please never say this to a woman who has miscarried, one baby CANNOT take the place of another.

Writing this has in no way lessened the happiness I feel about this new pregnancy, or put a damper on it. But it has reminded me that somewhere I have another boy who will one day be a part of this family, and I will get to love him and kiss him to my hearts desire. And it has made me so grateful for our Alex, and my amazing husband who have truly showed me that happiness is found even when we might be going through a dark time. Alex was my angel, constantly reminding me that I had so many reasons to smile and laugh out loud as he does the funniest things.

Do I still think about the other baby? Everyday. But in time it has changed from a feeling of deep loss, to that of hope. I know that I have an angel watching over me, one already playing with me, and another on its way.