HEARTBREAK + RAINBOWS: MY MISCARRIAGE STORY

We lost this little one on Wednesday, October 29, 2014 – exactly one week after losing my grandfather and five days after celebrating the first three years of B’s life.

My parents were in town visiting, and we were staying at my favorite spot on earth – Disney’s Aulani.

I was about 7.5 weeks pregnant at the time – had noticed some light spotting on that Monday, then a little more on Tuesday. No cramping yet.

Since I had a chemical pregnancy earlier in the year, my mom and I headed to the hospital for an ultrasound for (what we hoped would be) some peace of mind.

We measured my HCG levels, which were lower than I expected, but still within a “normal” range.

I was woken up by the worst cramps I’ve ever had – exactly what I’d feared the day before.

(With the chemical pregnancy in May I remember waking up just a few days after the positive test and thinking, “but wait – I’m pregnant. This isn’t supposed to be happening.”)

I knew it was happening again.

The chemical pregnancy (which is such an oddly invalidating term) was emotionally hard, but physically not much different than starting a few days late.

If I hadn’t taken a pregnancy test (again, I know my body!), I may have just assumed my cycle was a bit off.

But this time was different.

I didn’t experience real labor with Bryson (my water broke and he was breech, so we had a c-section within hours), but I had a feeling these weren’t just cramps – they were contractions.

We were heartbroken.

We stayed in the room (a spacious two-bedroom villa with plenty of room for B to play without worrying) for the morning.

My angel of a mom (who, mind you, had suddenly lost her dad exactly one week prior), kept checking on me, bringing warm towels from the dryer that I could put on my belly to help ease the cramps.

I played the “Christian Contemporary Radio” station on Pandora as I sat there….waiting.

Once I had enough strength, my mom and I headed down to the car, while Pop stayed on Bryson duty in the room.

As we loaded into the car, the Aulani staff member who helped my dad get the wheelchair walked up to the window and started, “I know you’re in a rush, but….”

I remember being almost annoyed, thinking – “RIGHT. Do we look like we have time to chat right now?”

Then she asked if she could pray with us.

(She prayed just like one of my dearest friends Ashley, which was an indescribable comfort to me.)

I cry just thinking about that moment. She was truly heaven-sent.

As we drove across the island to the hospital, I kept in text with my sisters and close friends, who had been my prayer warriors since the spotting began that Monday.

By the time we got to the valet, the cramping had finally stopped.

We walked in and sat a waiting room full of (seemingly) happy, healthy pregnant women (who seemed to all have at least five kids in tow), waiting to confirm what we knew was already happening.

Blood tests, ultrasound, exam…confirmation.

Tears, but at least SOME closure – knowing (hoping) the worst part was over.

Weeks (or maybe months?) later, we got the test results back and learned that this little one had an extra set of chromosomes – instead of 46XY or 46XX, she was 69XXX.

It’s a condition called triploidy, it happens in 1-2% of all conceptions, and it’s always fatal (usually resulting in miscarriage in the first trimester).

Totally random, no reason to expect it to happen again.

The test results certainly didn’t take the pain away, but I was thankful for an “answer” of some sort.

I know most people who experience miscarriage will never know exactly why their little ones weren’t ready to stick around.

The ride back to Aulani from the hospital was a LONG one – westbound traffic was even slower than usual. (Took us over two hours to go just over 20 miles.)

When we got back to the room we saw that our angel from earlier had thoughtfully sent up some chocolate-covered strawberries and a note:

Several weeks later, in December, I shared about my losses via this Facebook video:

NOTE: This bit of the story could be considered total TMI even by my own standards (+ this child will never live it down), but it’s just too good not to share, so it’s happening.

Literally the night before deployment, I thought:

“What the hey. Who are we to micro-manage? If God wants to bless us with another little person sooner rather than later, let’s get outta the way.”

So we got outta the way.

The next day, my husband left for a six(ish)-month deployment.

Inspired by my buddy Laura (who had recently gotten pregnant with her precious little bundle Finn, born just last week!) and the “baby gear sale” ads that showed up in my mailbox that week, I decided to create my first mini-vision board.

I wanted to get my subconscious mind on board with the idea of me being pregnant, because even if I wasn’t pregnant yet, we’d DEFINITELY be ready to try again once Jeremy was home.

I cut out pictures from the promo papers – a breast pump, baby gear, a pregnant mama…and glued ‘em on to some extra card stock.

It took me a year to write this post because I honestly didn’t know how to share this with you (and the internet).

There’s the TMI factor: How much is too much?

Then there’s the guilt from comparing losses: Who am I to call heartbreak when I have a healthy little guy running around (disowning me when I refuse to give him more candy corn)?

Many women have had several miscarriages. Many women have lost their babies at (or just before) birth – others soon after, or even years later.

Losing a child’s life at ANY point – is a mother’s worst nightmare.

And many aren’t able to get pregnant at all in the first place, which brings up all of its own emotions + complexities.

Then there are all the complicated emotions tied to my OWN gut reactions when the losses were still fresh: What if sharing my story makes others feel bad, sad, or upset in some way?

This time last year when I read posts about new (especially second) babies and pregnancies, I hid them from my news feed.

I’d read and find some comfort in other people’s stories of loss, but when the post ended with something like “and then we had five healthy babies,” I just couldn’t relate.

There was too much unknown and up in the air for me, and it was all too raw to process.

Then, when I got pregnant again and all seemed to be well, I worried that I somehow missed my window of opportunity to share my story without judgment.

Because I don’t want to be one of “those people” who says this horrible thing happened, but TA-DA…life’s all sunshine and rainbow babies now so it’s fine.

We all experience loss. It’s part of life.

We’re all here for a finite amount of time.

Life is precious at every age and every stage.

From conception to 100 years and beyond, every life deserves to be acknowledged and celebrated.

So this is my acknowledgment. Of my angel babies and of this handsome little guy who, God-willing, will be safe + snuggled in our arms by the end of the year.

This is my story.

If you’ve experienced miscarriage or infant loss, please know that I am so sorry for your loss and your pain.

No matter how long s/he was here in the physical world, that life mattered.

Your story matters.

I acknowledge your heartache.

From the bottom of my heart: Thank you for acknowledging mine.

Here’s to YOU, me, and this crazy, precious thing called life, my friend.

Let’s see what kind of good we can make of it while we’re here.