Remembrance...and Acknowledgement

Josie's birthday is next week. She's going to be three. It's wild. I simply cannot believe that she's that old (although her attitude is there to remind me). This post however, is not about Josie - there will be plenty of that next week. Every year since Josie was born (and this includes the weeks before her birth as well) I get a little sentimental about someone else.

Josie is my third child, but she wasn't my third pregnancy. In January, seven months before we concieved Josie, I suffered an ectopic pregnancy. It was a sad and scary experience.

At the end of December/beginning of January I noticed that something wasn't right with my body (I'll spare you the details here). I called my OBGYN that had delivered Noah. I was never a fan of this practice but they were the only ones I had so them I called. I was told that I had an annual scheduled for March and they'd see me then. I told them my symptoms and the nurse didn't seem overly concerned so she was insistent that there was no need to be seen and that they'd see me in March. I know my body. I know when something is wrong and I knew I needed to be seen soon.

I ended up calling my family doc (who came highly recommended - we LOVE the family docs around here). He got me in right away. I explained my symptoms and he asked if I was pregnant. I told him I was not. I had thought a few weeks prior to that that I might have been (even though we weren't trying and I was on the pill) but I took a few tests that all came out negitive. Instead of disagreeing with me or being condescending he told me that they were going to do a blood draw and look for a variety of reasons why I was having my issues but there would be a pregnancy test among them.

I was relieved to be proactive. That night, a Thursday, my doc called and told me that my pregnancy test came back positive. I was shocked! However, he told me that something wasn't right. When a woman gets pregnant (and I'm not down with all the medical specifics, so I may not word this right) her HCG levels (the pregnancy hormone) double for the first few days. So you start at zero and get to the 100+ range pretty dang fast. My levels were not as high as they should have been considering how far along he thought I probably was. Based on my other sympotms we suspected that I was in the middle of a miscarriage. To be on the safe side though, he ordered me another blood draw for the following day. If my HCG levels went down (which we expected) then it was confirming that I was miscarrying. If they went up, then the pregnancy was viable, but something was wrong.

I knew that we weren't done having kids. At this point Noah was almost 14 months old so even though we weren't planning at that time to have another kid, it wouldn't have been sad or unwelcome at all to have been pregnant. I spent that night and the following day playing different scenarios out in my head. I honestly wasn't sure what I hoped the outcome would be.

I went for my blood draw on Friday afternoon. I wasn't able to get there until almost the end of the day. I knew that, because of the time, my doctor most likely woudn't be able to get back to me with my results until Monday. That was a little frustrating, but I figured I was probably miscarrying anyway so it didn't really matter. I was only 4-5 weeks along and I wouldn't need surgery or anything.

Saturday morning I woke up super early, 4:30, in intense pain. Blinding. It was in my abdomen and I thought, 'here we go'. I lay in bed for a while curled up in the fetal position just trying to deal with it until I couldn't anymore. I got up, thinking that perhaps it'd feel better to 'walk it off'. Nope. The pain literally brought me to my knees. I don't know that I'd call it worse than labor, but it was horrible and brutal in a completely different way.

About this time, Justin woke up to my distress. We both assumed my pain was related to the miscarriage. I took a warm bath to try to feel better but I was feeling worse. By 6 or 7 I couldn't really even stand on my own anymore. I was vomiting and white as a sheet. I could tell that Justin was becoming very worried. He asked me where exactly my pain was. I told him it was my lower left side. He percussed my abdomen (technical way of saying tapped around) and told me we needed to get to the ER. He wouldn't say exactly why he was concerned but I could tell he was serious. I felt a little silly thinking that we needed to go to the ER for a 5 week miscarriage, but he was quietly forceful enough that I knew I needed to trust him. Our very good friends came over immediately to be with the boys. By this point I couldn't get out to the car on my own.

When we got to the ER, I was pleased to see that it was relatively empty. We got to triage right away. By this point, I was actually feeling a little better. I could walk on my own and the pain wasn't as intense. I was beginning to feel a little foolish, but I remembered how serious Justin had been and how much pain I had been in so I didn't want to go back home. We were admitted right away. That was when I first heard, 'ectopic pregnancy'.

Up to that moment, I'd never heard of that. I didn't know what that meant. I had a silly P.A. (not that all P.A's are silly, but this one was) try to explain my female reproductive system like a house. I remember, in the midst of all the drama and emotion thinking, "Guy, are you serious!?!". They got my bloodwork from the previous day and, sure enough, my HCG leves had gone up. Not doubled, like they would have with a normal pregnancy, but increased no less. This baby was living.

I was scared. The P.A., the nurse, Justin, the doctor all explained in various ways the dangers and risks associated with ectopic pregnancy. I was so confused. I was told that I was going to get an ultrasound to see where the baby was and that I might need surgery to have one of my fallopian tubes removed. I was hearing words like 'rupture' and 'death'. (**Note: aside from the P.A. everyone was very kind and sympathetic, but I was just in a whole other place. A place all to myself.) After the doctor left to get the ultrasound, my mom called. She was on her way to a bridal shower or baby shower or some such happy event. However, I'd just gotten the scariest news I've ever had. I blurted out that I was in the hospital. I was hysterical in a way that I hadn't allowed myself to be until she called. I was sobbing and could barely speak. The nurse walked in at that point so Justin took the phone away from me and continued to talk to my mom out in the hall.

They came back with the ultrasound machine and thought they could see the embryo implanted in my left tube (that's what an ectopic pregnancy is, when the egg doesn't make it into your uterus before it becomes fertalized - as it grows it can rupture your fallopian tube causing you to have trouble conceiving, infertility, or death). However, since my pregnancy was so new, they needed to get a clearer picture. Enter the internal ultrasound machine. I'll spare you the details of that, but I will tell you that this ultrasound lasted 30-45 minutes. For those of you who have had internal ultrasounds before, you know how uncomfortable and ackward this is.

It was confirmed, a viable, growing pregnancy, right smack dab in the middle of my left fallopian tube. Right then and there I had a hard decision to make. What to do next?

My options were: terminate the pregnancy or let it grow and possiby terminate me. I am a HUGE pro-life person. I always have been. I always will be. I knew from a very young age that it would take something very serious for me to ever consider terminating one of my own pregnancies. Maybe you think this is a no brainer. Letting this baby grow would have been a phenominally bad idea. I could NEVER have carried it out of my first trimester. Logically, medically, I knew this. As a mother, I was torn. I looked to Justin for confirmation and he very sadly told me what I already knew in my heart. We had to let this one go.

Because I was so early in my pregnancy, this would not require surgery. They gave me a shot of methotrexate (I may have spelled that wrong). Methotrexate is a drug most commonly used in fighting cancer. It basically kills foreign cells in the body. I was able to leave the hospital that night.

I didn't think I was pregnant. Didn't even know it until it was alarmingly too late, but I felt empty. It's wild how much you can love and want something that you didn't even know you had. I was wracked with guilt (sometimes I still am - I know it's okay, but still) and I was heartbroken. My mom had booked a plane ticket that night and she came out with me to help with my recovery.

Physically, my recovery was no big deal. I was a little sore where the injection was but even that pain was gone in a day or so. Emotionally I was a different story. I cried for a long time, and sometimes still cry a little when I think about it. Even though it was for a short time, and I didn't even know it was there most of the time, this baby was part of me and I had to let it go. No one else had the authority at that time to end my pregnancy. I was the one who had to say the words aloud and allow the doctor to give me that shot. Having my mom out helped. More than I think she realized at the time.

Seven months later, after two months of actually trying, we got pregnant with Josie. We are over-the-moon crazy about her and always have been, but I can't help but think of the one that left so that she could be here. I think about it often but it occured to me this week that I've never actually acknowledged this little life on my blog. I did a little blurb about it right after it happened, but deleted it. It was too fresh to talk about then. Too raw.

But as I think about her now (and that baby has always been a 'her' to me) I feel like I need to say - or write - something. To say, "She existed and when she left part of me changed!".

So as Josie's birthday approaches and before I get into full Josie-mode (which entails everything pink and princessy), I needed to put this baby out there. To acknowledge that, even though she didn't make it here, she's a part of my family. I rarely talk about her, but I think of her often. I never got to feel her grow, hold her in my arms, watch her hit milestones, or celebrate her birthdays, but I love her. And I'm grateful that, because my Heavenly Father was so mindful of me, my pregnancy with her wasn't my last. I'm grateful for the wonderful brothers that came before her and the sweet sisters that followed her.

There is a lot of sadness and heartache for me in this story, but a lot of joy and love too. I'm glad that I know that there is a plan for me and that my needs were met - physical, spiritual, and emotional. I'm glad that I get to think of this baby everytime I prepare to celebrate another year of Josie. It's almost like this baby gave me a gift, because if I hadn't had the ectopic, we might not have gotten Josie.

I'm thankful. I'm blessed. And I'm absolutely in love with a sweet little one that I've never met.