Peace that passes all I know.

I remember when the boyfriend I had during my senior year of high school and I broke up.

I remember falling to my knees in my bedroom and sobbing that summer day.

For the entire year, I thought I was going to marry that guy and in that moment, I simply could NOT imagine what my future would look like.

My whole world had been flipped upside down with one simple decision for us to part ways.

My 17 year old self was devastated in the way only 17 year olds can be.

 

Well guess what happened?

Within the year, I met the man who was supposed to be my husband all along.

The one God had designed to be my other half.

And my life has been more beautiful than that 17 year old could have ever envisioned.

 

That's the thing about certain devastating moments. They tend to grasp tightly to our way of thinking and somehow our entire thought process becomes filled with confusion, disappointment, sadness, negativity and it can be really, really hard to dig ourselves out of it...even if we know better.  As humans, we're almost programmed to think the worst.  One of my favorite sayings used to be

"Expect the worst, hope for the best."

 

The older I get, the more crappier I think that statement is.

Now, I'm not necessarily saying you shouldn't plan for the worst.

From simple things like always making sure you have extra TP in the house (because realizing you just ran out of the last ply of the last roll while you're on the commode alone in the house is the absolute worst, am I right?). To bigger things, like having a financial savings so the hard times aren't so hard.

But to EXPECT that the worst will happen? 

Why give anything negative any extra thought?

If it happens, you'll need all your energy to deal with it in THAT moment. So, for the life of me, my older self cannot figure out why anyone would want to waste time dwelling on 'expecting the worst'.

 

There's a strange thing that's been happening in the Z household since December 1st, the day we said goodbye to our little girl.  Well, really over the last 4 1/2 years...but the process has been sped up to warp speed within the past almost two months.

 

There is a peace about our present and an excitement about our future that is palpable (although maybe only to us).

 

And it's one hundred percent contributed to this book we've challenged ourselves to read

(yes, the entire thing).

To us, it's been our saving grace, our hope when all hope seemed lost, our promise of something greater than we could ever imagine for ourselves.

 

The Bible.

 

I used to be leery of people who talked so openly about a relationship with Jesus.

But, the older I get, the more trials I have to walk through, the longer my life plays out in a way I hadn't planned, the more I need to lean on something stronger than myself....then the more I turn into that person.

 

And, I'm okay with that.

It's a hard struggle for me most days because I'm a firm believer that we have the power and the responsibility to individually change our situations and to be the best versions of ourselves. I believe that we better serve each other and the Lord by being doers and givers...not takers. 

Romans 5: 1-5 sums it up perfectly for me.

"Therefore, since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. ² Through him we have also obtained access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and we rejoice in hope of the glory of God. ³ Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, ⁴ and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, ⁵ and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us."
 

Peace.

Hope.

God's love.


At the risk of already sounding too 'preachy'...this IS the answer to all the questions people ask Paul and I.

The how, the why and everything in between.
Any and every question.
All the answers point back to that book.

It's a peace that passes all I know.

 

 

My outlook on my future, our future, is entirely different than what that 17 year old girl perceived fourteen years ago.

And it's all because of peace.

 

 

Whether you find your peace in the same place I find mine.

Or you find it taking a walk through nature.

Or you find it while you meditate.

Or you find it in one of your hobbies.

Or you find it while you're in the simple midst of day to day, crazy, loud life.

 

 

I just hope you know it, too.

 

 



24 hours

A day.

24 hours.

1,440 minutes.

86,400 seconds.

A lot can change.

You've made it through your moment and now comes the real processing time.

And depending on what your moment was about, your processing time and approach will be unique to you.

But the first 24 are always the most significant.

Good moments and bad moments.

You're now fully aware that your world DOES look different.

Perhaps better, perhaps worse, but definitely different. 

And tons of things affect this time period.

Your personality, your faith, your support system, your beliefs, your spirit, your…whatever.

Perhaps for the better, perhaps for the worse, but definitely different than another person (probably even  different from someone who's experienced a similar huge moment).

Those around you will process your huge moment differently.  For the obvious reason because it didn't directly happen to them and for the not so obvious…because we all process differently.

To say our 24 hours post huge moment has been all easy would be a lie.

To say our 24 hours post huge moment has been all bad would be a lie.

It's just been.

And it happened.

And there is nothing that will change those facts.

To dwell on it too long would be a waste of life's precious moments that are already too fleeting.

Like sand slipping through our fingers.  Or trying to grab at running water.

Blame it on my line of work, blame it on the fact that my husband's profession has no certainties. 

I simply refuse to dwell on the negative.

So, yes, while processing questions from nurses about what to do with the remains 

(remains that I could have easily miscarried on my own based on the gestational age)

were difficult, my heart is all too aware of those women I know who have had or will have to bury their full-term babies.

Knowing that our day and our moment was nowhere near as painful as other women (and men's) moments helped me put my moment into perspective.

And, oh, how my heart ached for the specific people running through my mind.

Your angel babies are etched so deeply into my heart.

When you carry other people's stories with you, you give yourself a good dose of reality.

It's like I said yesterday, our blessings so far outweigh our heartache that I can't even be mad about it.

Please don't mistake my apparently easy processing of this whole sucky scenario as a lack of caring, I'm just trying to convey that I know it could be worse…and that puts this in the okay column in my head.

Our support system has shown up so wonderfully that I feel like they've carried our burden for us and with us and made it so much lighter.

From texts and calls and sweet messages to us and through my PR person (thanks Brittany!) and dinners and Facebook comments.

We feel and cherish each one.  

Honestly, the most challenging part has been finding a new routine.

I've been focusing so hard for the past six months on preparing my body that I've forgotten what my world look like before.

From diet and exercise changes, to adding acupuncture, to even our nightly shot routine.

It's different now.

On a lighter note, I now have no excuse not go to the gym…bummer.

I can't even begin to explain all the ways in which I see God's blessing and grace in this whole scenario.

Take the timing of it.

For one, this happened two weeks before our Disney trip.

If all continues to go well, I will be feeling completely back to normal by then.

I'm grateful it didn't happen right before our trip or on our trip.

Take today.

Today was D&C day.

Not ever having one before used to be in my blessing column, so I need to find something to replace it.

I'm replacing it with the fact that I got to spend an entire unexpected day with my husband.

With compassion and love and forgiveness and all the best qualities of married life fully present.

And it was a gift.

And he has loved me so well.

The blessings are seared so deeply into my heart that I don't currently have the energy to even try to convey them all.

Percocet.

That might be the biggest blessing of them all!

THE Moment

You know those moments in life where you actually think to yourself.

 

"Ok, this is a HUGE moment".

 

It's those life changing events.

 

It's the obvious moments like graduations and proposals and wedding days.

 

And it's those not so obvious moments...maybe the first time you meet someone, or getting a diagnosis from a doctor, or finding out unexpectedly someone has passed away.

 

Those moments where your head spins and your world tilts and everything shifts into an entirely different fuzzy focus than it looked a mere thirty seconds ago.

Where your breath briefly escapes your lungs and you forget to inhale again and you actually remind yourself to just breathe.

 

Because in your heart you're aware that life is always about a series of moments.

The good ones and the bad ones.

 

And the thing about moments is that they're HUGE while you're in them....until the next HUGE one hits you and your world shifts again to make room for the newest moment.

 

And that's the best way I can describe what it feels like to realize that there's no flickering anymore on the ultrasound screen before the doctor even says it.

 

An actual brief sucker punch to the gut.

To know the doctor already realizes it and to watch the news spread across your husband's face.

That is the absolute worst.

 

Here's the thing. 

It absolutely sucks (there's no way to sugarcoat it) to have known that there was a heartbeat and now there isn't.

 

But here's the bigger thing.

I'm not the first woman this has happened to and I won't be the last.

And our blessings still so far outweigh our heartache that I can't even be mad about it.

 

Because we've been here before. 

Not necessarily this big of a loss, but having our world shift into a new light...well that isn't new.

 

We'll tackle this phase in our journey the same way we've tackled the last few phases of our journey.

Problem solving and taking it one step at a time.

 

So, our next immediate step is to schedule a D&C...it will definitely happen this week just not sure when.  Technically, I could stop all my meds and wait for the process to naturally happen, but the doctor suggested a D&C so we could do genetic testing.

 

This will help us decide what our next step will be.

And, in the doctor's words, will help us know whether to blame the embryo or blame my uterus.

 

I don't typically like to be a Debbie downer, so it was, honestly one of the most gut wrenching things I've ever had to do sending my husband out into the lobby first to tell my mom and my sister to step out into the hallway, so everyone in the waiting room wouldn't have to watch me lose it. 

 

They had come to share in our joyous moment that never came to fruition.

 

As it was, my heart was breaking for all the nurses to have to chat with us after such devastating news. I don't think I could do what they do day in and day out.

 

Paul and I were in a really, really good place prior to this part of our journey and that's a place I'd like to stay. This setback will not threaten the overall joy I have for this time of the year.

 

And, I'm still grateful. Grateful that the ultrasound had a definitive result. It would have been worse to have seen a baby that had barely developed but was still holding on.  I hate being in limbo and now we can close this chapter and start writing the next one. 

 

Thank you all for loving us so well the past week and for sharing in our joy.  I am so at peace knowing we had a truly joyous Thanksgiving and God spared us the news until after the holiday weekend.

 

I had one glorious month of being able to wake up every morning and say 'today I am pregnant'.

That is priceless to me.

 

And all this really means is that our next HUGE moment is just a little farther away.

That's okay though, because I know we'll get there.

At some point, in some way, some day.

 

 

 

 

Just to end on a positive note, cheers to being able to ride whatever I want to ride and drink whatever I want to drink and eat whatever I want to eat in Disney World in a few short weeks.

 

 

 

 



Pregnancy Symptoms

Forgive me upfront, I fear this post may get wordy.

_________________________________________

Do you have any (pregnancy) symptoms?

or 

How do you feel?

These have been the two most prevalent questions I've gotten since announcing our news. 

The first question is a little more simpler (though not so much when I start dissecting it.)

The second is a super loaded question.

Let's tackle the first.  

Pregnancy symptoms are a funny thing. And by funny, I mean I'd punch them in the face if I could. 

Every woman who is trying to conceive or just found out she's pregnant has done a pregnancy symptom google search. Don't pretend like you haven't. 

You get top ten lists or 'earliest signs you might be pregnant' lists.

Women who have walked along the path of infertility will drive themselves extra crazy with those lists.

Trust me, I know.  

(I'm not saying women who have experienced getting pregnancy easily can't drive themselves crazy, I'm just saying that people who have experienced infertility are slightly more hyper sensitive to them.)

Here's the two most important things to remember when asking me if I've had pregnancy symptoms. 

1. For eight years I have trained my brain to be super aware of my body and then to not put any stock into what it's doing or telling me. 

2.  I'm still on progesterone in oil injections. This means, even if my pregnancy starts to fail, the progesterone will still make me feel like I'm pregnant. 

The easiest answer to the question is yes.

Yes, I've had pregnancy symptoms.

The end of that statement in my mind is always…but they're irrelevant.

Here's why.

When women ask other women about their symptoms it usually stems from a place of pure curiosity and (hopefully) genuine support/advice if a women says she's having an awful go of it.

But, in reality, it's another sort of checks and balance system in our brain. 

You either realize how lucky you are because your pregnancy was smooth sailing.

Or you curse the women who did have an easy, smooth pregnancy.

The biggest reason it's irrelevant is because every woman, every pregnancy is different.

The sex of your unborn child will play a factor. Your age, what you're eating, even the actual season of life you're in, will all be contributing factors.  Even the fact that we did a Frozen Embryo Transfer  and didn't conceive naturally is a factor. Thinking that because you have symptom x, y, and z means you're going to have a successful outcome is just as ridiculous as thinking because you don't have symptoms x, y, and z that something is wrong.

Based off of my past almost eight years of experience, I knew something was different with this cycle than with the others from the beginning. 

I got my first super faint pregnancy result in late October.  

But that meant nothing to me. I've seen double lines a few times before and still have no kids.

But that first weekend in November I experienced two things I have never, ever had before.

I sneezed all weekend long and I had super itchy palms and was super itchy in the area right under my ankles. 

I'm talking ridiculous amounts of sneezing and itchiness. I wasn't sick, but I sneezed a minimum of once or twice an hour for the whole weekend and I could not stop scratching my hands and my ankles.

And then, as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared.

So did the twinges and the pulls and I was convinced it was all over.

I spent the better part of the first two weeks not just googling pregnancy symptoms

(yes, sneezing is a symptom called pregnancy rhinitis and so is the itchiness), but also googling specifics like 'pregnancy symptoms at x-amount of days post a 5 day transfer'. 

I realized I was slowly going nuts.

Especially when I went from our final beta blood work to our ultrasound with zero symptoms what-so-ever.

I'm also able to explain away anything I may be feeling (especially if it's specifically listed on those darn lists.)

Exhaustion? Of course I'm exhausted! It's a crazy busy time at work, the holiday season, I just drove for almost twelve hours in a 48 hour span in holiday traffic.  Or am I choosing to slow down and nap because when I'm sleeping, I'm not worrying? Could it also be that my body is currently trying to grow a tiny human? Of course.

Nausea? Yes, I've had nausea. But not the hanging my head over a toilet and hurling non-stop nausea, it's been more of the fast acting gagging reflex to any ungodly smells kind of nausea. 

I have a stomach made of steel.  Needles, blood, and human or animal excretions have never bothered me.  I have no smell aversions. But, the other day, I opened the same type of spinach, kale, & chard mix that I've been putting in my smoothies for the past six months and spent the next 5 minutes dry heaving over the kitchen sink (actually telling myself to 'get it together').  I have zero tolerance for a cigarette smoke smell.  But on the way into the grocery store this morning we followed a smoker in and what happened to me was an awful gagging fit culminating in almost an entire bottle of water consumed in an attempt to make it go away.

Could the progesterone I'm putting into my body be causing this? Of course! Could it also be that my body is currently trying to grow a tiny human? Of course.

Aversions? Chest tenderness? Change in eating/bathroom habits?  I'll lump all these into one category since they're the least fun to talk about.  The answer is yes, no, yes and I won't go into too many details. Let's just wrap it up by saying, I don't feel bad, but I certainly don't feel like myself.  There is no regularity these days in any capacity.  I'm not eating the same things I've been eating regularly for the past five years or so and I'm eating stuff I haven't eaten in the past five years or so and, well, that has a domino effect. I go from nothing sounding appetizing to being ravenously hungry. Take last night for example. We ate dinner. I had dessert. Then a bowl of cereal. Then was starving a mere thirty minutes after my cereal.  Of course I'm making more frequent trips to the bathroom because I'm drinking a ridiculous amount of water, but I can still sleep through the night without getting up to pee.  

See what I mean? 

Every symptom has an argument for it or against it. 

And over analyzing any of them does me no good.

As for, How do I feel?

I feel like I'm just trying not to go bat shit crazy, honestly.

I feel like I'm walking in this weird limbo of the infertility world and the pregnancy world.

Even though we've had confirmation that there is actually a beating heart, I still feel like it will be ripped from me at any moment because that's what I'm used to.

I'm having a really hard time comparing anything I may be experiencing with women who haven't actually had the same history I have had because my mental sanity is probably just a little more off its rocker.

I'm not saying I don't have faith that this pregnancy will result in an actual baby, but I am all too aware of everything that could go wrong.

So, yes, I'm trying really, really hard to ignore any supposed pregnancy symptoms.

This means not psyching myself out with the over-analyzing of what symptoms I have and what I don't. I'm trying to just make it moment by moment.

I don't want to be the fool who puts all the faith and energy in the world in reading into my symptoms, if this pregnancy should end in another miscarriage.

I'm trying to keep a sense of my realism because it works for me, but trying to have all the faith I can in our awesome God because that's where my true faith resides. 

I'm grateful for whatever I do experience and grateful for whatever I don't experience.

Walking the fine line of gratitude in both scenarios is currently consuming my entire thought process.

I expect it'll be this way no matter how long I get to say I'm pregnant.

Sorry for the long post,

you asked.

And, well, this.

Because I have one foot in the infertility world and one foot in the pregnancy world and it's odd and new and uncomfortable and I will never, ever take a single moment of this for granted. 

The good and the bad, I cherish it all.

Practicing what you preach

When I say that statement in my head, it comes across as sarcastic and light.

I'm reminded of a saying my dad always used when we were growing up...

"Do as I say, not as I do."

Him saying that was usually in response to our protests that whatever he was doing wasn't fair.

Like telling us we couldn't watch TV at the dinner table, yet every 30 seconds he would lean all the way back in his chair so he could see the TV and watch it.

"Do as I say, not as I do."

 

For some reason, that sounds an awful lot like not practicing what you preach.

 

_______________________________________________________________

 

Yesterday came with a good dose of reality.

 

A mere six hours after we made the decision to go public with our news, I started to bleed.

I'll spare you the graphic details.

 

When I realized what was going on, my immediate thought was

"okay, so I guess it's going to be like this."

 

I had been warned it would happen.

 

My sister answered the phone first and I told her I was oddly at peace with the whole scenario.

 

But I had just posted about being joyful in any situation.

Open mouth, insert foot.

 

The longer the bleeding went on, the more my head started to scream

"Be joyful, damnit!"

 

Talk about a serious time to really practice what you preach.

 

__________________________________________________________________

 

Yesterday was our annual Friendsgiving.

 

One of my most favorite days of the year. It's an evening spent with some of the people I adore the most in this world (besides family). People who genuinely love us and support us and ask the hard questions and who know us.  People that my heart gives thanks for on a daily basis.

 

The whole bleeding fiasco started about twenty minutes before I was going to walk out the door and head to my sister's house.

 

I've done enough research and heard enough stories over the years to know that when bleeding starts you should immediately lay down.

 

But I also know in my heart, that if a baby is going to miscarry this early on, there is nothing you can do about it.

 

So, at Friendsgiving, I sat. Which is entirely out of character for me at my sister's house.

And I barely walked around and I kept my feet up in the recliner and looked all sorts of rude.

 

I shared with a few folks what was going on, but it's a little awkward to say out loud what you're going through, especially when I wasn't all too concerned.

 

We bailed way early from Friendsgiving and overall, I was mostly annoyed that my body was yet again messing with me.

 

I just kept thinking about how the first snapshot of my day was going to look all sunshine and roses with our announcement and the second half was going to look tainted.

 

So, I tried really, really hard to be present. To be engaged. And it's really, really difficult to do when you know what the bleeding could mean.

 

I got home and laid on the couch and propped my feet up and watched some football and was annoyed we had to say goodbye to our friends so early.

 

I was feeling better by the time I went to bed because the bleeding had mostly subsided.

________________________________________________________________

 

When I woke up this morning, I called and got an emergency ultrasound scheduled. 

I was so grateful for the morning time slot and for the fact that it is Paul's normal day off.

 

We waited and waited and finally the ultrasound started.

 

After a few moments of silence, I made some sarcastic remark along the lines of "That looks nothing like it did on Friday", to which the doctor flatly replied

 "That's because I haven't made it to your uterus yet".

 

Bazinga.

 

I've heard some folks say they have a hard time with my doctor's personality, but as for me, I love it.

He's a man of little words and he calls the shots like he sees them and he doesn't sugarcoat things and he gives factual and bold responses.

 

As it turns out, I have a rather massive sub-chorionic hematoma.  In other words, a really, really big blood clot.  These hematomas usually resolve themselves by the 20th week by either slowly bleeding or being absorbed by the body.

 

Twenty weeks???!!!....that's eternity in an infertile's world.  I'm just trying to make it to 8 weeks!

 

So it's non-bed, bed rest if that makes sense. No heavy-lifting, no working out, minimum stairs/minimum walking and a basic overall lazy lifestyle. But, I think first trimester exhaustion may finally be kicking in, so all of that actually sounds delightful in this moment.

 

______________________________________________________

 

That sense of peace I initially felt stayed with me throughout this whole 19 hour ordeal.  I'd say it's partially because of the knowledge I have of the different types of bleeding, but I'd mostly say it's because of this underlying knowledge and faith I have.

 

I will be okay. Paul will be okay.  Our life will be wonderful, because we will make it wonderful no matter what deck of cards we're dealt.

 

______________________________________________________

 

The best, most wonderful gift of the whole scenario, was seeing a bigger, stronger heartbeat.  The baby has grown even in just the past 3 days.  It's gained a day of growth and isn't measuring quit as far behind. We could barely...ever so faintly hear a heart beat.  A joyful first for us.

 

 

Today, practicing what I preach will be easy.

 

Who knows what tomorrow may bring.

 

P.S. Thank you to all of you for your kind words and support of our news!! 

 

(I'm pretty sure this was a common comeback to my dad when we were kids.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Four weeks

The older I get, the more in awe I become by individual moments.

Snapshots in time.

It's those snapshots in time that flip really, really fast through your mind.

Your whole life in review in a series of still frames.

And, let's be honest, some of those still shots are not happy.  

Sometimes, the most vivid pictures your memory paints are during the most painful moments of your life.

And That's okay.

They make up your beautiful story.

They help to make your joyful highlights so much brighter.

________________________________________________________________

Transfer day, October 23rd, showed up faster than I expected.  

A little over a year ago, we shared with you and experienced our second chemical pregnancy.

A little less than a year ago, we shared with you and experienced our third chemical pregnancy.

We went from completely lost last winter and spring to making a private embryo match, legally adopting embryos, transferring embryos, and pregnant all in five short months.

Five.

Someday I'll go into the details of the past four weeks, but not today.

Today is for painting a joyful snapshot in time. 

When we found out I was pregnant in September 2014, we celebrated.  We celebrated despite knowing what the outcome would probably be. We chose joy.  And that weekend, my birthday weekend, will be one of my most favorite memories ever, despite the fact that I know what the next snapshot looks like.

___________________________________________________________

We chose to lay low over the past four weeks because we wanted to save the general masses from the emotional roller coaster.  We wanted to spare anyone any unnecessary anxiety.  And we wanted to delight in those positive pregnancy tests privately (and with our family and close circle of friends) for a little while.

We wanted to prove to ourselves that we could make it to an ultrasound, a step which we have never accomplished before.

But that's where I draw the line at being secret or covert.

I whole-heartedly believe that the more people you can have praying in your corner, the better. 

I'm also well aware that my blogging absence was beginning to look a little suspicious.  

I also believe that everyone has a choice in every decision.  

That your life and the way your snapshot flip book looks falls squarely on your shoulders. 

And it's all in how you choose to see things.

I'm not saying you can't have bad days or down moments. Even a good dose of misery can be helpful. We need those times.  But, don't reside in those dark places for long.

I'm am saying that choosing joy, gratitude, excitement and thankfulness will always serve you better in the long run. 

And that's how we're approaching this pregnancy, too.

Honestly, the doctor has a lot of reservations.

He gave our baby a 50/50 chance.

We just choose to focus on the positive 50.

We will love and celebrate this tiny, miraculous fluttering heartbeat no matter how long it belongs to us. 

Every.single.moment.

Saying Goodbye too soon

On a Saturday morning in April 2008, while away at my husband's 10th high school reunion, I (on a major whim) decided to take a pregnancy test.

 

Okay, maybe it wasn't such a major whim since I had packed the pregnancy test in the first place, but I definitely wasn't expecting it to be positive.

 

As I sat there staring at the test, I watched the second line appear.

At first I thought the steam and mist from the shower my husband was taking was blurring my vision, but the line was really real.

 

And so was our joy.

 

Pure, unadulterated joy.

 

I wanted to tell everyone we spoke to that day about our news.

Paul convinced me it was early and we should wait.

I've never been more grateful for my husband's sound advice.

 

You know the outcome.

 

For three days, we dreamed like first time pregnancy folks do.

We were naïve.

We were in love with a baby who would have been born around Christmas 2008.

 

We never saw or heard a heartbeat.

We never made it to a doctor's appointment.

 

And yet, a loss that is intangible is still a loss.

 

I'm convinced if I ever met Theresa Caputo she would tell me that first pregnancy would have been a girl and Paul and I would have named her Zoë. The only baby name we have ever agreed on.

Our Zoë would have been getting ready to turn 7.

 

For seven years we clung to that name.

Knowing one day, we could get our Zoë.

 

About a year ago, a hearts started to shift.

It was weird how it happened to both of us, yet we never spoke about it.

A few short months ago, we looked at each other and almost without saying it, knew our Zoë ship had sailed.

 

It was an odd, cathartic way of saying goodbye to our almost eight years of fighting infertility.

A simple name encompassing three official chemical pregnancies and years of negative tests.

Another step in our grieving process.

Mourning the loss of a biological child that hasn't and probably will not ever exist.

 

Our story of loss is easily summed up into about two minutes worth of reading time...and that's just because I got wordy.

 

Today is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day.

 

A day which will always weigh heavily on my heart.

Not necessarily for my own personal story, but for the too many numerous family and friend's stories it carries.

 

Today I think about the people actively going through a miscarriage.

I think about the people who were in the home stretch...whose houses were full of baby supplies, with a car seat waiting in the car and a nursery beautifully decorated...only to come home empty handed.

I think about the women who had to go through a D&C or an active labor & delivery only to be handed a sleeping baby.

I think about the people who cope alone and in silence, because they never had a chance to share that they were expecting before it was over.

 

I think about how our everyday experiences, how even the vernacular we use can shape the way in which we process loss.

 

Does the fact that the doctors have always dubbed my losses as chemical pregnancies make it easier for me to process than calling them miscarriages?  I think so.

Does it mean I haven't mourned what would have happened nine months later? Nope.

 

I think about how every woman (& man) has been molded uniquely by the stories their hearts carry.

By the grief, the anguish, the guilt, the constant questions, the wondering, the what ifs.

By the way one loss or one story can taint the way in which you process any future pregnancy, be it your own or a family member or friend.

By the joy that is ripped from our hearts in the most unexpected and seemingly cruel way.

 

 

And yet, I see stories of hope and happiness that await on the other side.

That a loss can make the boring, mundane day in and day out, seem like a miracle of epic proportions when you focus on the children you do have or the ones who are yet to be.

 

I hear women openly referring to their Rainbow babies, providing an awareness to the loss they have endured and a ray of sunshine to the other side.

 

 

You may think today doesn't affect you.

But, I promise that if today doesn't resonate with you personally, it does hit incredibly close to home for someone you know.

 

 

So here's to a day where we can be open and publicly talk about an issue that needs more awareness and deserves more compassion.

 

And here's to a lifetime of carrying babies not in our arms, but in our hearts.