Thankful.

It was early Thanksgiving morning. I was laying in bed with my husband and 6 year old daughter, Emma, watching old videos on my phone of her when she was a baby. Here we were giggling at the little things she used to do, my husband and I secretly thinking about the poppy seed sized embryo inside of me that we would so soon be embarking on all of these same little amazing adventures with. I was 6 weeks pregnant, and so hopeful.

And then my phone rang.

It was a careline nurse. My blood draw results were in from the previous day: "I'm so sorry. Your pregnancy hormone level dropped. Unfortunately, this means that you will miscarry." 

This is unfortunately the second time I have heard these words, and much like the first time, I didn't hear anything after them. As a nurse, I am certain it was filled with all sorts of options for me, including precautions, a list of things to watch for. When to call the clinic. An apology. A kind goodbye. I look across the room at my husband who knows what's happened before I can say anything. And then I see my sweet daughter. She knows too. We never told her we were pregnant, but I can tell she knows. We told her the last time we were expecting, and all too soon had to explain to her that that baby wasn't ready to leave heaven yet. She can see it in my eyes, in my heartbreak, that it has happened again. She later told her Auntie that she knew Mommy had a baby in her belly again but it had to go back to heaven. Kids are so intuitive. 

I spent some time soaking in the news - the news that even though I was hopeful I wouldn't get, I also allowed myself to half expect it. My first miscarriage swept me off of my feet. I was completely blown away. I was 10 weeks pregnant - in the middle of nursing school- and I went in for an early ultrasound and there was no heartbeat. My body never recognized the loss, so I had to have a surgical procedure to help end it. Heart wrenching awful. This time around I knew better. These things happen to women all of the time. We just don't talk about it. (Why don't we talk about it?!?!) 

Two weeks. That's the amount of time I knew I was pregnant. Two weeks goes by super fast, but when you are newly pregnant - the time crawls. The two weeks is filled with excitement, new rules, secrets, announcements to parents and siblings, plans, dreams. I was so excited about the possibility of giving Emma her Christmas wish - a sibling - that I ordered an adorable little ornament to give to her that had a little snowman family of three on it, only the mama snowman had an extra big belly with one word on it: baby. Very suddenly after my moment alone of soaking in the news, I NEEDED to get this snowman ornament out of my house. This dream, this plan, this announcement would not be happening and I could not look at it again. Thank God for Mom's that are willing to stand in the customer service line at Kohl's during the holiday season. (Seriously.... thanks, Mom.)

                       
The excitement was so real. 

The irony of life hits you so hard sometimes. It's Thanksgiving day. A day to be thankful. And at any moment, I am going to have my second miscarriage. What do I have to be thankful for today? But then I look back up. I look up at my daughter, who is so aware of my heartbreak. She spends extra time being sweet and hugging me and asking me what I need. She writes me a letter, with a family picture on it of us three and our dog Leonard and so many hearts all over the page. I look up at my husband who is just as heartbroken as me, but doing everything he can to help me through it. I look up at my Mom who is there in a second to bring me to the doctor and be my advocate (and also make dreadful returns at Kohl's amidst her own heartbreak). I am thankful for my Dad who is praying for us, endlessly. I am thankful for my sister, who shows up without question to take Emma on a fun adventure day while I deal with the logistics of a miscarriage. I'm thankful for my entire family, who all showed up on Thanksgiving day to somber news and were extra gentle with my heart that day. 

Within 48 hours my body recognized what had happened and responded by doing what it was supposed to do. I was also thankful for that. It was awful to go through, but I was glad I didn't have to make any decisions this time. It was made for me. 

We are trained to not speak of pregnancy until that sacred 12 week mark, but surprise! Things happen all of the time after that mark too. There is no magic time in a pregnancy when things suddenly matter more to a woman. A positive pregnancy test is all it took for me to be dreaming of what the future held. Infertility and pregnancy loss affects 1 in 4 women. I am 1 in 4. I think it is so important to share our experiences as women, so that when another woman goes through the same thing they won't feel so isolated and alone and hopeless. Let's empower each other with knowledge and be there for each other with support and hope and no more comments like "at least it wasn't a baby yet" or my personal favorite "it's no big deal, it happens to everyone". "I'm sorry" works just fine. 

I am hopeful. Someday, we will make that Christmas wish come true for Emma. And for now, I continue to be intentionally thankful (also sometimes SUPER pissed off and sad and confused and scared and thats all okay too).