(This is a long and convoluted post, so bear with me.)
Seven weeks ago, I had my sweet OB tell me that there was a high chance that my pregnancy would end in miscarriage.
Rewind to 11 weeks ago when I recognized the many signs nature has of letting me know I am expecting. I had a panic attack. Let me clarify.
I know that most couples embrace every pregnancy with open arms and joy. When JL and I found out that we were pregnant with Walter, we were immediately elated. JL came home from work and he picked me up and spun me around our itty bitty living room until I wanted to vomit. We knew that there was a baby that needed to come and we were ecstatic.
There was a minor complication in my pregnancy that led to some expected bleeding, but other than that things were normal. We assumed that we would be able to carry on with our plan to have as many children as we saw fit in the time frame that we chose.
We miscarried three times before we had Henry. All four of the pregnancies were unplanned. With each miscarriage I was thrown deeper and deeper into a state of severe depression. I didn't understand what was happening.
The same minor complication that had occurred with Walter occurred during my pregnancy with Henry. The pocket of blood didn't dissipate naturally, however, and I spent my time on and off bed rest with a truly bloody birth finishing things off.
At my six week post-partum check-up, my OB and I had a quick discussion about the fact that my uterus was inverted, something that he or any other doctor I had seen had never brought up.
Four months later, I miscarried again. I was inconsolable. I cried for weeks. My body had once again betrayed me in a way I never thought that it would. As a child, as a teenager, and as an adult, I never once supposed that I would be unable to successfully carry children from the start of a pregnancy to the end. For months, I would burst into hysterics and my sweet husband would hold me and remind me of our two beautiful boys. Of Heavenly Father's timing. Of trials of faith and lessons learned.
After five months I finally found closure. I realized that I might never have another child. I thought about how wonderful it was that JL and I met at such a young age when my body would have the energy and ability to fight for our babies. I pondered on the many women who never get to have children in this life. Who was I to complain when I woke up every day to two of the most loving children, healthy and strong and mine?
One month later we found out we were expecting. I dreaded the thought of losing another pregnancy but I was so overcome by hope that this would be different I let myself believe that it would be. Because of previous complications and miscarriages, I went in at 8 weeks for my first check-up. I felt great! We usually miscarried by 7 weeks, so I was feeling confident that the hardest part was done. My OB breezed through the beginning of the appointment. We talked about how my thyroid medication was working, how I was feeling, how I was handling things with the boys, etc. As we moved into the ultrasound room, I called JL back and he stood next to me and held my hand while we watched that little heart flutter on the screen. It took a second to process the large pocket of blood, but when I did, I didn't think anything of it. I'd seen the complication with both boys so why wouldn't it be there for this child? My OB hummed and printed twice the usual amount of pictures, shot us a small smile, and told us to meet him back in the exam room.
We got down to business. The pocket of blood was unusually large, but even worse, it was blocking the placenta from fully attaching. Until it cleared away, if it ever did, the placenta was stuck with no where to go, having attached firmly on either side of the pocket. Our rate of miscarriage was four times higher than normal. He wanted to see me in a week to do another ultrasound. Until then, I was advised to minimized my activity as best as possible and be on the watch for hemorrhaging.
When I returned a week later, my OB realistically laid out the next few months. He had looked through my file and assessed things. He said it was a small miracle we were able to get pregnant so easily and an even greater miracle that we had carried both boys to full term. The ultrasound showed no change, if anything, the pocket of blood looked larger, bigger than the baby. He gave me a list of restrictions and told me that if I started cramping to sit down and stop moving. I knew in that instant that if I combined my faith and his willpower that we would get this baby here safely.
At my appointment two weeks ago, the blood pocket had shrunk dramatically. The baby was healthy and beautiful. And most importantly, I knew that no matter what happened this baby would always be mine. So while there is still a 25% chance that we will miscarry for what would be the fifth time, I'm at peace. I'm calm with the knowledge that this is out of my control because, just like most mothers, I say about 100 prayers a day and I know that I have a Heavenly Father who loves me completely. I know that I have a husband who cherishes me even if we never bring another child to this Earth. I know that I am a mother to two boys, that I will always be their mother, and just like with this little swirly fetus that I feel moving around as I type, nothing will change that.
And all of those things and so many more make me one of the most blessed women.
