When. She used the word when, not if. “When you deliver your third child, we’ll need to be prepared for a possible transfusion. You lost a lot of blood with that surgery, and we need to be ready if that’s going to be an ongoing issue.” My mind stuck on the “when,” rather than on the large blood loss and possible future complications. I appreciated her optimism. My OB, reassuringly cheerful but professionally somber when appropriate, has always advocated for me to have more children. We enjoy each other’s company, and she knows that when everything gets off to a good start, my body handles pregnancy and childbearing beautifully.
Except this time. This time, I lost my baby at 8.5 weeks, and continued carrying completely unaware, hormones still in full …
When the sun goes down, the loneliness rises.
I kept wondering when I would cry. From emotional pain, not from physical. The surgery went perfectly. I’m surrounded by family and friends who’ve brought meals, desserts, flowers, cards, and even offers to clean my home. My husband has been my rock and comforter, tending to me with such a gentle nature. I am blessed. And for a long time, from yesterday morning before the surgery, until just half an hour ago, not one tear fell. I felt at peace, and I knew God’s grace was allowing me to focus on physical healing, before licking my raw emotional wounds.
I was not expecting my body to feel this rough. A D&C and laproscopic cystectomy aren’t fun to recover from separately, but together they …
Father and daughter discuss the delights of The Sizzler. She wanted to ride SO badly, but will have to wait until next year.
He put the van in reverse, and I watched my little family begin to back out of the driveway. My girls waved vigorously from their car seats, giddy with joy that daddy was taking them to the carnival. I stepped out onto the porch, and motioned for my husband to stop. He rolled down the window.
“I’m coming. Just give me a minute.”
That moment, that split decision, was probably one of the best I’ve ever made. Fresh from hearing our sweet baby had died in utero, my heart was swollen and achy, much like my abdomen where our child still rests. I didn’t want to go. To face …
I tell her she’s really fast on her bike. She’s not. But what am I, some kind of jerk?!
In our typical rush to get out the door in the morning, I got everyone ready before myself. (Which is a huge mistake, if you know the whole “air mask on a plane” theory. With both girls dressed, hair brushed, and teeth sanitized, I finally took off my own PJ’s. I threw open my closet door. No. Too dressy. I opened up my “pajama/workout clothes” drawer. Perfect. My “bigger” running shorts and matching lavender tank top. I quickly assembled my outfit and glanced at the full-length mirror on the back of the closet door.
Oh. My. Gosh. My stomach. At only 7 weeks pregnant, it’s already popping over the elastic on my shorts like a busted can …
Are there ever times when you hear your child calling you, and it takes awhile to respond? Not because you’re ignoring him/her, not because a baby is screaming in your ear, and not because you’re so tired that you’ve accidentally dozed off on the floor while playing blocks. But because you still can’t quite believe you’re a parent. “You talking to me kid?” That some great power above bestowed on you this much responsibility, this much authority. And unless your child came by way of adoption, you probably didn’t have to pass any kind of test.
It happens to me quite often. Moments that I not only shake my head and wonder why I of all people was trusted with these little creatures, but wonder how on earth I can manage to not totally screw them …
Today, my spirits are low. My energy is low. My ability to rub to coherent thoughts together and make a spark is low. This is a problem for me, this inability to stand my ground beneath the weight of worry. The worst case scenario is the only one I can imagine, and the alternatives seem like pollyannish pipe dreams. I’m a generally positive person, and can keep my chin up when life throws me struggles and setbacks in small chunks at a time, or with adequate warning.
But when I receive unexpected bad news, sometimes, I crumble. Like yesterday. My husband and I went in for our ultrasound, cautiously optimistic that we’d see a “Glinda bubble” on the screen when the tech placed the wand on my abdomen. And we …