And Then There Were Four

I waited a few weeks to write about this, because I needed some time to process what's happening and I really just felt numb at first. I think I've found my voice now, so I'm ready to share what's been going on in our lives over the last few months.

I had a hard time with our last miscarriage and we eventually decided to see a fertility specialist recommended by a friend. She reviewed my previous testing and did a little of her own. Nothing really stood out, but she recommended we use progesterone supplements and try again. We did, and were thrilled to see a positive pregnancy test at the end of February.

This pregnancy felt different. I had weekly blood tests and the numbers all looked great. I felt really pregnant - exhausted, nauseous, food aversions, breast tenderness, waking up to pee every night - all the misery of a healthy first trimester, and I was so thankful for it. While I couldn't quite bring myself to say it aloud, I knew this pregnancy was "the one". We were finally going to get the baby we had been longing for.

We were scheduled for an ultrasound at 7 weeks, and I was so excited to see our baby for the first time. Then, the night before the ultrasound, I had a terrible dream that they couldn't confirm the heartbeat. I was running around hysterically trying to find someone who would re-check, someone who could find it.

I woke up a little shaken, but I really still felt like we were going to have a good day. I thought the dream was just my subconscious worrying. When the ultrasound began, I immediately saw that there was a baby in the gestational sac. That was huge for us because our previous ultrasounds have been blighted ovums (empty sacs with no visible baby). I always felt that if we got far enough for the baby to be visible, everything would be okay. Then, the doctor searched the screen for that all-important flutter of a beating heart. Nothing. She turned on the audio. Silence.

The doctor said the baby implanted really high and that we should look again in a few days, so we scheduled another ultrasound for the following week on April 3rd.

The night before the follow-up ultrasound, I had a beautiful dream. I was in the hospital, holding our newborn son. He was beautiful and he had my husband's thick, dark hair. I felt the love I had for our precious baby and the joy he brought our family. When I awoke, I felt peaceful, reassured, but not really for the ultrasound I was facing. It felt more like a promise for the future than the present. I felt like God was reassuring me and encouraging me so that I could face the coming storm.

The ultrasound showed no change. The baby hadn't grown at all and there was still no heartbeat, so the doctor diagnosed the miscarriage. It was official.

It's been a difficult road over the last few weeks. My hormone levels were still going up at first, which happens sometimes before your body realizes that the pregnancy has stopped growing. I knew that, but seeing the numbers continue to rise made it even more difficult to accept what was happening.

Today's blood test finally showed the numbers are starting to go back down, but we have a long road ahead. My hcg is over 23,000 and it has to get down to zero, so I'm expecting this one to take awhile. My pregnancy symptoms have begun to fade, but I still have to get up to pee most nights and I still can't hug someone tightly without cringing (ladies will know what that means). Those symptoms might stick around until the miscarriage is complete. I thought it was starting on Friday, but the bleeding stopped the next day. The nurse said it may start and stop several times because the hcg levels are so high and have such a long way to go down.

So this is my fourth miscarriage (my third in the last year), and I have run through a slew of emotions as I processed each of them. I feel guilt. Guilt that I haven't been able to give my daughter a sibling, especially when I see how excited she gets every time we see a baby. Guilt that my parenting her has inevitably been affected by the fact that I have spent the last year being in the first trimester of pregnancy or miscarrying. Guilt that I have put my husband through this revolving door of hope and loss.

I feel sadness. Sadness at the loss of each one of my unborn babies. Sadness when I pass the due date of the baby I lost last summer and realize I am no closer to having another child than I was then. Sadness when I clean out Claire's closet and find the "Big Sister" shirt I bought her last year to announce a pregnancy that never made it far enough to give her that shirt.

I feel hurt, and that hurt produces anger sometimes. I feel hurt and angry that this keeps happening to me even though I do all I can to ensure a healthy pregnancy. Hurt and angry when someone says something insensitive, even though I know they're trying to be helpful and just don't know what to say.

I feel alone. Alone in this tragedy that just keeps replaying over and over again. Alone in the physicality of it that even my closest earthly companion, my husband, simply can't experience with me. Alone as I realize that almost none of my closest friends and family can understand the loss of four pregnancies, four babies. Alone in my grief as the world moves on and so quickly forgets these four babies I still mourn.

There are two things I'm doing differently this time. First, I've stopped asking why. I have struggled with that question since my first miscarriage. I thought I understood it when my daughter was born, but the truth is that I have struggled with it again as I endured these miscarriages over the last year. I have now come to realize that question will probably not be answered on this earth. We've run all the tests, we've consulted the specialists, I've been thoroughly poked and prodded. We don't know why and I'm ready to stop replaying that question in my mind a thousand times a day.

The second thing I'm doing differently is that I'm asking God to just carry me through this. In the past, I've asked Him to give me the strength to get through it. But I simply don't have the capacity for that strength right now. I'm exhausted. I'm at the end of myself. I just don't have it in me. So I've been asking Him everyday to just take over. I don't just need a shoulder to lean on, I need to be carried! I've also asked Him to help me keep my eyes on Him, because when I start to think about me, I get angry and frustrated and bitter about what's happening to me. But when my eyes are on Him, there's no room for that.

I recently learned the difference between Spiritual groaning (humbly crying out to God to deliver you) and grumbling (griping at God when you don't get what you pridefully think you're entitled to have). I think I've probably done more grumbling than groaning on this journey, but I'm really working to change that. My hope is that someday in the not-too-distant future, all the groaning and grumbling will be gone as we welcome a new baby to our family. Until then, if you're the praying kind, we need all the prayers we can get.

Claire Thinks Easter Is Crazy

This year, Claire participated in her first big Easter hunt. The week before Easter, we went to a community "eggstravaganza" at a local park and lined up around a field with a bunch of other kids to "hunt" (pick up off the ground in plain sight) a variety of suckers, toys, and plastic eggs filled with Easter stickers.

Claire was really excited to make use of the pink Easter basket she picked out the night before, but when they yelled "go", she had a bit of a problem. You see, we've spent the last 2 1/2 years telling her not to pick things up off the ground and eat them. When we tried to convince her that this was actually the one time of year when it was acceptable to pick up candy she found laying around the park, she looked at us like this...

She recently started telling us that things are "crazy" and I think she mastered that vocabulary word just so she would have something to say the next time she gives us this look.

You'll be relieved to know we did eventually convince her to pick up a few candies, but she was so uncomfortable that she just walked away from the hunting area after a few finds.

The following week, we tried another Easter egg hunt at the local YMCA. Having tasted the treats from her previous hunt, she was much more willing to pick up the plastic eggs this time... as long as they were pink or purple. She adamantly refused all other egg colors. She would pick up the pink egg and leave the green one next to it sitting on the ground. When I asked her, "Claire, do you want to pick up this green one, too?", she would politely refuse. "No thank you!" After a few tries, I gave up and she happily filled her basket with all girl colors.

After spending the next two days worrying about what we were unknowingly teaching our daughter about gender roles (ah, modern parenting), it was time for our family egg hunt at home. I am proud to report that Claire gave up her strongly held gender bias and embraced an equal opportunity egg hunt approach. She snatched up every treat-filled plastic vessel she could find, regardless of color. I was also really impressed that she would actually search for hidden eggs. The community events were more "egg grabs" than "egg hunts", but Claire was up to the challenge of finding the eggs Grammy and Grandad hid around our yard for her.

Claire also dropped her feud with the Easter Bunny this year. She has never been a fan, and last year she refused to even get close enough for a picture. Then, the day before Easter, we went to the mall to ride the carousel and, completely on her own, she asked to visit the Easter Bunny. I expected a repeat of our Santa experience - excited until it was her turn, then an absolute refusal to get within three feet of him. But when it was Claire's turn, she walked up to Easter Bunny (a little cautiously), said hello, and then willingly sat in his lap and smiled for some pictures. I was shocked, but so excited to finally have some Easter pictures for the scrapbook. Here they are...

Easter wasn't all egg hunts and candy for us, though. We really wanted Claire to know (a three-year-old version) of why we celebrate Easter. I looked around for a book to read but couldn't really find much (any suggestions, moms?). Finally, I just decided to tell her about it during bathtime. When I got to the part where I explained that there were some people who didn't like Jesus, were very mean to him, and hurt him and killed him, Claire gave me her "that's crazy" look again. So, it's not really the most kid-friendly story, I suppose, but she did seem to be okay with it when I explained that Jesus rose and then went to live with God in Heaven.

So overall, I think she understands the eggs, candy, and bunny a little better than the resurrection, but I suppose that's normal for an almost three-year-old. Now, I just have to hope Claire understands that Easter is a one-off situation. I really don't want to spend all summer telling her she can't pick up that half-eaten sucker on the playground for snack time. She'll probably just give me her "you're crazy" look as she pops it in her mouth.