This week has been one of the longest goodbyes of my life.
If you dare post a single judgemental word on this post, leave the page and do not hit comment. There is no time or place for that.
I hadn't posted on here about it yet, not really sure why, but Somewhere and I found out Aug. 19th that we were indeed pregnant. I couldn't wrap my mind around it and couldn't wait to tell my family.
Right now, it is impossible to delve into all the emotions I felt.
I got the books, smiled, held my hand over my stomach for no reason other than to feel closer. I was never terribly sick, just weary and dizzy. I stopped drinking coffee (often), I ate hummus like it was the last pack on earth, I muched ginger, heated lunch meat and thought froot loops were incredible. I daydreamed about tan toes slipping into colorful booties. I wrote a journal, full of my goals for being a mother and what gender we thought she was. (Can you tell my guess?)
I had moments of fear. I had times of prayer where I would beg God to let me pray more than that my sweetheart would be safe and have His arms around them. That scared me because I wanted my arms around them. Being a bit of a pessimist though, I fought the fear and released trust to my precious Savior. I do not regret that for a moment. I don't want to place fear in anyone's heart that trust is ever misplaced in Jesus. In this case, in love, He was preparing me.
I laughed inside when people thought the ideas of twins would scare me. When I wasn't scared, they would jump the number to triplets. In my heart, I had a feeling they weren't wrong with the first
I went on a trip to visit some dear sistas last weekend. We had fun and they treated me like a frail princess and I loved it.
Sunday I didn't feel totally okay, but, I thought I knew the causes and was relaxed. That evening I went to the ER, and after 11 hours, went back to the house with the diagnosis of a threatened miscarriage. I was 7 and half hours from my Love and a horrid cocktail of anguish and hope. My one happy thought, other than "this isn't over for sure" was this: I was pregnant with twins. For some reason, that filled me with joy.
Monday, I finally got home and in the arms of my husband. We talked and cried and prayed. We prepared for the worst and hoped for the best.
Tuesday morning, my doctor said it was still a maybe and that she wasn't throwing in the towel. I was to come see her Wednesday. We called Somewhere's parents that evening and told my parents in our living room, along with my grandparents, who already knew. Somewhere had needed an ear as he anxiously awaited my arrival home.
Wednesday's appointment went as well as it could and we went home with very cautious hope. Perhaps this wasn't the end.
Wednesday night went very bad.
I knew it was over and my sweet babies were gone. My heart was broken, my body empty. I clung to Jesus, pleading for strength and wisdom.
We called the doctor above mine and he said as long as I didn't move into physical danger, to wait until morning to come in. I went in and all seemed normal for what I had been through. I thought it was at least over. My body could rest. While my soul was torn, my body was receiving relief. My mom slept on the couch across from me, watching me through the night. (What would I do without her to rub my face when I am sick? Or Somewhere to hold me and say "Its okay babe, I know" when I cry for what seems like no reason.)
I was wrong about where I was bodily.
Thursday night, things went even worse. I cried and sobbed out not wanting to go back to the hospital to my mom. Then the moment hit where that wasn't an option. I was going. I said "call them. I have to go in." I have rarely been so happy as when I saw the EMTs. Somewhere followed, arriving at the hospital before us actually. I asked to see him. He was in shock. I held his hand and reassured him that I was in good hands. He went back out with his mom, who came down with his dad, to be with us. Thank God for family.
Just about every step you can put a miscarrying woman through, I walked. I'm not complaining. I was heavily drugged most of the time. I was under very watchful eyes that were doing the best they could for me.
I slept. I cried. I prayed. I smiled at my husband. I held hands. I was wrapped in love.
Finally, Friday afternoon, I was sent in for a d&c. I won't go into details. Most people say it is hell. It was such a wonderful gift for me. I wouldn't have made it safely without it. I slept straight through it. My sleep dr, as I called her, shared that she had been there five times and now had a beautiful daughter. Then gave me a drug to "make me not care." I told her thank you.
I awoke to family and a feeling of peace.
I know some people think God is a crutch.
I can honestly say, I have no idea how I would be here, emotionally and physically, without Him. It's not a promise of seeing my babies one day, because I don't even know that I will know them there. It's not a belief in a greater plan. It's not any cliche.
It simply is. He is.
As Joel Goddard would say, I can no sooner explain it than to tell you what strawberries taste like.