10 Years a Failure
“There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love.” - Washington Irving
On June 20th, 2019, I fell asleep with steady ground beneath my feet. I was at peace, content with life and full of hope. Within 72 short hours, I would be shaken to my core. There are so many details that I owe you, So many beginnings and happy moments that I want you to know about and experience with me. But this post is about an ending. I wish it was different. I wish I could give you all the happy moments that led us here, all the hope I once had. I’m sorry, what I’m about to tell you is a very painful, brutally honest account of a very brief and soul crushing ending. Maybe one day I can give you all the beautiful backstory, all the beginnings. Today is just not that day.
So, June 20th, I fell into a deep, hopeful sleep. I dreamt for the first time in a long time. In my dream, I wandered aimlessly through a house only familiar in my dreams. At the end of a hallway, I found him. It’s my Uncle Joe, the man who raised me, as I’ve seen him twice before. As he walked towards me, I see that he is holding two babies, one in each arm. I knew in that moment that I was pregnant and in my presumptuous mind, I thought he was giving me twins. If I knew then what I know now, I would have thanked him.
I had felt the changes. I had all the classic symptoms; crying spells, swollen breasts, exhaustion, cravings, having to pee ALL THE TIME, etc. but after ten years of trying and failing, you tend to err on the side of caution and not get too excited. Nevertheless, I did buy a huge box of pregnancy tests the very next day.
On June 21st, 2019, at 9:13 pm I sat in utter shock as I saw the second line light up the test result window. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe. I was frozen. After a few minutes I had the good sense to snap a few photos. Then, in typical crazy person fashion, I proceeded to dip 6 additional pregnancy tests into the urine cup. Same urine, 7 different pee sticks. Laid them all out, and waited.
Each and every one of them had two lines.
I had waited nearly ten years to see that second line. Nearly ten years I suffered through doctors, prescriptions, more doctors, prayer, tears, more prescriptions, prayers, different doctors and more tears. One day I’ll go back and share that with you. Back to the beginning of this incredibly difficult journey. At the moment though, I only have enough energy to lay out my current situation. So we will continue with the happiest moment I’ve had in almost ten years. June 21st, 2019, 9:13 pm.
I held those pregnancy tests, one at a time, as if they were the winning lotto numbers. The lines were fainter than the control but that is normal for early pregnancy and we would be VERY early. Yes they were faint but within that dye lay the possibility…no...the promise of an entire life.
I cried alone, I celebrated alone. There are 4 other people in the house at the moment but I am completely alone in this. I didn’t tell Junior that night. In fact, I didn’t tell anyone. I had planned to surprise him with this news every month for the past one hundred and fourteen months and I was not going to rob him of that surprise just because I was excited. I felt selfish for even considering telling him. So, I went to bed sleepless and anxious and alone.
If I could go back, I would have told everyone I know. I would have screamed it to the rooftops! Had I known, I would have called my sisters, my aunts, Junior’s mom, my mom….I would have told him so that he could feel that happiness. I wouldn’t have been alone, my daughter could have celebrated with me. We could have embraced this child, together.
Hindsight is always 20/20.
Saturday June 22nd, 2019, 6:30 am. I am up and peeing on yet another pregnancy test, as if 7 tests weren’t enough. Of course it was positive. The line was stronger, darker. And I took this to mean that the life I carried was stronger. Well you know what they say about assumptions.
The first person I shared my miracle with was my sister, April. When I told her that she was the only soul on Earth that knew, she very quickly asked “Why not Junior”. That was the first time I realized that I hadn’t told him not only because I wanted to surprise him, but because I was scared. My only experiences with pregnancy had been complete disasters. My first ended at twelve weeks, and the father quite literally tried to kill me for ‘killing his child’. I don’t think he understood that sometimes babies just die. My second gave me my baby girl, but the pregnancy was spent alone, working long hours, catching the bus and starting college. I could go on….but these are stories for another time.
So, April wanted to know why I hadn’t told Junior and I told her that it was just too early. Why get both our hopes up? She warned me, she told me I should tell him, that we should be in this together. She was right, of course. He could have had 3 whole days of pure happiness.
Again, hindsight…20/20…
Saturday I bought prenatals, drank plenty of water, prayed a lot. I mentally prepared to tell Junior and Alani. I knew that I also had to call my Doctor to tell her that the letrozole worked. I had so many things to do, and I was planning all by myself.
Sunday came and went. I took 4 more tests just to ease my mind. I was in fact, still pregnant. I thought about telling him but his aunt was sick, he was tired and I thought, ‘What’s one more day?’.
Fucking hindsight man.
Monday morning, I am rushing for work as per usual. I am running to the door and as soon as my hand touches the door knob to leave, I have to pee…symptoms. I might be late for work but it didn’t matter, I was excited. Yet another small reminder that we had created a life. I run to the bathroom, pee, grab the toilet paper, wipe….blood.
I keep going over the details to see if there was something I missed, some sign that I should have noticed.
Run to bathroom, pee, grab toilet paper, wipe, blood.
Run to bathroom.
Pee.
Grab toilet paper.
Wipe.
Blood.
I want to cry, to go to my Doctor’s office, to call Junior and cry and tell him to take me to my doctors office. The urge to call him is so strong but I don’t. Looking back, I think I was in shock. Actually, medically in shock. I’m later for work than anticipated at this point because 15 minutes have passed and I am still staring at the toilet paper. I grab a pad, I flush, and I leave for work. I drive to work and get there 10 minutes late. I go to my desk and I work. I work like there is nothing wrong. I can’t move. I can’t cry. I am officially on auto pilot.
At 12:19 pm, I need to pee. But I don’t want to go because I am terrified. I’m terrified that when I go, I will see more blood, darker blood. I’m alone. So, I make a pact with myself. I will go and if there’s blood I will call my doctor, then- and only then- I can panic. But if there is no blood, I’m okay, the baby is okay.
So I go, I pee, I grab the toilet paper, I hesitate, I wipe….blood. Enough blood to soak through the toilet paper. Just a couple hours ago it was just a touch, light pink and barely there. But this is bright pink. I call my Doctors office and they assure me that some bleeding is normal and pink blood is okay. I am told to wait one more day and if I am still bleeding, I can come in. If it gets worse, go to the ER. Now, there is a general practice Doctors office at work but there is no OBGYN. So I go down to the Doctor’s office, explain and they draw blood. I show the Doctor several positive pregnancy tests and she reassuringly says that I am not crazy, they are all positive. And they cannot all be wrong. Blood HCG tests take 24 hours to process. There was no quick answer. Urine test is negative but their urine test isn’t clear blue or first response and it isn’t as sensitive. I still had hope.
The rest of the day is blurry. I don’t remember going home. I don’t remember much of anything. I remember texting Junior’s niece and asking her if I should tell him. I want you to understand that I wasn’t trying to hide anything. I was trying to protect him. I was trying to save him from the heartache of gaining and losing someone so swiftly. I wanted to spare him the pain of losing so much in the time it takes to utter one sentence. But I know that there is no excuse, I should have told him the moment that second line turned pink.
hindsight.
That night (Monday) I told him very calmly that I had taken several tests and that they were clearly positive. I showed him 4 tests. I saw the excitement and confusion on his face rise as he came to hug me, wondering why I wasn’t happier. And I watched as all of those emotions fell away as I said the next sentence, “But I’m bleeding". He wasn’t prepared for that. I had caught him off-guard and I immediately saw the pain. I had given him something and taken it away in a matter of seconds. By the time I told him, my child was gone, and I knew it. I stole his happiness and I only shared with him when I knew it was hopeless. I only told him because I needed him to hold me and tell me that it would be okay and that he wasn’t going to try to kill me or leave me. It was selfish and I regret it.I should have told him sooner or not at all. I owed him those three days of hope. I got three days and he got 15 seconds. Not even long enough for a decent kiss. I gave him nothing but pain.
hindsight.
Tuesday, June 25th, 2019 - I woke up to soaking wet undergarments. I am bleeding and it’s not pink and it’s not normal. At this point, I know with absolute certainty that I am no longer pregnant. There was no more hope.
First thing in the morning, I called and scheduled an appointment with my OB and the time slot they gave me was 2:30 pm. I knew I was only going as a formality, there was nothing they could do. I went to work, stayed focused on work. I called the HR dept of the company I work for. I explained and they said that I could leave and that I could take a three day leave as bereavement IF I could have my Doctor send a note to them confirming that my child did actually die. (This note fiasco is a story for a different day.)
On my drive to my Doctor’s office at around 2:00 pm, I cried so much that by the time I got there, I couldn’t even breathe. I get a text from our niece that Junior’s aunt, who we knew was sick, was now dying. I turned up my worship music and I talked to Tia Elida. I asked God to allow her to hear my words and I told her that she didn’t have to be strong anymore. When she got to heaven, there would be a baby waiting for her. I needed her to find my baby and make sure Pancho (Juniors dad) met my baby. I told her that she could go, that she didn’t have to worry. She lived a selfless life while I knew her and she was leaving behind a legacy of love. That there was a baby there in heaven, and it needed her. I told her that my uncle would share responsibilities with her and I asked her to let go. No sooner had I said AMEN, I got another text from our niece, letting me know that Tia Elida had passed on.
What I know now is that by the time I took my first pregnancy test, my baby was already headed to heaven. What I know now is that my Uncle Joe didn’t come to me in my dreams to signal twins. He came to tell me that he would take care of both of my angels. He came to tell me that even in his afterlife, he was still taking care of me and cleaning up my mess. I know now that one baby was my angel Cieala and the other baby I’ll never get to name. He came to tell me that it was okay, I could let go now.
Blood work confirmed early miscarriage.
Junior and I, we haven’t really had a moment to face the magnitude of this loss. The following week we visited family in Mississippi and had an amazing visit. Then we were back to work. He lost his brother, his aunt and his first biological child within a years time. I felt all of those loses with him. I keep a straight face and I try to be strong so that he can grieve. I forget sometimes to take care of me. Grief is a powerful emotion. I should probably face it sooner rather than later.
There are lots of emotions that a woman goes through during a miscarriage. I was prepared for most of them. What I wasn’t prepared for was my body being so confused. I still felt all the symptoms of early pregnancy for the next two weeks. I was nauseous, my breasts were tender, I was tired, craving seafood for breakfast, swollen fingers & toes, frequent bathroom breaks. My body was trying to adjust to the sudden influx of pregnancy hormones and then readjust to the death. I wasn’t prepared for the depression. I wasn’t prepared for the emotional roller coaster that is my life right now. But I’m pushing through. I’m persevering, I’m fighting back.
I want women to out there to know that they are okay. I want to be a sounding board for my audience. I want to be a small part of bringing this discussion to the table. So that one day when your mother, sister, daughter, niece, granddaughter, etc. comes to you and says that they’ve had a miscarriage, you can- without judgement- hold them and comfort them and tell them that it is OKAY. So that they can be comfortable and confident enough that they can go to you and speak about such a common, natural, tragic situation. So that you can be there for them without spewing out those half assed comfort phrases like “Just Try Again”, “At least you know you can get pregnant”, “At least it was early”. Stop saying this shit to people! A child died, let me feel sad for what I’ve lost. Let me mourn the death a child I never got to hold. Let me deal with the fact that my body that is supposed be a safe haven for the life it creates has just killed the very thing it brought into existence. Allow me just one fucking moment to say to you that I am hurting without you telling me five thousand reasons why I should be happy. I have lost enough, I don’t need to lose my dignity too. If I trust you enough to come to you and say that I am going through something, then I expect you to be able to handle that information better. I’m allowed to be angry. Don’t tell me not to be! If I go through a period of time where I am an absolute shit to be around, so freaking be it. I’ve earned it. I have earned the right to have a few bad days. Give me your got damn shoulder to cry on! My body has just betrayed me, I already feel bad enough without you making me feel like I don’t have a reason to be upset. I never got to hold my child. Did he or she feel pain? Did they know what what happening? Were they afraid? I never got to see their faces or hold their hands or feed them or brush their hair or fucking yell at them for not brushing their teeth. Give me one fucking moment of painful, agonizing devastation.
WOMEN- you are allowed to be ANGRY! It’s what you do with that anger that matters. I’m writing about it. I am working to be a small part of a large puzzle that will link together and create a world where mothers can talk about their loss and not be called emotional or dramatic.
I’ll leave you with this-
Everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about.
Be Kind.
Always.