Today is June 1st. It's a Monday, so the girls and I did our weekly grocery shopping and errand running. Jon, being the good steward of our money that he is, paid the bills and updated our finances. Neighbors mowed lawns and kids played outside. Just another normal day.
Except that today is June 1st. While the day goes on as normal and I've tried to keep busy, my thoughts keep returning to what I once thought would be happening today.
Today is June 1st. The due date of the baby I miscarried in October. I know that chances are high, that even if she had lived, today would not be her birthdate. She might have been like Meredith who arrived a week early (and self-delivered!). She might have been like Jocelyn and stayed an extra week or two snuggled up inside me, reluctant to leave her familiar surroundings for parts unknown. I'll never know when her birthdate would have been, so I've clung to June 1st as that date.
I've been dreading this day for the last 7.5 months, mostly because I didn't know what the day would bring. I'm a planner. I like to know what to expect and I couldn't plan this day. I couldn't even plan what I wanted to happen. Would it be better to spend the day crying and mourning my baby? Or would it be better to just move through the day pretending that nothing had happened? I didn't know. Reading the experiences of others didn't seem to help. Most people who have written about this speak of how grateful they are to know that their babies are in heaven. Most of those people are also writing from the perspective of having had a successful subsequent pregnancy.
So how is the day working out for me? I AM happy my baby is in Heaven. I am also sad that my arms are still empty and will likely remain that way. I am happy that I was given the gift of not encountering one pregnant belly or newborn baby while running errands this morning - I can't remember the last time that happened. I am thankful that my girls have sensed (without my having said a word) that I needed good behavior from them today. Mondays are often our roughest day of the week. Today, both girls have complied with every request I've made of them without complaint and have played together without any bickering. I am sad that I am the only one who remembers what today is. I don't expect anyone else to remember (or even to have known in the first place) but I do so hate that no one but me and maybe Jon will remember that she existed.
So, because of that, please indulge my need to share what little information I have of my baby's short life......or don't....that's the beauty of reading this, right? You can just click away if I start to bore you and I'll never know.
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| Jocelyn's drawing of our baby in Heaven with the angels |
The story starts on September 25, 2014. I was 4 days late, but due to my bad history with pregnancy tests, I was reluctant to take one. My chart was all over the place that month and it looked a lot like that of someone with PCOS. That's one of the few infertility diagnoses I don't have and I was angry that I might have it. I had also started a new herbal supplement that was supposed to help some with my endometriosis but can sometimes interfere with your cycle. I was angry that I'd found something that had made me feel better in such a short time, but now might be making other things worse. After 4 days of waiting, I gave in and bought a pregnancy test.
As I sat in the bathroom waiting for the inevitable negative result, I was angry that I was forced to stare at one more negative test. Then, as the timer wound down on the two-minute waiting period, a faint second pink line appeared. I'd like to say that I was overwhelmed with excitement and happiness, but I wasn't. I was - you guessed it - angry that I had managed to buy a faulty test that gave me a faint positive. I was certain that I was going to get my hopes up and then the blood test would show that I wasn't really pregnant after all. When I was done sharing a few choice words with God, I looked back down at the test and saw that the faint line had darkened from a "maybe that's a line" to "yep, that's definitely a line".
At that point, excitement and a little panic set in. I spent the rest of the afternoon waiting for the nurse to call me back, getting blood work done, and starting on progesterone injections. After two years of trying, you'd think that I would have had an elaborate, or at least fun, way to share the news with Jon, but I didn't. I just sort of blurted it out after dinner when the girls were in another room. He was shocked, but happy, and I of course managed to ruin the moment by pointing out that we shouldn't get too excited because I could lose the baby (just like I did a few months later with my fourth pregnancy).
The next few days were some of the happiest days of the last few years of my life. I was happy to experience each of the pregnancy symptoms I had. I was happy to not feel a need to bypass or avert my eyes when walking past the baby aisles at stores. I was thrilled to notice that the owl pellets we dissected at co-op made me queasy like the other two expectant moms in the group. I was so excited that in a few weeks, I could finally share a pregnancy announcement with my Bible study group. Despite my warning to Jon, I googled fun ways to share our news at Thanksgiving with our relatives and at Christmas with everyone else.
On October 1st, I noticed that I was cramping all day long. I was mildly worried, but since I have always had what my doctor refers to as a "cranky uterus" I figured I was probably just not drinking enough, or I was holding Meredith too much or something minor like that. The next day I had no cramping at all and I waffled between feeling like the previous day's cramping was just one day of normal stretching and growing and feeling like something was wrong. On Friday, the girls and I headed to our homeschool co-op where the main activity for the day was dissecting earthworms. The other two pregnant moms needed to take breaks from or avoid this activity all together. I noticed that the smell was not bothering me at all, nor did I feel queasy or in need of a snack all morning long.
The rest of Friday, Saturday, and Sunday I continued to have minimal symptoms. I was queasy only if I really thought about being queasy. I wasn't falling asleep on the couch at 7:30 any more. I had a few symptoms but they all seem to be lessening in intensity and frequency. Sunday evening, however, I felt so nauseated I couldn't even move off of the couch for an hour or so. I remember telling Jon that I had been worrying for no reason. This baby was obviously doing just fine.
I don't remember anything about Monday October 6th, until bedtime. Jon was already in bed, asleep, when I woke him up to tell him I was bleeding. I had bled some with Meredith early in that pregnancy, and while I was worried, I never felt certain that I was losing her. I knew immediately with this pregnancy that I was having a miscarriage. That was absolutely one of the longest, hardest nights of my life. Jon stayed up with me trying to comfort me.
Jon stayed home the next day and we shared the news with family and friends. My doctor's office was closed that day but I was able to speak with the doctor who felt that I was not miscarrying. By the afternoon the bleeding had subsided and I felt both foolish for telling everyone I'd miscarried when maybe I hadn't and angry that my doctor was telling me that I wasn't miscarrying when I knew deep down I was. It's another day I don't remember much about.
At the end of the week I had an ultrasound that confirmed the miscarriage. It was a horrible experience, and yet, I'm so glad I have the pictures from that day.
I began having contractions the following Monday and after nearly 24 hours, the miscarriage was complete. I was unable to find the baby. The fact that I had to throw my baby in the trash is something I still haven't been able to get over. I don't know if I ever will. I know her soul is in Heaven, but I really wish I had been able to provide her with a more respectable burial place for her body.
I feel very strongly that the baby died on October 1. For that reason, Jon and I chose to name her Catherine Thérèse. Catherine after Saint Catherine of Siena, patron saint of miscarriages and Thérèse after Saint Thérèse of Lisieux whose feast day is October 1.
If you're still reading after all of that, thank you for allowing me to share. There is still a little bit of June 1st left. I'm going to spend it folding laundry, making dinner, seeking the intercessory prayers of our two saints in Heaven, and playing with the two children we have here on Earth.
Tomorrow is June 2nd. Just another normal day. It's going to be sunny. We're going to play outside and paint the screen door and go to Jazz in June.....and all the while a part of my heart will still be left on June 1st.
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