Catherine Thérèse

Today is June 1st.  June is my favorite month of the year.  Everything is green.  The sunshine is warm, but the air is not yet too humid.  All the summer activities are new and fun. Most years I pester Jon by counting down the days till June and reminding him how much I love this month.  Not this year.  Not once this spring have I talked about how excited I am about June arriving.

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.

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.

A Prayer Request on Mother's Day

It's Mother's Day....for a few more hours at least. I've been trying to decide all day whether to post today or not. I could write about how infertility - even of the secondary variety - makes Mother's Day a hard day. Or maybe about how it feels to celebrate a holiday with only half of my children. I could write about the pain of that or about how thankful I am to have two living children to celebrate with. I could write to those of you with lots of kids reminding you how blessed you are.  I could tell a funny story about how Jon was going to make dinner tonight, but my indecision about the menu led to a miscommunication and we ate leftovers for dinner. I could write about how Meredith asked me to help her write spell the words for my homemade card (complete with a drawing of me making her a sandwich).

 I could write about any of those things. But I won't. There are others who have already written about infertility and/or miscarriage in relation to Mother's Day far more eloquently than I could ever hope to. Same goes for the posts about how fortunate we all are to have been blessed with the gift of children - whether we have 1 or 20.  The funny stories aren't long enough to make a whole post out of them - and they are probably only funny to me anyway. And to be honest, Mother's Day has never been one of those holidays that I get excited about.  I tend to shy away from the "Hallmark holidays" and all the consumerism and hype that go with them.

 I do have a few thoughts I want to share about an often ignored group of women. On this day, we we remember our mothers. We remember the moms that are here with us, the moms we've lost, the single moms who've raised their children on their own, the moms who have lost their children, and the women who long to be mothers. One group of women that isn't often included is the women who have chosen, for a wide variety of reasons, to abort their child.

Until nine days ago, I would never have thought to include them in my prayers on Mother's Day.  Throughout these years of infertility, I have unfortunately, developed a bitterness toward the women who are blessed with the opportunity to have a child and throw it away.  Then I talked to a nurse who was warning me not to pretend my baby didn't exist.  She told me how much harder it was for her to grieve her baby when she chose to do this with one of her miscarriages.  Then she said, "This must be how women who've had abortions feel.  They have to pretend that their baby never existed.  No wonder so many of them suffer from depression and/or substance abuse."

Even in my grief, that statement hit me hard.  I can grieve my babies.  I can talk to my husband about them.  I can tell my children that God gave us two babies and then took them to Heaven.  I have family members who support me through my grief.  I can blog about my experiences and complete strangers can empathize.  What about the women who aborted their babies?  Who do they turn to for support?  How do they get through days like today when everyone is celebrating mothers and they are trying to come to terms with what they've done to their child?

I ask you include these women in your prayers today and everyday.  It's easy for me to feel bitter toward women who have aborted their baby, but the truth is, I don't know what factors led them to that decision and I don't know what agony each of those women may be suffering as a result of that decision.  I do know that I can pray for them.  Please join me in praying for all mothers burdened with the weight of grieving for an aborted baby.  They need and deserve our prayers just as much as all of the other mothers we've honored and prayed for today.

Christian Michael

One of the issues that pains me the most with this second miscarriage is that I have nothing tangible to remind me of this baby.  This time there are no ultrasound photos.  My children have not (yet) drawn any pictures of him.  I haven't even had any physical pain.  With my first miscarriage I had about 24 hours of contractions.  This time, nothing.  I lost the baby too early for any of those experiences.

I'll admit the thought crossed my mind that it might be better to just pretend that the baby never existed.  I wouldn't have to be sad about losing him.  In a few months I wouldn't have to think about how far along into the pregnancy I would be.  I wouldn't have to be sad in January when my arms are still empty.  Fortunately, one of my doctor's wonderful nurses, did just that with one of her four miscarried babies.  She knew that I would be tempted to do the same and warned me that it is better to remember, honor, and grieve that baby.  If I don't do that now - and in lesser degrees for the rest of my life - the grief will manifest itself in other, less desirable ways at some point.

So I will do my best to grieve this baby's short life and to remember the few memories I have.  Once the miscarriage had been confirmed, Jon and I named the baby.  Christopher Michael was suggested, but we ultimately went with a somewhat more gender-neutral Christian Michael.  Perhaps someday I'll write about the challenges of choosing names for babies whose gender is unknown.

Had Christian lived, I would have shared details about the pregnancy and his birth with friends and family in far more detail than anyone would have wanted.  Having known about this pregnancy for only 1 day before suspecting that I was miscarrying, I don't have any of those stories to share.  God, in his infinite mercy, did gift us with one memory - a humorous pregnancy announcement.  Here's the story.  Bear with me, it's all I have.

I started suspecting I was pregnant on Sunday, April 26th.  I had been experiencing my usual pms headache on Friday and Saturday, so I had pretty much written off this cycle as a flop.  On Sunday, though, I had one symptom that had me wondering.  Monday morning is when the girls and I do all of the shopping for the week so I decided to venture into the pregnancy test aisle at Target.  Infertility has given me a stormy history with pregnancy tests and almost always buy them at the Dollar Tree so as not to waste as much money.  Unfortunately, Jocelyn can read and I didn't want her to ask questions about why I was buying a pregnancy test.  I thought I'd have better luck tossing one into the cart at Target undetected.  It was even easier than I thought as the end cap for that aisle was chock full of licensed character chapstick and body wash that held her interest.  After hopeful Julie and frugal Julie duked it out, I left the aisle with a box of pregnancy tests in my cart.  The $1.00 off coupon affixed to the box offered a compromise both sides of me could live with.

Once we returned home, I locked myself in the bathroom to take the test away from the prying eyes of a four year old who has little regard for the privacy of others.  Fortunately I'd selected the rapid response test that gives a result in one minute.  Sixty-one seconds after taking the test, Meredith began pounding on the door frantically.  She needed to wash her hands because she was worried she was going to miss the lunch I had not yet prepared.  Stunned by the faint positive result that appeared on the test strip, I let her in and hurried off to call my doctor's office.

Later that afternoon, I dropped the girls off at my sister-in-law's house and went to complete the necessary lab work and get a progesterone shot.  As I left the doctor's office, the nurse asked how I planned to share the news with Jon.  I hadn't given it any thought yet, but I figured I had a few hours to come up with something good.  I didn't do anything exciting with either of the girls and I was so shocked to be pregnant after 2 years of infertility last fall that I couldn't focus enough to think of a fun way to share the news.  But this time, I would prevail.  After all, I have a Pinterest account.  Pinterest solves every problem.....except for the ones it creates.  That's another topic for another day.

I stopped by my sister-in-law's house to pick the girls back up and ended up staying and chatting for awhile.  By the time I got home, I had about thirty minutes to consult Google and Pinterest for baby announcement ideas.  There wasn't time to create a dinner menu composed of "baby" food items.  Writing on my belly with lipstick seemed tacky  -- and impractical.  I've had two babies and I'm not skinny.  Writing on lumpy fat rolls would not be easy, nor would it likely be legible.  I quickly discarded several other ideas.  In desperation, I resorted to the "bun in the oven" cliche.  I had some hot cross buns leftover from Easter in the freezer.  I grabbed one and tossed it into the oven.

When Jon came home a few minutes later, I complained about how I didn't get anything done.  Being the ever-supportive husband (or maybe he wasn't really listening to me?), he told me that was okay.  After he wandered into the kitchen, I repeated my complaint and told him the oven was to blame.  That got his attention and he questioned why the oven was the cause of my laziness.  I told him to look inside.

He did and, after a beat, asked "Why is there a roll in the oven?"

"It's not a roll," I replied.

"Okay."

Silence.

"It's not a roll, it's a ........" I prompted.

"Umm," he thought.

"It's a hot.......cross............" I hinted broadly.

"Bun?"  Jon guessed.

"Yes, and it's in the oven."

I raised my eyebrows in encouragement for him to put it all together.

"A bun... in the.... oven," he whispered slowly.

The eyebrows went higher still.  "Say that again."

"A bun in the oven?"

"Yes.  I didn't get my work done because there's a bun in the oven!!"

"I don't get it," he said.

As it turns out, Jon was not familiar with that expression.  I scrambled to come up with a  Plan B so I wouldn't have to just blurt out the news.  I ran into the bedroom where I'd been hoarding Kohl's coupons and gift cards in hopes of replacing my collection of ratty T-shirts later than week.  I handed him the coupons and cards and told him he could have them because I wouldn't be able to use them.  He still looked confused, so I continued to explain that I couldn't use them because I can't buy clothes right now.

The lightbulb finally went off and we celebrated.  I, of course, had to ruin the moment a bit by reminding him that we shouldn't get too excited because this would probably end in miscarriage too.  As I've said before, I'm a realist.  Sometimes that trait really kills a fun moment.  Fortunately, we were too excited to linger on that for too long.

And that's the one fun memory I have of Christian Michael.  The next morning I woke up and noticed that the one symptom I had was significantly less noticeable.  I knew in my heart that I was losing another baby.  Two days later it was confirmed.

After I lost the first baby I told myself I wouldn't get excited about another pregnancy, knowing that I would likely not carry the baby to term.  I'm so glad I didn't follow my own rule.  If I hadn't allowed myself to be a little excited and hopeful, I would have no positive memories of this brief pregnancy.  Should I ever get to experience another pregnancy, I won't be scheduling doctor appointments weeks in advance.  I won't be dragging out the box of maternity clothes any earlier than I need them.  There are lots of things I won't do because I know how the pregnancy is likely to end.  What I will do, though, is be hopeful and celebrate whatever moments I am given.  If there is time to tell my husband I will plan something fun.  If there is time to tell the girls and other family members, I'll make it memorable and be excited.  I will cherish any ultrasound photos and rejoice in whatever pregnancy symptoms the day brings.  If God is gracious enough to bless us with a fifth child, then the least I can do is be thankful and appreciative of that great gift for however long He allows me to be that child's mother.