So. Here we are on October 7th. My Monday ultrasound I so badly wanted to not need. Brady and I sat and talked while we waited for my name to be called. What did we want from the ultrasound? With Theo, we had a similar situation, where I took the medication and the baby didn’t come out, and the ultrasound showed an empty uterus. Lo and behold, though, baby dropped seemingly from nowhere about five days after that. So he was in there, just tucked, or low, or something like that. I assumed it would be the same this time, and we would just be waiting to see. Housebound. Completely in limbo. Again. 

But as things tend to surprise me along this road, the ultrasound showed baby completely tucked in there, just the same as the week before. 

I would need a D&C.

And I was SO mad. I was relieved to finally have a direction to move in, but my pregnancy was officially being erased. I never got to watch an ultrasound. I don’t have a single picture. And now, I wasn’t even going to get to “have” the baby. It was being taken out of me. I would have NO proof that this whole thing ever happened. I was so hurt. But I had to roll with the punches. And that meant I had arrangements to make. 

So began an afternoon of frantic planning and figuring, speaking to friends, asking for help, fielding multiple calls from Dr. Guselle as she called me and the hospital back and forth, trying to find where I fit and when I could get myself there. I had made the mistake of eating a sliver of Waverly’s apple during her lunch, and that set me back hours from when I could’ve originally went in, but rather, Brady and I were asked to be at City Hospital emerg for 4pm. Carrie J willingly came and hung out with my kids for a couple of hours after school, and Willa came and traded her out to do supper and bedtime with the kids. 

I threw some little items in my purse, not exactly knowing how to “pack” for a D&C, but figured I’d try. I grabbed deodorant, a brush, chapstick, a pair of underwear, my wallet, and a pen. 

Brady and I got to emerg just a little after 4:00. We walked into the ER holding hands, ready to do whatever this was going to be together. We were NOT brave. We were surviving. Having never been to City Hospital emergency before, we were unsure where to line up. We picked a spot, and thankfully, chose right as a whole bunch more people lined up after us just moments later. We beat the rush! I was called in and sat beside a desk where two women typed like mad and checked my vitals but didn’t talk to me. Finally one of them put her head up and said “What the trouble?” I told them what Dr. Guselle had told me to say. 

“I’m here to see Dr. Mirosh for a D&C.” 

Her response was “You’re not on her expected list,” but she didn’t even know my name yet, and the other lady with all the typing corrected her and said I was on the list. Ok, more typing. Finally I was given a hospital bracelet and directed to wait in the waiting room. So we did that. After maybe 20-30 minutes, someone came and retrieved us and asked us to follow her to bed one. Once we were ushered into our own area, she plunked down beside me on the hospital bed and introduced herself. She was to be our OB and surgeon for the evening. And I immediately loved her. 

She was funny. Dry and sarcastic, like me. We bantered pretty easily. She was also very professional. She took down all kinds of info and listened while I retraced our steps from the last month, and then from our past losses in 2017. I felt good knowing as much information as I knew, and she happily received what input I had. We talked fertility, which was good and bad. She said the fact that I have five perfectly healthy, complication-free children makes it clear to her that I can have children. She is confident there is really no answer to find as to why this last year has been what it is. She was encouraging but straightforward. She was strangely like Dr. Guselle, where she could say honest things that weren’t necessarily hopeful but she still left me feeling light and positive. I don’t know how they do it, but MAN its a quality I hope to have someday. 

Conversation strayed from baby-having into her wanting to inquire about the rest of our family. We discussed Brady’s work and how much she loves and respects carpentry. She said her family growing up had a completely round library, and how she remembers it being built, and what a huge undertaking it was. It was nice to talk life outside of the heavy stuff. I also love when people recognize Brady in all of this. People forget the husband sometimes, and thats sad. Yes, this is all happening to my body, and that counts for something big, but its just as much his baby as it is mine. 

We wandered our way back to talking about the procedure ahead. Talked process, people, and risks. She told me they would start getting me over to the day surgery unit and get me set up with a bed there. As we were talking, a nurse popped her head into the doorway and said the OR was ready when we were. The doctor was surprised, and commented that she hadn’t reported me to the OR yet, and the nurse laughed and said something like “You might not have told them about her, but they know about her!” So with that. I was told to follow along, and Brady and I walked up to the operating room together. 

It was kind of surreal, honestly. I was brought up to this area of the hospital that didn’t look like it was really made for people. I got dressed in the gown and robe in a supply closet. It was funny, and everyone kind of was poking fun at it. They kept saying “We’re usually way more organized than this!” but I reassured them that my life was far from organized and it didn’t put me off at all. Brady and I sat in a little corner with three chairs while people in scrubs came and went. I filled out consent forms and agreed to what was about to happen. Everyone gave me lots of room to ask questions or take time. 

The best part of all of this is about to come, guys. A positive! 

The anesthesiologist. He came and sat himself down beside Brady and I so we could talk anesthetic, history, and questions. He introduced himself, and I stared at him. I confirmed his name and looked at his name tag to make sure he was who I thought he was. Dr. Derek Boechler.

He was the amazing, warm, patient resident who had delivered Dekker into my arms eight years ago. Guys, I could’ve cried. I had LOVED that man. 

I totally fan-girled, and told him my memory. He was surprised, but happy. I told him not to worry, that he didn’t have to remember us, but that we had really liked and appreciated him. We got back to the task at hand pretty quickly, but truthfully, I was so thrilled to run into him. He had been such a bright light in Dekker’s delivery, and I had always wondered if I’d run into him again, maybe for an epidural or something. But clearly not, because he found his way to a different hospital. It just felt like a crazy, full circle moment for me. I felt so at peace. 

I consented to the anesthetic, and stressed to him that I wanted to be OUT out. I couldn’t handle even being remotely lucid. I didn’t want to feel any of it. He totally understood and said NO ONE should ever feel such a thing, and he would make sure of it. He reassured me that he would be there the entire time. All 5-8 minutes of the procedure. 

I admit, walking into the operating room on my own two feet was a bit surreal. I had a moment where I was entering the doors and saying goodbye to Brady where I started to tear up a little. Not because I was sad even, but just nervous, and…ya, maybe sad, too. It just sucked. It all sucked. 

But I walked into a room with about 6-7 people in it, and everyone was SO friendly and warm. I was directed to lie on the operating table (again, surreal), and as I slipped my robe off, someone came behind me and held my gown closed, to save my dignity a little. She even whispered and asked if I was wearing underwear, seeming to try and keep it classy. I lay down and was immediately wrapped up in a warm blanket. Now I know that for pretty much every procedure, they strip you right down and basically tie your arms back. Very exposing. I remember feeling people tie my arms up in my previous appendix surgery, and I went under panicking. This was not like that at all. People moved around me carefully and gently, lifting my gown here and there to stick little monitors on me. They tucked my feet into the blanket and joked here and there with me. My anesthetist had told everyone that I had known him in the past, so we talked about that. I puffed him up pretty good and told everyone how lovely he was. How he was the most patient person I saw the day Dekker was born. How safe I felt. Turns out, he did eventually finish his residency, clearly, and he is an excellent anesthesiologist. He told me everything he was doing as he was doing it. He was clear and efficient. He was still very warm and loving. He joked that it was a good thing he had shaved that day, so I couldn’t see how grey he had gotten since we last met. I pointed out that I too was eight years older. We both laughed. It felt SO calm. SO peaceful. So strangely different from how I thought it would feel. Everyone in the room knew why I was there. They knew how much I desired more children. They knew my heart. I felt cared for in an extra special way. 

When the mask went over my face, I knew it was time. The anesthetist told me to take some breaths and apologized for the stinky smell. The second breath I could tell was it. I nodded, maybe to notify them I was on the way out? Maybe just my brain nodded. I’m not sure. But that was it. I was toast. 

I woke up feeling tired, but not really groggy. I was aware there were people around me. I forget what they said but I knew at the time, and was able to respond. It wasn’t unpleasant. I remember smiling as I talked to the nurse beside me. Neither the surgeon or anesthesiologist were there, which made sense, but I admit I wish I could’ve spoken to them and thanked them. The nurses were lovely though. Things had gone smoothly and easily, and I was quickly moved out of recovery into my own room. We actually beat Brady to the room, and the nurses called him on his phone to tell him I was back. He was all smiles when he came in, totally surprised I was already out and awake. I was brought apple juice and digestive cookies, and he sipped his coffee while we made jokes about “date night.” 

It was kind of a horrible date night, but it was also weirdly peaceful. It could have been so much worse. In some ways, it was the last piece of the ridiculous puzzle we’d been working on for the last few weeks. 

I was in grief, of course. I still am. But as my heart was naturally recovering and trying to move forward, my body refused to go along with it. I was living in a constant state of frustration, waiting for my body to just give in and let go, and it wouldn’t! I was fearful that I would be emotionally healing, and suddenly, the baby would come out, and I’d be back to square one. And I didn’t want that! But I also was mad that our little baby was being overshadowed by the frustration of the medical side of it. Just maddening. 

I’m learning that God’s mercies don’t always look how you expect them to. I believe God is in control, but I confidently believe that His plan, in this case, for me to have a D&C. To have a concrete answer. A “You’re done now” moment. Relief. Strangely, the procedure felt like a gift. I accept that gift willingly, regardless of how unconventional it seems. I never would’ve thought I’d be peaceful on the receiving end of a D&C, and while it obviously wasn’t our ideal end game in terms of conceiving and delivering another healthy baby into our family, the process was relieving and so very correct for us. 

He hasn’t forgotten us, or any of our children.

I hope no one eats me alive for this post. It could get controversial if someone really chooses to stir the pot. I urge you NOT to stir it. Leave the stinking pot alone. Just hear my heart, and only that. 

With the news of our ultrasound on Thursday, we decided to continue on with life the next day, and begin the ugly medication process on Saturday, when Brady was home and I wasn’t alone with all of the kids. I have done this once before at home, with Theo, so I knew what to expect. I took medication first thing in the morning and waited. Within the hour, I was nauseous and feverish, shaking and miserable. There is nothing glamorous about it. I hid out upstairs for most of the morning, shivering and being sad. I started bleeding, but nothing crazy at all. Brady ran me a bath so I could warm up and relax my crampy body. At about the six hour mark, everything had slowly down significantly, so I took the approved second dose. It didn’t really do anything. I maybe cramped a little more, but not much. Bleeding was still slowing, and “unproductive,” to use a word that is maybe less graphic. The only thing the second dose accomplished was making me sick all over again, which is did well. I was so miserable that day, and SO annoyed that, by the end of the day, nothing had been accomplished. 

I waited Sunday out, or rather Sunday waited me out. I completely stopped bleeding. I had no cramps. It was just sooooo nothing. 

I called Dr. Guselle’s office on Monday and asked if there was any way I could be approved for another dose of this medication. I wanted this done with. I wanted to work through the portion of my grief that was actually having the baby. I wanted to be able to move forward and actually be able to leave my house. She approved a third and final dose, and asked me to call in a day or two if nothing happens. 

And nothing happened. It didn’t even try to happen. I got the chills, but I didn’t cramp at all. I didn’t spot at all. I didn’t progress at all. I just waited. I felt completely neutral all the time. Gutless. In limbo. I haaaaated it. I finally admitted defeat on Thursday, and called to say nothing had happened. I was asked to book an ultrasound, to see what was going on in there. I decided to put it off until Monday, so I’d have all weekend to give my body that last chance to do its job and release my baby. But it didn’t.

I called on Friday and booked an ultrasound for Monday without too much fuss. I once worked at a doctors office, and people would call for an appointment and insist on telling you their whole history. It was fine, but it was totally unnecessary. It seems at this clinic, I cannot get an ultrasound without giving them ALL the information and proving that I need one. Its just dumb, but they did give me one when I told them I had lost a baby and it wasn’t coming out. Saying that on the phone just choked me up. I didn’t want to. But I had no choice.

We spent the next couple of weeks planning the next pregnancy blog series. Cher bought updated lights for the photos. We bought some items online, and others, we scoured Saskatoon for. I narrowed down blog titles and categories. Yes, I could’ve held myself back from excitement for a while, just in case, but I was intentionally choosing to be optimistic and hopeful, which I don’t regret, but of course its always risky. I was riddled with symptoms, which I held onto as reassurance. I was sick as a dog. Exhausted beyond belief. My boobs hurt so badly and grew a full size. I couldn’t stomach coffee, eggs, or (of all things) melted cheese. All of them left me gagging my brains out and exhausted. 

As is my usual, Dr. Guselle asked me to book an ultrasound for 6 weeks. My HCG was through the roof, and had been more than doubling all along the last week. We had joked that this baby was an overachiever. The first clinic I called flat our refused me a scan. It went like this.

We don’t perform ultrasounds before 8 weeks.
My doctor has asked for it, though. 
Still, we don’t. Unless its medically necessary. 
Oh, I understand. Yes, it is medically necessary. I have a history of recurrent loss. 
… Are you miscarrying nowwwww? 
Uh… not that I know of. 
So 8 weeks then…

I was pretty unimpressed, as was my doctor. I called around and booked it elsewhere. 

My first ultrasound fell on a Thursday. I was 6w3d. My beloved Ultrasound Gallery closed around last Christmas, and the most popular clinic in the city refused me, so I found my way to a clinic I had never been to, but was held in high regard by many people I know. Everyone was very polite and professional.

I’ll admit, I felt very out of the loop. Not once was I shown the screen. Immediately upon the scan starting, she said to me I’d need a follow up, but she left it at that for the moment. She looked around, and then told me she’d need to do an internal. I knew she would. I knew it was early. That was fine. She began that, and finally told us what she could tell us. She said there was no heartbeat yet, but that it was perfectly normal at 6 weeks. I was measuring a few days behind, but that was also totally normal. She then went on to tell us there were what appeared to be TWO GESTATIONAL SACS. I was over the moon!!! She was full of smiles and said not to panic or get too excited. She said one was significantly smaller than the other, and empty, so it could be nothing, or it could be twins. We’d find out next time. I felt hopeful and excited, though still, never was shown the screen. I felt out of the loop, but figured I’d get my kicks in next time. This was a HUGE first for us! Even the possibility of twins was huge! We were asked to kick around in the waiting room for a few minutes while the radiologist looked over the pictures to make sure they were clear enough. We were told they were fine, and we could go. We never saw the radiologist, but there was one, and they approved them. 

You’d better believe I spent that entire weekend looking up people’s experiences who had two sacs one week and two whole babies the next week. I knew it might not turn out that way, but it also might. Just the possibility excited me. 

I waited to hear from Dr. Guselle all day Friday, but didn’t. She calls me pretty much any time my name crosses her desk, so I was surprised, but was trying to be relaxed about it all. I finally heard from her on Monday afternoon. And she was not happy. She asked me when and where I had the scan done. I confirmed the details, and she said the radiologist had actually sent the pictures and info to a different clinic to write up the report, making it take an extra day, and then of course, it waited over the weekend. That seemed kind of needless but, whatever. She was calling me now. I wasn’t upset. Rather I was proud I had waited and not panicked and called earlier.

But then she continued on, saying they should’ve called her the day of the scan. The next morning at the latest. A scan with “bad results” warrants a doctors call immediately. I clarified “bad results?” I said I knew there was no heartbeat but we left under the impression that everything looked perfectly normal. And she said “There’s no heartbeat, but there’s also no fetal pole. This doesn’t look good at all.” 

The whirlwind from thinking there could be TWO BABIES to learning that everything was about to end was a HUGE swing down. WOW. I cried. She encouraged me to check my HCG again soon, and we decided to do a follow up ultrasound the next week. I didn’t want to go to that clinic again, so my doctor actually called the first clinic on my behalf and booked me an appointment herself, just so I could avoid the argument again that it might not be “medically necessary.” 

I mourned hard that week, already so convinced the baby, or babies, were gone. It was already over. I was completely devastated. Yet, I had to keep moving. I checked my HCG again and it was waaaaay up there. Doing exactly what it should. No answers. It was SO maddening. But that Thursday, I was basically promised answers. Either everything would look perfect and there would be a heartbeat, or it would be clear that it was over. Right? 

Wrong. Ugh. That would’ve been way too easy.

I got to the clinic for my second ultrasound, where I should’ve been 7 ish weeks. The sonographer was lovely, and after a LONG ultrasound that I again wasn’t allowed to watch, she finally asked if I was shown the screen at the last one. I said I hadn’t, and she hesitated a little before turning it to me. She didn’t want to give me results, and I respect that line so much, but MAN its hard not to know what’s going on. We really appreciated her letting us in on it.

She showed me the gestational sac. Only one now. She showed me the yolk sac inside of it. And then juuuuust one tiny little white spot, she called it a sesame seed. That was an embryo! We had progress!! But, not enough progress. The gestational sac and yolk sac had grown into 7 weeks, and the tiny little baby bud measured six weeks. But she told me she was already overstepping, and that was it. I thanked her profusely, and told her I wouldn’t hold her to anything. 

The radiologist came in and was kind of just as dumbfounded as the rest of us. He said everything looked pretty good for a 6 week scan, and numbers can be off this early, all that jazz. He said its odd to still not have a heartbeat at 7 weeks, but this was obviously something different. He said it looked alright, but he wasn’t confident. He said we’d need to come back in 7-10 days for another follow up scan. Gah!!!

I spoke to Dr. Guselle the next day. We were both just scratching our heads. There was hope, but still SO many questions. It was such a nice phone call, though. She called me from home, and I felt like I just got a little peek into her life. I finally got up the nerve to float a little theory by her. I wondered why my hormone levels are so high but the baby is so small and seemingly behind. I wondered if maybe, my body really had tried to have twins, and it produced high numbers, but now with only one, it doesn’t make perfect sense. She told me she truly believes that’s what happened. And somehow, as sad as it made me, it was really validating. And exciting that my body tried!! We carried on our tradition and decided I’d book another scan on Thursday. She said to make it the morning so she’s for sure get it before Friday came to a close. 

I called the same clinic and got the run around again. I dropped the name of the radiologist who asked me for a scan in a week, and she wouldn’t do it. She had to look me up and read the report herself. And then she nitpicked that he had written 7-10 days, and why didn’t I wait two days rather. I said my doctor had specified one week, in the morning. She huffed and puffed and tried to push me for an afternoon appointment, as if those three hours would make the world of a difference. I stuck to my guns, and she gave me an appointment, finally! I do not understand why that clinic is so well revered!! I guess if everything is standard and complication-free, maybe they’re great, but I have not enjoyed my experiences. 

When we finally got to that ultrasound, we knew this one would finally produce answers. There HAD to be either a heartbeat, or not. We had to know this time. 

And we did. As per usual, I wasn’t allowed to watch anything, but Brady did. He saw her measure the little embryo and saw that it measured smaller than before. No heartbeat. No change. The tech left after the scan to let me dress and to retrieve the radiologist. We were already in tears. We knew this was it. It was over. So we weren’t shocked when the radiologist came in to give us the news. 

We were shocked when he chose to use the words “Your baby is dead.” That was pretty horrid. But, it wasn’t untrue. His next comment was “You should probably get your progesterone checked.” I told him I did, actually. Multiple times. That it was normal. And that I was still taking it, to really cover my butt. In fact, I was taking a double dose. He said “Well then I don’t have an answer for you.” We hadn’t asked. It was very odd and sharp. 

I cried on my drive home. Brady had to go back to work, which was pretty much brutally unfair to him, but work doesn’t just stop when life is sad. 

I was home for about a half hour before Dr. Guselle called to see how I was and to talk about what to do next. I told her about my scan and mentioned how curt the news had been delivered. She cut me right off and said how unacceptable that is, and that she’s going to write a letter, “reminding” the techs to watch their bedside manner. I actually cut her off then and told her it had been the radiologist. She was shocked, and said “I guess I’ll have to call then!” She asked for names, and I gave them to her. She was quite upset on my behalfI. I told her she really didn’t need to call. I told her we knew that was already the news, so it wasn’t as shocking. And she said it wasn’t appropriate for us, nor for any other patients, to be spoken to that way. Literally any other way of delivering the news would’ve been just as clear and more sensitive.

Either way, we knew the situation in which we found ourselves, and she faxed a prescription for medication to get things rolling. She left the choice up to me, but in my experience in the past, babies don’t come out of me on their own. When I get pregnant, my body holds on hard. That couldn’t have been more true this time around :/

Oh man. Finding out we were pregnant was just a riot. It was a total surprise. Victorious and terrifying. Conceiving after a long stretch of trying carries more pressure, I’m sure some of you can relate to that. Because how devastating would it be to lose it after aaaaall that trying?!  Its just different.

I found out towards the end of August. It was my first light test that actually darkened the next day. 

I had bought a huge box of dip strip tests off of amazon at the beginning of this all. I never thought I’d see the bottom of that box, but sure enough, I had so few tests left. I had decided that, once they ran out, I’d just leave it. No more early testing. Only if my cycle was truly late or I was SO sure this was finally it. 

I took a test a few days early on August 24th, and got a brief glimmer of hope. But these horrible tests have given me brutal disappointment in the past. I had seem many a light line that turned out to be nothing, so I didn’t read too far into it. 

Until the next day, when I tried another test, and that line was there again. Still really faint, but a bit darker than the day before. Even if it were lighter, though. Two faulty tests in a row? That wasn’t too terribly common. Cher was planning on coming over the next day, so the moment she caught wind of the possibility of this finally being it, she snagged me a pregnancy test. A real, reliable one that I didn’t have to interpret. A simple “yes” or “no” test. 

Once the kids were set up with breakfast that Monday, I texted her and she came over. I had saved my pee in a cup (glamorous, isn’t it?) and I opted to dip one more little dip strip test, just because. Just to see. I think I would’ve used the real one after regardless, but for whatever reason, it seemed important to try the cheapie first. And sure enough, it was a noticeable, pink, defined line. Still light, but not a squinter.
Ok ok ok, I was ready. Dip the stupid test already. So I did. Dipped it, capped it, and carried it back out to where we were sitting in my bedroom. And we waited. You really shouldn’t stare at that thing while you wait for it to answer you. It takes longer than the watched pot takes to boil, I’ll tell you that much. But as you know with the pot of water, it actually does boil, even if its watched, and a pregnancy test will answer, even if you stare at it. Sometimes, it even says YES!

Cher whooped and I fell right over, instantly in tears. We hugged and celebrated and it was just so awesome <3 I could not believe it. Of all cycles to conceive on, I would not have thought this would be the one! We were SO busy and SO stressed. I was in complete shock. 

As soon as I found out, I texted Jerilee, who hightailed herself over here with treats and celebration!! I spent a chunk of time with both my girlies that morning, brainstorming, trying to figure out what comes next. How to tell Brady, mainly. You’d think after trying for such a stretch, I’d already have pinpointed how I’d tell him. But the thing with trying and not conceiving is that it gets harder and sadder the longer it doesn’t work, and thinking about/planning that stuff hurts a lot. So I hadn’t. I hadn’t made any plans surround how things would look immediately after finding out. So we spent the day trying to figure it out. And it was worth the work of brainstorming and googling and YouTube watching and the like, because I think we came up with a great idea 🙂 It was this. 

I came home very casually after an evening out and told him I snagged him a shirt while at the mall. He was pretty casual right back, and didn’t seem very interested. We had to discuss everything else before he even thought to look at the soft grey shirt in his hands. He was SO surprised! He stared and stared some more, and then hugged me really big and we just stayed that way for a while. He was so so happy. <3 

Cher blessed us the next day with a quick photo shoot where we could be corny and celebrate and be a little couply. We had to be SO careful that no prying eyes through the windows could read his shirt! 

It was SUCH a happy day, and the next day and the next day and the next day. We were on cloud nine, so elated to be expecting a baby once again!

You know how there are kind of tiers of friendship? My mom is in my closest tier, easily. One of the BEST people I know. She was on the inside track all along, that we were trying to conceive and for one reason or another, it just wasn’t lining up. She listened, and ached along with me, when we’d talk about it. She was a wealth of encouragement and love, as she is in every aspect of our relationship. Which is why I was almost more excited to tell her about the baby than I was to tell Brady! The tricky thing about telling people but not telling the kids yet is that they’re older, and smarter, and they catch onto stuff easier. And they READ! Lol! So nothing written is safe. But we couldn’t wait too long to think of a creative way because we were just too antsy! The day after we had found out, mom invited me over for a date supper at her house, and I knew I couldn’t hold out. So we loaded the kids up into the van just so Brady could come drop me off. We made up some lame excuse as to why, and he drove me over. Tucked under his hoodie was his “Father of six” shirt. Once he was out of the kids view and around the corner, he zipped his hoodie and we went to greet mom. 

And bless her heart, she just did NOT see it!! I kind of put my hand on his chest and tried to draw her attention there, but no dice. Finally I just jokingly started stroking his chest and she laughing and teasing us about needing alone time, haha! Anyway, finally she glanced down, and it took a split second for her to read it. 

I have NEVER heard my mom scream that way. She was SO excited. She shrieked, and stepped back from us, covering her mouth, eyes wide. They got all wet, and filled with tears, like in cartoons. Mom finally breathed out and the hug party began! We celebrated like maniacs in the entrance of her house for a few minutes before Brady had to zip his hoodie back up and head out with the kids. I’m SO relieved we could tell my mom when we did, because it sure added to the conversation that evening 🙂 I love my people, and I love when they’re excited with us!!

And I love when they stand behind us when things are less exciting <3 Both types of support are equally important.

I committed to sharing a bunch of the details of our recent loss this week. I admit, I feel so heavy even thinking about writing these posts, because as open of a person as I am and as much as I hope our pain and loss somehow reaches someone in a helpful way, vulnerability is hard. It just is. Its great, but its hard.

Today’s post will be going back to even before we conceived. Be prepared for me to get long winded. This whole week will likely be long winded… You guys know that about me by now. 

Here we go. 

Having Waverly brought such immense healing to our family. She was the ultimate baby in every way. She just fit. She was so content and warm, and the most popular girl in school, so to speak. Everyone loved her. She made it easy. Brady and I both felt strong in our hearts that we were to jump back into the baby-making game as soon as we were able. I had such a specific picture in my head of adoring this new member of our family, plus the current amazing members, with a big ole belly. We felt this dream confirmed when I physically healed at warp speed, and felt back to my old self in every way at about the two-week mark. (For the record, I am aware that no body is technically “healed” for years, actually! But I was seeking advice from my doctor and physiotherapist, and I got their blessings early to go again, if we felt so inclined. And we did.) 

Right around six weeks postpartum, I got a faint positive test. I was blown away!! Could it have happened already?? I was completely beside myself with excitement. I took a test the next day, and it was kind of the same. Still light. Being that I hadn’t had a cycle yet, I wasn’t confident in the dates, so I gave it time. My tests got lighter and lighter until I started bleeding. I spoke to my doctor and saw her in person. She consoled me a little and said it was likely a blighted ovum or something like that – where my body tried to conceive, but an embryo never formed. She let me feel sad about it, regardless of the fact that I had a six week old baby in my lap. She knows my heart. 

This happened countless times over the next year. I had light but visible positive tests at least six times over the last year. But I spent all year cursing my stupid cycle and how it was never regular anymore. I wrote it off every single time. How I wasn’t actually conceiving. How my body was just so stupid now. How it wasn’t even clear when I was ovulating anymore. How everything I had learned about my body in the past 30 years had changed. And how I was still in the realm of “normal” so it wasn’t worth investigating. And how, maybe, the tests just sucked. All the different kinds I tried. They ALL sucked!

I. Was. Furious. 

At one point in the year, my body just flat out quit ovulating. When I had survived four periods in the span of two months, I threw the towel in and called my doctor. I cried, and told her I knew I had already complained about my period to her recently, and I knew we couldn’t refer to a specialist until it had been a year of trying, and I didn’t even know if I wanted to do that, but this was just too much for me. She booked me in right away and listened to me fuss and cry with nothing but compassion in her eyes. She told me I had every right to be mad, and we would absolutely try and see what was happening in my body. She sent me for a batch of bloodwork to check my hormones, thyroid, and a few other things. All that resulted it was low iron, because obviously, ALL the bleeding. I was SO mad. She gave me ultrasound requisition, but of course, the next time around my period came at an actual “normal” time so I was bitter and never booked the scan. 

We rounded the year mark of trying with nothing to show for ourselves beyond an exhausted, discouraged couple and a beautiful crew of children positively itching for another baby. 

As it tends to happen, once that year mark came and went, and we felt just about completely hopeless, we got our positive test. We’ll talk more about that tomorrow. This feels like enough for today. But there’s your background to us trying to conceive. Please keep judgements to yourself. You’re welcome to them, but my heart isn’t open to hearing them at this point. Nothing but respect. 

I’m a touch housebound these days, for a few reasons, but Brady happily took the four older kids and himself to Sunday school and church this morning. I was SO fortunate to be able to spend that time with Waverly and Jerilee, who was back from a week long vacay! I’ve missed her! It was really nice to sit and chat and here all about her cruise and all she had seen and done. And I caught her up on my week, which was far less exciting or glamorous, but she happily listened and picked it apart with me. It was SO nice to catch up in person after a week of barely being able to even text.

Conversation was flowing, and we ended up keeping her until around 4:00. But at that point, she had things she needed to get organized back at home before the week began, and we had plans for the evening, so we parted ways. Hopefully we’ll see her again later this week!

We got our kids all dressed warm and out the door, and we headed to our friends house for a wiener roast. It was the last schedule day that the church had offered to bring us supper during this recent time of struggle, and instead of food coming to us, we got out of the house. And it was perfect. Almost like reacclimating to people?? But not actually. But kind of.

The kids played for hours. They ate on a blanket all in a big group. We kept Wavy nearby, but the other seven pretty much stuck together and enjoyed each other’s company. It was a shockingly smooth evening with eight kids all together. We loved it. It was so normal, but in a really nice way. It almost made me feel prepared for the week to come.

Almost. Ugh. Ultrasound tomorrow.

So strange how life just keeps on moving, seemingly unaware of what I feel prepared for, and what I don’t. But thats good. Life has to keep going. It keeps my mind busy and moving and doesn’t let me live in a mope, even though that sometimes feels easier. It never actually helps.

This coming week is full, and busy. We have a couple of band practices because (drumroll) we have a gig on Thursday! I have not done my due diligence promoting it this time around, but we’d sure love to see some of our friends there. Another night at Clearcut in Martensville, starting at 6:00. That being said, I’m in the market for a babysitting that night as well, if anyone knows anyone. Please, friends, come join us for another fun evening of singing and visiting and sipping and tasting. Have you guys seen all the delicious things Clearcut serves?? They’ve really upped their baking game.

Besides that obviously large event, this week holds a lot. I have an ultrasound on Monday, but we’ll talk more about that in a future post this week. Parent teacher interviews are this week. Brady works all week, and I’m seeing some friends here and there. With that, we have all of our usual stuff that needs doing. The laundry is currently going, and all the kids have been bathed. I could use some hygiene as well, but who knows if we’ll get there or not today. My poor teeth. My poor face. My poor hair. I’ll get there eventually. Brady is going to duck outside during nap time and do some chores, and I think he’ll bring the big kids with him.

We have been very fortunate that our church has surrounded us this week with love and a TON of food! Goodness. We won’t have to cook for like at least another full week. Tonight, instead of someone dropping food in our entrance, a family we love is coming over, cooking supper in our house, and eating with us. I love that, and I’m really looking forward to it.

It should be a good day, and a good next week. Very normal. Despite the fact that nothing is actually normal. That my body is going bananas. That we’re in survival mode, with everything under control, but bubbling pretty close to the surface. We’re being brave. Its hard.

I really appreciated the love and concern on my post yesterday about not sleeping. I’m very happy to say that I slept WAY better last night. There were factors to it.

Factor one was exhaustion. I was completely shot from the night before, so that helped.

Factor two was the hot bath I had before bed. It was juuust hot enough that I was really comfy and I didn’t overheat.

Factor three was a chat on the phone with my mom before bed. I love her.

Factor four was a change with Rowan. I haven’t gotten into a ton of details with some of the things we’re struggling with Rowan about, but yesterday evening, he didn’t get up once, which was instrumental in Brady and I being able to be comfy and truly let down. There’s a lot more to that, but just trust me when I say we were all better for it.

Factor five was likely the Nyquil I took, despite a lack of cold, but as a necessity.

I’d say those were the factors, but there was one more. Rowan appeared up in our room in the wee hours of the morning, saying something about a weird taste in his mouth. I told him to just take a drink and go back to bed, which he did. I remember him surfacing again, saying his mouth still tasted funny, or something along those lines. Brady intercepted him and brought him downstairs so I could keep sleeping. I believe he came upstairs even a third time, but again, Brady made a point to snag him before he woke me fully, because he knew how badly I needed that nights sleep.

And he was right. I slept hard all night long. I still feel pretty zombie-like today, but I imagine it’ll take another night or two of real sleep to truly catch up on that entirely lost night.

As terrible as it sounds, I’m actually a bit relieved, but Rowan woke up feeling pretty under the weather. Not that I’m happy he’s sick at all, but I’m happy he wasn’t just waking us up in the night to mess around. While we had friends over this morning (a friend and her son) Rowan lurked on the couch and was pleasant but somewhat antisocial. He didn’t even want any of the freshly baked pear loaf they brought! When our company headed home, it came time to tidy up for lunch. Rowan cried all through tidying, complied with my request to at least eat a banana, and he went directly to bed with no fight whatsoever. Poor little guy.

I had a really nice morning. I’m so fortunate that, when times are tough and I’m the downerist of downers, people still come around me and let me just be, however that looks. Today felt uplifting, even though the grief is still in full swing and the frustration is bubbling at the surface. I’m SO thankful my friends are willing to take that risk and be here when I’m so far from at my best.

Brady’s work day ran short, and he is on his way home. My house is in full nap more, and the dishwasher is even running, because I even did the dishes! Look at me still doing stuff! The show must go on, right?

Right.

Last week, I spoke to my doctor about everything surrounding our current miscarriage situation. She was nothing but supportive and caring. She reminded me that, while my baby had passed away in my body, it was still important that I not neglect myself. She reiterated that I need to keep myself healthy, even when I feel miserable. Its SO easy to just soak in my own misery, but that doesn’t help anyone. Not my family, or myself. Dr. Guselle gently offered to send a prescription for something to help me sleep. I thanked her, but said I was not above taking a gravol or something to help me feel a bit more drowsy. She okayed that, and said again, its very important that I sleep. And I agreed.

As timing tends to happen, when all of this was going down, I came down with a nasty cold. So considering there was no longer a living being inside my body, I decided to take NyQuil overnight, to help with my cold, my body pains, and inevitably, my sleep. I’ve been taking it since that day, and I’ve been sleeping pretty well, considering both the meds and the general emotional/physical exhaustion aspect.

Yesterday, I pushed myself and went to the Kids Club kick-off night. Brady and I were both feeling pretty drained, and we knew kids were definitely allowed to just be dropped off. However, Laela declined fast in the evening, and wasn’t able to go. And we knew Dekker didn’t want to go completely alone if he didn’t have to. Yesterday was also a day where Brady hit a wall. He is strong for me 100% of the time he can be, but as we all know, everyone eventually hits that wall. And yesterday evening, Brady hit it hard. So I ended up going. I was a complete mess, with lumpy hair that had been in the same ponytail for five days, in the shirt and hoodie I had worn for the last five days, with very little energy or enthusiasm. Thank goodness, Dekker was happy to have me there, and we moved slowly from game to game, and snuggled together when we were all sitting and listening. It was nice, but it was a stretch.

I came home completely wiped out. I hadn’t exerted myself, but I was just shot. Completely. Brady had run me a bath, so I soaked for a long time, and dozed off a little bit while we watched a show. We called it quits around 11:30 maybe. I was so tired, I didn’t take any medication.

And I was up. All. Night.

No word of a lie. Not a wink. First I was kind of hot, and then I just couldn’t find a comfy position. I tried to lay still and prayed for sleep. I closed my eyes and listened to the fan. I intentionally didn’t watch a clock or play on my phone or anything of the sort. My mom always told me that would make it worse, and she was right. So I dutifully lay in bed, rolling over and over, trying to get there. I held out for way longer than usual, it felt. I finally gave in and checked my phone for the time, thinking I would maybe go find a gravol or something to get at least some sleep. But it was too late. It was 4:30am.

I spent the next 2.5 hours wrapped in my own special form of anxiety. I picked fights with people in my head. I panicked about things I’m falling behind on. I went over and over some of the injustices of the last few weeks and wished I could change the past. So basically, I just stressed myself out for nothing. Even in my anxiety, I reminded myself that my anxiety is always worse when I’m overtired, which I obviously was. I knew I’d feel better after literally any sleep.

But sleep did not come. My eyes were open, staring at the ceiling, when my alarm went off. True story, today might be really interesting. But its just me and the two littlest ones until Rowan gets home from preschool. Then lunch (which was brought to us yesterday by a loving friend) and nap time, which I hope very much to partake in today.

Cold or not, you better believe I’m going to be taking some kind of gentle sleep aid tonight. Will not be doing that again.

As many of you learned yesterday, its been a pretty difficult time for our family recently. Thank you, friends, for your love and care. Your support means to much to me. It makes this all a a little bit less lonely. So thank you for that, friends. 

Unfortunately, in the midst of our sorrow and struggle and frustration, Laela’s sixth birthday crept up on us out of nowhere. Monday was the day of her birthday, and we had made no plans. None. Zero. And I felt like an utter failure. Because she has been counting down the days, and she was so excited, and speculating about what she wanted to do. None of her ideas were unreasonable, but they felt WAY too big when we were going though everything. We knew we had some time, so we let it sit on the back burner, until it was too late. That. Sucked. 

In the morning before school, I asked her what she would choose for her birthday supper. Praise the Lord for her not being wounded or questioning the fact that it was last minute. And Also, praise the Lord for a little girl who is easy to please. She asked for macaroni with wieners, and some cold veggies on the side. “And a cake,” she said. That was all she wanted, and it was so simple. 

I ended up having company during the day, which was actually a huge relief to my aching heart. I did not, however, end up making a cake. So I felt like an even bigger failure. It was my ONE job. Ugh. 

Brady left work to come home around 4:00. I asked him to grab some kind of dessert on his way home, and he was more than willing. He asked where to go, and what I wanted to get for her. I buckled and I asked Laela. Did she want cookies? Cupcakes? Ice cream cake? Regular cake? What color of icing? All the options. She thought about it seriously for a minute, before Dekker offered a suggestion. 

“Did you want the kind I had for my birthday?” he asked. “Tuxedo cake?”

YES! That was it. 

So Brady hit Costco while the kids did homework, put their stuff away, and talked about having Laela’s birthday on a school day. It was a very normal day, and I felt SO crappy about it. 

Thank goodness, our children are beautiful, gracious individuals. Laela was SO excited for her macaroni and wieners for supper, and there was not a single inquiry about where her party was. No decorations or even a gift to present her with. 

I’m SO thankful for our amazing friends across the street! I texted them SO last minute to invite them for birthday cake, and they came right over. They made the party feel like a party!!! Laela had guests, and she was SO happy. We all sang for her and ate big pieces of chocolate tuxedo cake. She blew out her candles and then whispered to me that she wished for more babies. 💔

We visited a little at the table while the kids ran wild through the house. It was very quickly the kids bedtime, and our party guests headed home. The rest of us extended the evening just a little bit, and enjoyed a dance party to some music videos of Laela’s choosing. 

There was nothing but gratefulness from our birthday girl. I was the one who felt unhappy and like the ball had been dropped. For now, it seems this will just have to do. 

Laela, I hope you feel how deeply your family and friends love you!!