Saturday, January 31, 2015

Life is what happens when you are busy making other plans. In other words, our super crappy month.

I had been meaning to write this nice post about our delightful Christmas and New Year's festivities. But since Kathryn already beat me to the punch and I don't feel like writing a post that someone already wrote, you can read all about that here.

If you're looking for a nice pick-me-up, stop right here, and go look on someone else's blog, because while I usually try to be positive, today is just not one of those days. If you are uncomfortable with people getting too personal, then I invite you to pack you bags and leave this blog, because that's what is going to happen right now, and quite frankly I really don't care what anyone else thinks right now.

So, let me tell you about good ol' January of 2015.

Let me start off by saying 2014 had quite a few bumps for my family. I was really excited for 2015 to arrive so we could have this fresh new start, and everything would be great and we could just move on.

2015 had other ideas.

So, a couple of weeks ago, my boobies started hurting. Like not normal hurting. I thought, "Gee whiz, this probably means my lady's days are coming up soon." The lady's days never came. I got suspicious. When Brent was at work, Caleb and I took a little walk down the street to the classy Family Dollar, couldn't find what I was looking for, then went across the street to the gas station. Bingo. We went back home, and when Caleb went down for his nap I sauntered over to the loo.

+ -

All I could think was, "Oh....man." Pregnant. I could absolutely not believe it. We were not trying to get pregnant. And yet here was this little white stick telling me I was. I tried to think of a cute way to tell Brent, who would have absolutely no idea what was going to hit him. I settled on an "Application to Promotion to Big Brother" signed by Caleb. It was really cute, I filmed Brent reading it, and he was about as shocked as I thought he would be. We were surprised, but excited. It meant putting off a certain boob surgery I'd been hoping to get, but well, there wasn't anything to do about that any more. I took a test at the health center a few days later to be double sure, and yep, I was undeniably pregnant.

Fast forward. Brent had just texted me that he was on his way home from school. He bikes to and from school, which takes about 15-20 minutes. Several minutes rolled by. Then too many minutes rolled by. So I thought I better check my phone, which had ended up on the floor courtesy of Caleb. I had received the following text:

"I got hit by a car, so I'll be a little late... I'm absolutely fine, just a bit shaken up"

Oh my gosh. He didn't even call. Just a text! I comforted myself in knowing that he was fine enough to send the text instead of a cop calling me, but I had no idea how he actually was and he wasn't answering my texts as fast as I thought he should. Eventually he texted asking if I could pick him up (OF COURSE), and I went and got him. Luckily, Brent was right. He was fine. But had he not been wearing his helmet, or had the driver been going faster, he probably would not have been. I am quite convinced that Heavenly Father is keeping Brent protected, as he has a lot of missions to fulfill on Earth still. Brent's bike was not as lucky, but the other guy's insurance should be taking care of it.

Anyway, what happened was, there was a long line of cars stopped at a light for more than a block. A car made a gap in the line so a car on the other side could make a left-hand turn into a little street. Unfortunately, Brent was crossing that little street right at that moment and the driver couldn't see him behind the line of cars. By the time Brent saw the car there was nothing he could do without risking more injury, and he ended up on the hood of the car, and then landed on his head on the pavement. Miraculously, Brent walked away with only some scraped knuckles.

It was quite the night, and I pampered Brent the rest of the weekend. We are just so grateful it wasn't any worse.

Fast forward again about a week later. Bike is still in the shop, Brent is at school, and I'm home alone with Caleb. I was busy trying to get a meal together for a lady I visit teach who was about to have a baby. I went to the bathroom, and discovered something that made me catch my breath: a small amount of blood. I stared at it in as much shock as I had at that pregnancy test. No, I thought. This can't be. There has to be a reason for this. And so I tried to ignore it. But by the end of the day, Brent convinced me to go to the Health Center.

Brent met up with me so he could watch Caleb, who was thankfully a little angel the whole time. We met with the most socially awkward doctor (which must be a requirement to work at the SHC), and over the next few days I was poked, prodded, invaded, ultrasounded, and had to talk to irritating people I didn't know from Adam about things my own friends and family didn't even know about. And all we kept hearing was "inconclusive," "inconclusive," "inconclusive." Gradually our hope that it was nothing was slowly extinguished, and on Wednesday evening before Brent came home, I got a message on my voicemail confirming our worst fears. While Caleb ate a snack, I sat at the table with my head in my hands and sobbed.

Miscarriage.

There would be no baby coming to us. Not yet at least. There would be no exciting ways to tell the people we love, there would be no little sibling for Caleb to play with. No little newborn to coo over and cuddle. Even though the timing would have been perfect and it would have had so many cousins close to its age. Just like that, we were pregnant, and then just like that it was gone. And every time I go to the bathroom I get to be reminded. One more thing that didn't work out, added to the long list I'd accumulated over the last year. And I can't move on yet, because my body has to keep reminding me, even as I try to go run errands like a normal person. The whole thing, in a word, sucks. There are moments where all I want to do is curl up in my bed and be allowed to hurt for awhile, but I can't because there is a little boy who needs me to be present.

Don't get me wrong, I am grateful for a lot of things. I am grateful for the baby I do have. I am grateful we weren't further along when it happened. I am grateful I have this incredible husband who understands my needs and doesn't care if I don't cook dinner for a few days and takes care of Caleb when he gets home, even though it was his loss too. I'm grateful that we can try again later when we feel ready. I am grateful for family who has been incredibly supportive and concerned for us.

But it still sucks.

We are moving on the best we can, and we have already had moments of great peace and comfort. I believe, as some loved ones have told me, that the home for this spirit wasn't going to be a good home, and that little spirit will come in a better home later. Sometimes I wonder if the little spirit was anxious to get here, but then got nervous and changed its mind and is waiting to come when it feels more prepared. I'll never know in this life probably, and that's okay. We are going to the temple today, which should be good medicine.

But anyway. Dear February, please be a little kinder to us. We could use the break.