I know I've not written lately - in nearly a month, in fact. I've wanted to ... I've thought about it many, many times. But I knew that in order to post something, I'd have to come face to face with my last post about Oliver, and I still wasn't prepared for that.
We've been slowly healing, but we'll always have scars that remind us of him. His death on November 1st kicked the month off in the most horrible way. The only good way of looking at it was that it could only get better. Until today.
Rewind back to the wee morning hours of Sunday, October 11th. Riley had a yucky diaper that required a very early morning bath. While Kevin was bathing her, I needed to use the restroom. I was feeling a little queasy so I thought I'd take a pregnancy test - one that I just had lying around - never imagining what I would see three minutes later. Two precious pink lines stared back at me - and I shook. I smiled. I screamed with joy inside. Being the impatient person I am, I threw all creativity out the window for how I could share the news with Kevin and instead ran straight into the bathroom and blurted out ... "So ... um ... I'm PREGNANT!!". We were elated - and shocked. What a wonderful, wonderful day.
Flash forward to November 1st when Oliver passed away. The reason we were on the way to Columbus that day - in the opposite direction of where our little guy was being treated - was for a family lunch in celebration of my mom's birthday. We felt this was the perfect opportunity to share our exciting news, as I was adament to tell them in person. I made Riley a onesie that proudly boasted "I am the Big Sister". Our joyous news was quickly overshadowed by the terrible phone call we had received about Oliver, just as we pulled into the parking lot in Columbus. We still shared our news, but it was quick and amongst tears about our first baby's fate. It was bittersweet, but it was still a blessing nonetheless.
One week later I had reason to be a little concerned, as I was having symptoms I hadn't experienced with Riley. It could be normal, but it could be cause for concern, according to my pregnancy books. Being one who would always rather err on the side of caution, I called my doctor and went in the next day for an ultrasound. It was on this day - November 9th - that we heard the glorious sound of that heartbeat - 158 bpm - and saw our little bean. "Everything is perfectly fine," said Dr. Brzozowski. If he said it, I trusted it. "And with that strong of a heartbeat at this point, your chance of miscarriage drops below 1%. We're not out of the woods yet, but your chances are very, very good. Go home and don't worry any more", he said.
So I went home and I didn't worry any more. I thanked God for the miracle that was still in me and let my mind rest. I was pregnant and all was well.
Except it wasn't. I watched the ultrasound tech take a few different pictures and watched her facial expressions. Things weren't fine - things were very, very wrong. As Dr. Brzozowski put his hand on my arm, I knew. No words were necessary. I had miscarried.
Please, December ... be a fresh start.
"I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world." -John 16:33