The trip to New York was a great break from my normal routine. A time to separate from my family, regroup, and contemplate our future. But also a time to feel useful to my parents, a time to begin healing with them too. My mother and I had a lot of history - much of it not perceived favorably in my head. It was good to be at her side, seeing her as human and fallible - a flawed, but lovable being who at all times, was just doing the best she could. My dad too, who I had placed so high on a pedestal, being with him daily gave me a fresh perspective of "humaness" too. Still my numero uno, but living with him, I could see his shortcomings, the weaknesses he carried as I was growing up, yet still look at him with love and forgiveness.
We traveled together each day on the train to the hospital downtown - a 45 minute ordeal - after spending the morning together working out at the gym. It's always interesting going back to my parents' home in my adulthood. I can feel their pride as they walk me around to their friends - my dad expressing a quieter sense of accomplishment. Always good at first impressions, I'd gladly stand in the umbrella of his admiration, cajoling his friends as we'd join in an exercise class. Then, ever quiet, we'd hop on a train to see Mom, hoping she'd not be too upset with us for arriving too late, immerse ourselves in a book for me, the newspaper for him. Later that evening, we'd rush to catch the last train home so that we could catch some reality tv show that evening while sharing a light dinner. My dad's a funny one - we always joke that he's a "metrosexual". Loves the Hallmark movies, the WE channel (for women), figure skating, and reality TV (Dancing with the Stars and Bachelor/Bachelorette being his favs). That peaceful togetherness we shared was so satisfying in its simplicity. I'll never forget that serene togetherness we shared.
Mom's surgery was uneventful and thankfully, successful. She was in the hospital for a short time which, again, was a blessing. Nights had always been difficult for her because she typically had a hard time sleeping, even while at home. Add to that a nursing staff that is barely adequate for the sleeping hours in the hospital, being alone, and a bed that's not your own and you understand her discomfort. She was always anxious for our arrival, if only for company. As a nurse, she understood the importance of activity and pushed herself to get up and move even when she didn't feel like it. Ever the co-dependent, competitive, people pleaser, she was adamant that we help her walk the hallways so that she could boast about her daily progress, despite the continued pain in recovery. Not a day would pass that she'd break down in tears of thankfulness that I took time away from my family to come and be with her; it meant the world to her.
Honestly, though, they didn't really need me too much. My mom is well liked in the community; they both have lots of friends. Especially through their "gym" - it's more of a well-care center, connected to a hospital. It provides benefits on your medical insurance, providing by computer at each machine, information about your health and then back to your file, notice of what you accomplished at the gym. Whatever Obama may be considering for health care reform, I think it'd be ideal for a system like this to be in place at all health clubs that adjust your insurance premiums (or goverment coverage) by how well you take care of yourself. But I digress....
We were stocked up to the brim with food being brought over by well meaning friends. Dad and I were invited to friends in the evenings. And as little time that we spent at home, we had little in the way of tidying the house. A quick deep clean the day before she arrived home was the hardest we worked, as we prepared for her critical eye.
As delightful of a visit as this way for me, I was shocked and anxious one late afternoon to find that I was spotting. Determined not become overly panicked, I put a call into my OB/GYN at home, leaving word through her nurse. Early in my pregnancy with Mariah I'd started to spot. I knew that it wasn't a definite sign of a problem.
Later that evening though, with still no call from my OB and the beginnings of small cramps low in my belly I became a bit more concerned. I called the OB again, leaving word this time with her answering service. I was due to head home on the plane in the morning, so I knew I could get in to see her the following day, but I was unsure if I should be traveling if this indeed was the beginning of a miscarriage. I called my husband in my slowly rising panic. The bleeding was slowly increasing. It was in times like this that I was glad to be the wife of a physician. Never one to pull the "doctor's wife" card, sadly, at times it did get you more immediate attention.
He called late that night after finally talking with her. He wasn't impressed. She acted almost as if he were disturbing her, and highly non-reactive. Several times he had to ask if she was still on the phone. Bottom line, however, she said there was nothing she could do while I was away in NY (surely we understood this), that if this were a miscarriage, that it was supposed to be happening. (our medical backgrounds both understood this already as well) We wanted to know if it was a quick process? Should I get on the plane in the morning? No way to tell, she said. Could happen quickly or over the next several days. Or I could just be bleeding. It happens. Basically, she was little help.
I lay in bed that night with the cramping increasing in equal amounts with my anxiety. I was determined to get on that plane, and prayed that I'd make it home to Jim. My biggest fear was being trapped in the plane's bathroom as I passed a dead fetus into the plane's commode system. Yet every part of my being screamed out to get home to the comfort of my husband's arms.
As much as I'd dreaded the thought of having this baby, in this moment I was petrified that we were going to lose it. Never in my dreams did I think about that possibility. I figured at the very worst, He'd give me a disabled child because of my background; never ever could I have fathomed the baby not making it to delivery.
I prayed through the cramps, hoping for the best, but anticipating the worst each time I used the restroom. Something inside me knew this was over. I don't even remember the plane ride home.
I met Jim at his hospital emergency room, already feeling dead inside. But I held on to hope.
They rushed me into an ultrasound room, using a more sensitive wand inside me to see its contents. The technician said little, excusing herself to ask the doctor to come in and talk with us. She didn't need to, though. I could read it in her retreating silence and Jim's damp eyes.
Endless minutes later, the doctor entered and pulled up the screen before us. There she pointed out a small, yet empty looking sac. Like a sad little cocoon. But missing its tiny butterfly within. It seemed such a short time ago that I looked at that same screen with trepidation at a miniscule beating blip of a heart. We stared now at its dead emptiness.
The knowing within became incredulous in its final reality. I couldn't believe it was ending like this. All the preparation. The incredible mountains of faith I'd climbed to get me to where I was, the sureness of the Holy Spirit telling me to move forward with the birth of this child.
Why? Why? I just couldn't wrap my understanding around it. I was so sure that I was being led by something Divine. Why take it away?
Jim was openly upset as we left the hospital; me, just numb. Speechless. Feeling empty. And still cramping, getting worse.
I pushed to have a D&C performed, scheduling it for the next morning. The doctor said it wasn't necessary, however, a miscarriage could go on for days. And the pain associated with it could be alarming.
I woke from anesthesia the next morning in tears that lasted throughout the day. I don't remember feeling devastated; just numb and empty. And confused. How could this God I so fully handed over my life, more fully than I'd ever done before, take this child from us? Yes, down deep, I could feel a sense of relief that we didn't actually have to go through with everything, but really? I hand my life to you, Lord, I listen, I follow Your lead....and you take it away? Really? What was I missing? Why did you make me go through all of this just to take it away?
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