As a child, I wanted to be many things--An astronaut, a ballerina, and an olympic track sprinter were among the highest ranked. As I got a little bit older (think middle/high school), the number one slot was always filled with being a mom. If you ask my sisters, they can attest to the fact that I wanted to have fourteen children. That was the number; that was the plan. I did realize, though, that I needed to have a career, so being a Midwife was number two on the list. I wanted to deliver babies. I loved babies.
When I went to nursing school, on track to be a Certified Nurse Midwife, I realized that I actually wanted to be a labor and delivery nurse. The midwives came in to deliver the babies, while the nurses spent time with the moms during their labors and got to take care of the newborns. So I became an L&D nurse. I loved it. I absolutely loved it.
I married Alan during my Junior year of college. I knew that he was sterile from his cancer treatment in high school. We planned to adopt. But then we were blessed with the greatest miracle I've ever known, Nate. Suddenly those doors I had closed on being pregnant and having a huge family were reopened. I loved being pregnant. I loved feeling him move, and kick, and hiccup. I loved knowing that there was a little baby growing inside of me. At 31 weeks, I was induced because of Preeclampsia and HELLP Syndrome. Nate spent five weeks in the NICU. He was healthy, but it was our first clue that pregnancy is a gamble, something completely out of your control.
When Nate was a year old, we decided that we wanted to have another baby. We prayed and got pregnant right away, another miracle. Then at eight weeks, we had an ultrasound that showed no heartbeat. I lost that baby. We got pregnant again, quickly. We saw the heartbeat at six weeks and were reassured that everything would be fine. At 12 weeks, during another ultrasound, we saw that the baby had died. I had a D&C because I couldn't bare the thought of waiting for it to happen again. Miraculously, we were blessed to get pregnant with Abbie. The pregnancy was a nightmare; I bled from 7-22 weeks, and spent 4 months on bed rest. But she was born big and healthy, and we were overjoyed.
When Abbie was about a year and a half old, we decided that we wanted to have another baby. Unfortunately, I got very sick and had to have a major surgery. When I finally recovered from that and we thought we'd try again, I got extremely depressed. When the depression ended, I lost sixty pounds to prepare myself for pregnancy. Then I ruptured a disk in my back and had surgery again. Now I arrive at today. We thought that finally our time had come. I got a positive pregnancy test, and while the apprehension was great, we knew that we might have a baby. I felt nauseated, tired. I told myself that the Lord had finally blessed us again because the time is right. And now I'm having another miscarriage. Isn't that such a terrible word? As though all that's happening is miscarrying. That's not all--It's a loss, the loss of a baby. The loss of hope and the loss of a piece of you. I thought that it might be easier this time, the third time. But it's not. My heart is still just as broken as it was the first time. The tears are still flowing like they did the second time. I don't know why things like this happen--Did I not learn my lesson after the first two? What I do know is that I will forever envy those women who get pregnant and are overjoyed knowing that they will have a baby at the end of it, those women who could want fourteen children and actually possibly have them. That will never be me.
