Day 25 - A Hard Time

Day 25

Life often introduces us to very hard circumstances. Being the Pollyanna that I am, I try not to dwell overly long In the midst of the difficulties.  Many women I know have suffered similar pains. Those who have not cannot truly understand all the nuances in this particular journey. I have come to understand that many more have traveled this road than I might have once imagined.

I had my first miscarriage very early in our marriage. Mr. L was still in law school. It was not great timing to bring a baby into our family, yet, I was pretty excited. I figured it would all work out. At six weeks, I experienced a miscarriage. It was 1976, the year of the Bicentennial. I remember the celebrations around the country. We attended a fireworks display in Louisville. I love fireworks. My enjoyment of them was greatly overshadowed by our loss. It did not matter that this pregnancy was not planned; it was now lost.

It did not take long for doctors to realize that there was a problem. I went through countless tests, months of disappointment, fertility drugs, daily temperature checks; all the things suggested in order to grow our family. And, after several months, I discovered that I was pregnant again. It never crossed my mind that painful loss could happen again. At 12 weeks, the doctor said I had passed the dangerous stage and that I could feel comfortable telling everyone we were expecting. Ten days later, I was in Vanderbilt's ER hemorrhaging. Another baby was lost. Physically, I was so battered. Emotionally, I felt destroyed.

Having babies was a dream of mine from the time I played dolls with Nancy in the front yard. Women's bodies were made to grow babies. There were so many unplanned and unwanted babies being born, or worse, intentionally not being born. Why could my body not perform correctly? I have never been one to think life is fair or that I deserve something more, but I surely cried out, "why" on numerous occasions. After recovering from my second miscarriage, our lives were blessed with two high risk pregnancies involving weekly and bi-weekly visits to the doctor for shots with all our efforts greatly rewarded by a beautiful boy, followed two years later by a beautiful baby girl.

I always wanted four children. If I could have placed an order, I would have asked for two girls and two boys; any birth order would have been fine. I wanted more children. So, we decided to try for a third child. Many of our friends were having their third, and that would get me 3/4 of the way to my goal. Using Clomid, I was pregnant rather quickly. I was so excited. Mr. L was pleased. Our children were thrilled that we were going to have a baby in the house. How marvelous it was.

At 16 weeks, I began to suspect that something was not quite right. I called the doctor, who had me come in. That day, I had my first and only ultrasound. My doctor came in, held my hands, and with tears in his eyes told me that the baby was dead and, it seemed, had been for several days. He gave me my options. I had a D&C that evening. I remember how utterly empty I felt when I awakened from the anesthesia. I wept and wept. For weeks, I remained in a cloud of blueness.

As happens with time, the pain is a dim shadow. I know that I am extraordinarily fortunate to have the two wonderful "children" that I have. Now that they are married, I finally have my two girls and two boys. But, those years of hope and joy and loss and failure and anger were, to date, the most difficult time in my life. This all happened for me nearly forty years ago. I am no longer sad. I do not dwell on it. Recent posts on FB have reminded me, however, that I am part of a sisterhood; a sisterhood of women who will always have, tucked away in their hearts, a wondering of what those lost babies might have been.

Day 25 - A Hard Time - check