Drew.

Oct 15th is National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awarness Day.

I didn't really even know such a day existed.

Of course when I found out, I blogged out a very moving peice of my memory that was really hard to get through and found myself breaking down in the middle of it...but at least I got it out.
That is, until the autosave failed and all was lost.

I'm determined, however, to try and blog it out again - hopefully remembering the tidbids of information that I did yesterday.

So here goes:

As I said, I didn't know such a day existed. It honors families who've lost children in the womb or after birth...and I think because of that - it's important that I share about my second pregnancy. Details of this pregnancy have already slipped from my mind over the past 2 years, and I'd hate for it to slide away completely before I got a chance to "log" it away.

After Cale turned one, Tim and I started discussing when we might be ready to have another baby. The decision didn't take long, and I was shocked to find out that after only one month of "trying" we got pregnant. I honestly didn't believe the double pink line initially, but couldn't contain my excitement. I think I took a test every day for 2 weeks, making sure nothing changed! We told our parents and close friends and started mentally preparing for baby #2.

Initially I wouldn't say I thought anything was wrong, but as time slowly progressed, I got that terrible sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that there might be. Our first ultrasound showed that the baby was measuring 1 week behind. I can remember my doctor telling me they were moving my due date from February 27th to March 9th.

I recall being very upset by this. First of all, who wants to be pregnant longer than they initally thought? And I didn't want to have to wait even 10 more days to see our baby! But mainly, I had my heart set on a February birth. Sounds a little silly, maybe, but I dont know many others with February birthdays and that seemed special.

We did, however, get to see that beautiful, tiny miracle flicker-of-a-heartbeat, and it moved me to tears. I shrugged off the week and a half extra gestation. It'll be fine.

Not shortly after that, one Sunday morning, I found myself choking back tears while our Pastor spoke on pregnancy, infant, or child loss. Pamphlets were handed out with words one could say to someone who was grieving the loss of a child. That was hard to read.

As I always say, I like to pretend the world is full of marshmallows and nothing bad ever happens...so I tried to apply this message as how I could reach out to mothers who were hurting - but a tiny little tug on my heart was telling me that I would experience this kind of loss.

Telling someone close to you of your fears is a hard thing. The reactions usually fall along the lines of:

1. Someone who doesn't want to indulge your fears by playing into your scarred "fantasy" - they dismiss the topic and your concern. "You're being silly."

2. Someone who is so realistic that they take your fear as fact...and will describe to you in detail how they actually experienced the thing you are worried about (and how horrible it was)- generally playing against the emotions involved.

3. Someone who listens, hopes, prays, but speaks honestly about a realistic possiblity.

I spoke with versions of all three people.

At the end of July, Tim, Cale and I flew to Bethany Beach, Delaware to watch Cale experience the beach for the first time.

While there I started spotting.

Panicked, I called the doctor and I was told to take it easy, but that it is common in early pregnancy to have light bleeding. "Keep an eye out, and call us if anything changes."

On July 31st, my 24th birthday, my cousins and I drove down to the Rehobeth Beach boardwalk to do some shopping and get ice cream.

Not long after we got there and started walking around, I started feeling bad. Really bad. My head was swirling; I was hot inside and out, and I was sick to my stomach.

I felt guilty for ruining the day, but pleaded with the others to go home. After getting back to the beach house, I fell asleep for 3 hours. We flew home August 2nd, and I was feeling better.

The same day we got back I went to the hospital to visit a friend who had just given birth to her first son.

After I got home; it started.

I ran to the bathroom crying, then yelled for Tim.

After calling my doctor and explaining what I was seeing and experiencing, she matter-of-factly told me that "it sounds like you are having a miscarriage." This doctor isn't a cold person, but it felt hopeless to know that she could make that call - just by hearing what I was saying and not even seeing me.

We called our Pastor and explained what was happening. They agreed to watch Cale while we went to the ER. I had been crying so much I wore I hat that I pulled WAY over my eyes so I wouldn't have to look at anyone in the face...but Joni still spoke with me, prayed with me and hugged me. She knew what was happening....just like I did.

I can't remember the wait, but I remember what they asked me when we were checking in at the ER. What seems to be the problem (or something of that nature)?

The words stuck in my throat. Who wants to admit the shame, fear and nature of miscarriage?

We didn't spend much time in the larger waiting room that I can remember. I feel as though we were taken to a smaller waiting room where I was instructed to drink tons and tons of water in preparation for an ultrasound.

After my bladder was about to burst they finally called my name and I was wheeled into an elevator that took us up to the ultrasound room. It didn't take more than a minute for me to see the thing that I would have to wait another hour to have confirmed.

The baby had no heartbeat.

"There's your baby." she said to me.

But there's no heartbeat, I stated and accused.

Obviously she was not allowed to give me any sort of confirmation on that, and that was upsetting to me. I understood it legally, but still...I was in agony and she wasn't even acknowledging it!

Back in our smaller waiting room the movie Ratatoullie played from beginning to end. I mainly stared at the door waiting for the doc to come in.

When he did, it was easy to tell on his face he saw what I saw.

He was very sympathetic and said that his wife had had 4 miscarriages without explanation...but like I had seen....our baby had no heartbeat. The explanation for a miscarriage is basically non-existent sometimes and that was really upsetting for me to hear.

I think most women would be prone to blaming themselves...at least for a little while. I know I certainly did....

Head still swirling, the doc spoke with me about my options: I could have a D&C or wait and pass the baby naturally. Both seemed wrong, but I definitely didn't want to see anything, so I opted for the D&C.

I assumed I would be wheeled back in surgery that night, but doc said that because it was so late (around 10pm), they would have to get an anestheologist on call and a surgeon who performs those procedures. He suggested I waited until Monday morning.

Not that I had much of a choice, we agreed.

It was Saturday night and Monday seemed like a long way away.

Could I pass the baby in the meantime? I asked.

He said it was possible. But I hoped it wouldn't happen.

It did.

Ironically this particular Sunday at church was the day Tim was going to announce we were expecting again. ((With your husband being a pastor, you get extra recognition.))

Instead however, our senior pastor announced I had a miscarriage.

Thankfully, I was at home.

After Tim came home and Cale woke up from his nap we decided to go grocery shopping at Aldi. Being prepared for the inevitable 'passing' was harder than I thought...especially at a store.

*This may seem a bit graffic, so stop now if you'd like.*

The bleeding started in one of the aisles. I could tell what was happening, but it was no slow start. I tried to run, but I felt if I moved to quickly, I'd need a change of clothes.

Using my "just-in-case" feminine products only lasted for a few minutes and they were quickly rendered useless as soon they were put into place.

Thank goodness for Cale's diapers...

The doctor instructed us to call if the bleeding was severe...and it was.

At home I couldn't get out of the bathroom...I couldn't control it, but I insisted on taking a shower because there was a good chance I was gonna have to stay overnight at the hospital and I hadn't gotten a shower yet that day. Tim kept yelling "your doctor said they have the OR waiting for you and to leave RIGHT NOW!"

He waited anyway...

Not to be grosse, but the bathroom was like a crime scene. I had never (or ever want to again) experience that kind of blood loss.

Our Pastor's wife showed up with a pillow and blanket in hand: prepared for an overnight stay (with Cale)...and I was gently walked to the car.

Arriving at the hospital this time was different than the day before. The doctor had already called in and let the staff know that I was to have an emergency D&C. I was immediately taken to the back rooms and an IV was started. With so much blood loss and that dang girl who couldn't get the IV in my vein, caused me to pass out.

I woke up in the recovery room.

Things had gone "smoothly." I was told that I was free-to-go when I felt enough strength to dress and eat a little something.

Walking out was harder than I thought...not just physically because I was weak, but because I had walked in with a baby in my belly, and I was walking out as a non-pregnant person with a slightly bloated belly.

And that was it. It was over.

Those two days happened so quickly it was extremely hard to process everything. Throughout the next few days and weeks I got sympathy cards and encouraging words...and I can tell you this - SO many women have suffered loss like this. It's not until you experience it yourself that you know, because people don't talk about it. One in four pregnancies ends in miscarriage. It's true.

Healing took time and I thank God so much that he gave me peace.
Ever read Phillipians 4:7? "The peace of God that transcends all understanding will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus." I understood that verse much better after my experience with Drew.

During the healing process I was encouraged to name our baby. Sure, we talked about names, but didn't have one picked out with it being so early...but I knew a name we both liked. At 10 weeks we had no way of knowing the gender of the baby, so I chose a name that could go either way.

Maybe it seems weird I didn't really include Tim in this, but he was moved and in total agreement after I called him one morning and told him I named our baby Drew.

It's been 2 years and 2 1/2 months since it happened.

When I think of this child, it still saddens me, but I KNOW I have an awesome treasure waiting for me in heaven.

So, in honor of him/her, one of the twins will have Drew as a middle name.