My Baby

We thought about naming her Janice Angustia, after our mothers. We thought about Ruthie Jean, after my sisters. We thought about Lucy Lee, Amity Grace, Esther Grace, Lisa Marie. I was sure that it was a girl, but Pedro, I know, really wanted a boy. He wanted to give it a bible name that was easy to pronounce in both of our native tongues: Noah, David, Matthew, Daniel. We never got to know for sure, though, if it was a boy or a girl; we never got to choose a name. 

It was really hard. After thousands of dollars of futile fertility treatments and being told that there was nothing else they could do to help and they didn't know why I wasn't getting pregnant, we'd given up. But then a miracle happened, and I got pregnant. I'd had suspected miscarriages before, but I'd never had a positive pregnancy test. This time I did, and I was so sure that God had grown weary of my pleadings and finally granted me my deepest desires. Thanksgiving morning I was so happy, I don't think I'd ever been happier in my life. I was so excited during the next couple of weeks when I had morning sickness and weird cravings (canned green beans and cream of mushroom soup). I ordered myself a shirt to wear at Christmas time to announce that I was expecting. I downloaded three different pregnancy tracking apps and calculated my progress and my due date. I researched what foods to eat and not eat. I bought prenatal vitamins. I took my six weeks pregnant mirror selfie. I followed Instagram pages dedicated to being fat and pregnant. I made a list of questions and concerns for my doctor.

I made an appointment with my OB/GYN right away. I knew that because of my age and weight this was going to be a high-risk pregnancy. The first appointment went OK except that my HCG levels weren't as high as my doctor thought they should be, and they couldn't see the embryo in the ultrasound. She said it was probably my weight, or a  timing miscalculation, and come back in a week. So I went back the next week and my HCG levels had only barely gone up. She did another ultrasound, and still couldn't see the embryo. She told me not to worry, and come back in 3 days. So I went back in three days, they took more blood, did another ultrasound and told me that the pregnancy probably wasn't viable, since the HCG levels had stopped rising - apparently they should double every week. I knew that couldn't be right. This was my miracle. This is what I had been praying for and hoping for since I was a small child. God would fix this, I would have this baby in spite of the odds. I'd see a specialist and find out that it was just a fluke in the blood tests, or that my hormones were just weird.

The next morning, December 12, my doctor called me and said that the radiology specialist had looked at my ultrasound pictures and could see that the embryo was in my fallopian tube, not the uterus where it belonged. I felt like I'd been punched in the chest, I could hardly breathe. How could this be happening? There is no way to have a baby if the embryo is in the tube. Only a few weeks after I found out I was pregnant, I was told that the pregnancy would have to be terminated because the embryo wasn't viable and my life was now in danger. I went to the emergency room to have the medication administered. A cancer treatment that kills fast growing cells. Even though the embryo had probably stopped growing on its own, we had to make sure that it wouldn't burst the fallopian tube. The medication was administered via two shots, one in each buttock. I had to stay there for a few hours to make sure I didn't have a bad reaction. Because of Covid restrictions, I had to be there alone. I cried a lot. I prayed even more. 

I didn't really process the loss, though. I'd felt peace and comfort in that emergency room. I felt that this pregnancy was a sign that my body knew how to get pregnant and I felt certain that the next time it would grow in the right place and I'd be blessed with a little soul to raise. We were told to wait three months before trying again. So we waited. 

In the mean time, I started having really bad panic attacks. I thought I was having heart attacks, my chest hurt so badly and my heart was beating so quickly. After the third one, in February, the ER doctors referred me to a cardiologist. I had to wear a heart monitor for two weeks and have a stress test. As it turned out my heart was fine, at least physically. I started seeing a therapist to get my anxiety in check. I started exercising to make sure that my heart would continue to be OK. I was getting my mind and my body back on track to try getting pregnant again. Now that I knew my body could do it, it was just a matter of time.

I was just starting to feel like things were getting back to normal - or as normal as they could be during a pandemic - when I had what I thought was another panic attack at school. It was really bad, worse than the previous ones. My chest hurt, my heart was racing, and I felt like I couldn't breathe. The principal at my school ended up calling an ambulance. All my vital signs were good - the EKG was normal, my blood pressure was normal, even my pulse was in the normal range, but I couldn't calm the panic, so I was transported by ambulance to the hospital where they could run more tests. The tests that were run found that I had blood clots in my lungs; pulmonary emboli or PE. I was admitted to the hospital for three days and put on blood thinners. The ER doctor gave me a list of things I can't do while on blood thinners: donate blood, high-impact sports, get a tattoo, take aspirin, eat too much vitamin K, and get pregnant. 

If we could figure out what caused the PE, then I would probably take blood thinners for about a year and then use an aspirin regimen to make sure I didn't have a recurrence. But we couldn't figure out why I got blood clots. I didn't have blood clots in my legs (most common reason), I wasn't a smoker, I didn't take estrogen or birth control pills (mostly made with estrogen), I hadn't been on a long trip, no apparent reason. I've seen so many specialists - OB/GYN for geriatric pregnancies, OB/GYN for obese pregnancies, cardiologist, pulmonologist, GI specialist, endocrinologist, phlebologist (vein specialist). Nobody knows why I got blood clots. The consensus is that I'll likely have to take blood thinners for the rest of my life to prevent future clots. All the doctors agree that it would be dangerous and irresponsible for me to get pregnant again. This door is closed. 

I still had some hope for a while, there are some other types of blood thinners that are used successfully during pregnancy, and have no ill effects on the baby. Just as I was wrapping my head around that, and coming to terms with the idea that I'd have to see a doctor twice a week during pregnancy, something else happened that put an end to my hope. Because of the blood thinners, I had some really bad bleeding with my period. I ended up in the ER because I losing too much blood too fast. Now I have to take a progesterone based pill to keep that in check. It's essentially a birth control pill. As long as I'm still on blood thinners and still having periods, I will have to take this medication so that I don't bleed to death. 

I haven't felt joy or hope in a long time. I'm angry and bitter, but mostly I'm just sad. I cry when I walk past the baby clothes and toys in the stores. I cry when I see my friends posting their baby bump and sonogram pictures. I cry all the time. My life seems so pointless now. I can't seem to get a handle on what comes next, or what I'm supposed to do. I know life isn't fair. I know I have more blessings than half the people on this planet. All I can think about, though, is the one thing that I've always wanted and can't have. 

Today was supposed to be my due date. Today was the day that I was supposed to be bringing a baby into this world. Today was the day that I was finally going to be a mother. But instead of being pregnant for the last eight months, I've been dealing with health problems. Instead of being a pillar of hope and example of trust in God, I've been having a crisis of faith. 

It's been eight months, and I've been handling my emotions the best way I know how, but this last week has been particularly difficult for me as today's due date approached and I was reminded afresh of all that this loss implies: I don't get to choose a name. I don't have to worry about maternity leave at school. I don't need to clean out a room for my husband's things downstairs so that we can turn his office space into a nursery. I don't have to buy baby clothes, or diapers, or learn about breastfeeding. I don't have to find day care, or save for college, or change my insurance. I don't get to hold a little life in my arms and know that for a short time she's mine. 

I'm not OK. I will be, eventually, but right now I'm broken, and I know that no matter how much time passes, this loss will always hurt. I'll handle it better and, hopefully sooner than later, I'll find peace and joy and purpose again. 

Music helps. I haven't had the mental capacity to make my own music, so I've been listening a lot. These songs speak to me every time, and remind me that it's OK to be broken and that I'm not alone.

Truth Be Told by Matthew West

Hold On To Me by Lauren Daigle

 

A New Hope

Anyone who's read this blog (like 5 people) knows that I've been really struggling of late. I've had two life-threatening medical conditions (ectopic pregnancy and pulmonary embolisms) in the last few months, more than anyone's fair share of anxiety, and a near life-long struggle with depression and CPTSD. I've allowed my situation to affect my faith, and it's been really hard to feel any hope or way forward. 

A few weeks ago, I decided that I needed to heal my relationship with my Father in Heaven. I found a little challenge online to help prepare my mind and heart to hear the word of the Lord during General Conference. I watched Conference with a notebook - instead of games on my phone as usual - and I was rewarded greatly for my efforts. Don't get me wrong, my life is still really hard, I still feel very sad and quite sick all the time, and I'm still on the struggle bus with my faith, but I really felt the Spirit and the perfect love of God fill my heart. 

Since General Conference, I've renewed my efforts about daily scripture study. I started doing the weekly lessons in the Come Follow Me book put out by the church. I decided that I would just start with the calendar given, and move forward. I'm also using a book not put out by the church called "Don't Miss This in the Doctrine and Covenants." The authors of this book take one verse or principal from each section of the D&C and carefully delineate it so that it gives the reader something to focus on to improve faith and understanding. Each day I read something either in the scriptures directly, something from this book, or something from the manual. 

This week the schedule has me reading Doctrine and Covenants sections 37-40. This morning, I was reading in the manual and I misread a passage. Misreading is fairly common with me, and it usually doesn't affect things too much, but today it gave me a whole new outlook, and a new hope in my Savior. The manual states: "...Think about the commandments the Lord has given you and the faith needed to follow them." I somehow skipped the words "and the" and read "...the Lord has given you the faith needed..." 

As I thought about that, two things happened almost simultaneously in my mind. First, I recognized that the Lord has, indeed, given me faith. Every experience that He has helped me through has given me faith. The family he placed me in has given me faith. The way He answers, or doesn't answer, my prayers, has built my faith in ways that I can't even understand. 

The second thing that happened in my mind was I heard the hymn "There is Sunshine in My Soul Today." "What a funny coincidence," I thought to myself, "it's a cloudy day, and I wish it were sunny." Suddenly I realized the message the Lord was giving me: There is always sunshine to be found in my soul. My life isn't always going to be pleasant and lovely, but I can still have light in my soul. Trials and sorrows will throng my path, but I can still have hope in my Savior. When I put my trust in Him to lead me through this world, He gives me the faith I need to keep putting one foot in front of the other even though I can't see the way forward. 

Now, I realize that the hymns, like any poetry, are full of figurative language, and this message is likely obvious to most people. I even admit that I've probably thought of this meaning before. Today, though, that's the message I needed, that I have the tools to see the sunshine through the storms. 

So long

It's been over a year since I've blogged here. I've only written in my journal a few times since then as well. A lot of things have happened on the world stage, as well as my own personal theatre. 

The earth's population is living through a global pandemic. I've read about these from the past - the Black Plague, the Spanish Flu - I never in a million years would have guessed that I'd be living through one. Covid-19, it's called, The Coronavirus, Sars-CoV-2... It blows my mind that it's so political, and how opinionated people are about things that shouldn't even be up for debate. Wearing masks saves lives, but people don't want to wear them because they think it's just another way for the government to control us. Vaccines work, but people don't want to get them because they think that they don't work, or that the government is using them to implant tracking devices - hello, we have those on our phones! 

The world, but particularly the United States, is engaged in racial battles. It's been building for a long time, but black people are not only not treated equally, still, they are targeted and hurt. In addition, because the pandemic originated in China, there have been all kinds of hate crimes against Asians, too. And, unfortunately, anti-Semitism is alive and well. There is civil, racial, and religious tension in many places in the world, Myanmar is actually dealing with a civil war that is much worse than even the Rwandan conflict from 30 years ago. I don't even pretend to understand any of what's happening, I just know that people are getting hurt and it makes me more sad than I know what to do with. 

Then there's my own personal stuff. I'm still dealing with the long and lasting effects of CPTSD, anxiety, depression, and, recently officially diagnosed, ADHD. I'm still trying to wrap my head around everything. Even now, as I'm typing this up, I can't seem to understand anything, or see a clear path, or even a clear step onto a path, forward. So, I'll do what I usually do, and tell my story. I'll tell the things that have happened to me. Getting it all out of my head will help me see patterns and goodness (I hope), and maybe someday it will help someone else. 

First, and I don't want to spend too much time on this because everyone has their own pandemic stories, teaching right now is a complete nightmare. It's exhausting and the students are not handling it well. I'm teaching the naughtiest class I've had in my entire teaching career, and I truly believe it's because my students don't see a future. They don't have plans or hopes because they don't think there's a reason to, so they just want to feel comfortable and happy right now. That means that if there's an assignment they don't like, or struggle with, then they just don't do it. It also means they don't care about the consequences. I only mention this, because I know that teaching has exacerbated everything else that I'm going through. So let me tell you what I've been going through. 

For me, everything was just floating along, I was mostly safe from Covid - staying isolated and being diligent about mask wearing and sanitizing everything. My husband and I even took a trip to Moab last summer, and it was marvelous. I was doing my best to stay on top of school, and take breaks. We'd stopped going to church because of the pandemic. And, for the first time in my life, I stopped praying. I was angry and disappointed, and I thought I needed a break. After General Conference last October (2020), though, I realized that this was not helping me, and I needed to mend my relationship with God. I started reading the Book of Mormon, almost every night I'd listen to a few chapters, and praying every day. 

Then, in November, I was sure that things were going to be different. I started feeling really queasy and had some other symptoms, and timing wise it worked out. So, Thanksgiving morning I took a pregnancy test and it was positive! I was so excited! I was certain that this was God's plan. I just knew that having a baby would help to restore my husband's faith and we'd be able to get sealed in the temple and have a family. I was sure that we were having a girl. Pedro wasn't excited. He was sure that something would be wrong with the baby. He did not get his hopes up. I called the doctor, and insisted that I been seen right away because of my age and weight making me high-risk. Even though they don't usually see patients until twelve weeks, they got me in that week. 

My first appointment did not go as planned. The embryo wasn't visible on the ultrasound, and it should have been. My HCG levels were not as high as they should have been. The doctor told me that I probably miscalculated, and maybe I was only 4 weeks, instead of 6. We scheduled another ultrasound and another HCG test for the next week. Things were still not where they should be, so we scheduled tests again. On Saturday, December 12, my doctor called with the news that the pregnancy was not viable, and I would probably start bleeding soon. A few hours later, she called again with the news that the radiologist report said that there was a very good chance that the pregnancy was ectopic, and I needed to go to the emergency room to be treated. My doctor, the radiologist, and the attending physician at the hospital said that I was very fortunate that I went in when I did, because if I'd waited until week twelve, I could have died from a ruptured ectopic. 

To make matters worse, as if anything could be worse than that, five days later I had what's called a decidual cast. It's where the lining of the uterus hardens and then exits the body in very big chunks. It was painful, disgusting, and very scary. I ended up in the hospital again, because I didn't know what was happening, and I thought I was having a heart attack. They told me it was a panic attack. In spite of the scare, I found hope. I'd been told that I couldn't get pregnant at all, and I had. That meant that my body could do it again. There was a light, the door was open just enough to see a light!

Christmas came, my sister got Covid, and we thought she had exposed us, too. We got tested, and it was negative. She was very sick for about a month. 

In the meantime, I was still having morning sickness, and other symptoms of pregnancy. I couldn't eat very much, and certain foods made me very nauseated. I did my best to celebrate New Year's and Pedro's birthday, and put the tragedy of miscarriage behind me. But I was still devastated, and I was still feeling very sick. When I finally stopped bleeding, I was still having belly pain, so I went to the doctor and they told me that I probably had developed diverticulitis. They gave me some antibiotics. When the antibiotics were done, I still felt sick and had belly pain, so they gave me more antibiotics that made me very nauseated. Then we did a CT scan, and turns out I didn't have diverticulitis. 

January passed in a blur, I was just feeling sick and weak and tired all the time. Valentine's Day came and I had another panic attack. I made Pedro take me to the emergency room because I was certain that it was a heart attack. It wasn't a heart attack. Three days later, I went to the emergency room again. They said that because I'd been three times (counting the December one) that I should probably follow up with a cardiologist. So, I did. We scheduled a stress test and I had to wear a heart monitor for two weeks. Turns out there was still nothing wrong with my heart. 

Then it happened at school. I was teaching class, and I felt that I couldn't breathe, my chest hurt so badly. I went to the office and they called 911. I was taken to the hospital by ambulance. Turns out that I had blood clots in my lungs. All this time I thought that something was wrong with me, and I kept being told that I was fine, but I actually had a life-threatening condition. After several more doctor visits, trips to the ER and even a follow up with the cardiologist, I've been told that nobody is sure where the blood clots came from and I will likely need to take blood thinners for the rest of my life. 

Blood thinners for the rest of my life means that if I have a fall or get hit in the head, I need to go to the emergency room right away. It means that I can't take certain medications or eat certain foods. And, this is the one that kills me, I can't get pregnant. Just like that, the door has slammed shut, the light is gone, and there is no more hope. Pedro doesn't understand how I can be so sad about this because he'd already given up the hope. But now, every time I see a mother with her child (or children) I cry. I can't help it, this loss is so great, and people don't see it because I'm grieving over losing something that I never had to begin with. It hurts so badly and I... well, I just hurt. 

I'm super scared all the time, too. In the past three months I've had two life-threatening conditions that could have killed me if I hadn't insisted on being seen. So now, every time something hurts, or I feel just a little bit off, I panic. I've been to the emergency room seven times this year, and by this year I mean since January 1st, and today's only March 29th. Even as I'm typing this, I'm super concerned because my legs have been swollen today, and I don't know if that's something that I need to be worried about. I feel mostly OK, but what if it's a sign that I have more blood clots? What if it's a sign that my heart isn't working right? What if it's a sign that my circulation is failing? 

It's really hard to find faith when you're so filled with fear. I've been trying to pray. I've been trying to listen to my Father in Heaven. I've been trying to trust that there is a plan and things will work out. But I don't want to die. I don't want to leave things unfinished. I feel this sense of urgency to get things done, but I'm still sick, and have not energy to do things - clean my basement, pay off bills, finish the book I started writing 3 years ago... I'm tired, sick, sad, and scared, and I don't know how to find anything else right now.