Footprints On My Heart

Sigh…here it goes. I’ve been dreading this post for a few weeks now. Posting this now isn’t my attempt at trying to get this over with, but it’s me trying to heal as the days pass and I continue to both remember and be reminded.

As I sit here typing this post, I can’t stop thinking about the fact that I should be sitting here pregnant. Right now, I should be about 9 weeks and 6 days pregnant with my first baby. Tomorrow would have been 10 days. Although I’ve been able to reintegrate into life after loss, I can’t help but feel like every day that passes is a reminder of how far I would have been.

On August 11, 2013, I had a thought. I said to myself, “Self, I think you are pregnant. Take a test.” So Myself said, “Ok,” and took a pregnancy test. After taking the test, I looked at it in the way that many women look at them…in every possible lighting and angle there is to look at it. I thought I saw a line but I wasn’t completely sure so I asked Jay and he said he thinks he saw one but he isn’t sure either. So after a few days passed, I took a First Response test at about 8 a.m. while we were away on vacation. I hadn’t even gotten a chance to put the test down before I saw the brightest positive on the side of Tennessee. My mouth dropped, my heart fluttered, and I was hungry. Cravings, blissful soreness, nausea, and sleep overcame me over the next few days. Those were some of the best days I’ve had. I remember throwing up and feeling a sense of joy overcome me for the reason of my regurgitation.

Shortly after we returned from our vacation, things started going south. I was bleeding, some of my symptoms began to disappear, and I was very afraid. Every day that passed felt like time itself tripled in length. I communicated with doctors who couldn’t tell me very much because it was so early on in my pregnancy. I had my HCG tested every other day and it seemed to be doing a tormenting dance, going up and then dropping. When I tried to make peace with a miscarriage, it went up again. The doctor concluded that my pregnancy is ectopic and they were worried because those can be very dangerous.

On September 5th at 1:30 p.m., I showed up at the doctors office distressed, tired, and defeated. I was 30 minutes late because I couldn’t make myself get off of the couch knowing that I was going to terminate my pregnancy. For 45 minutes, they tried to inject me and for 45 minutes, I cried.

I didn’t want that moment to be my last memory of my pregnancy so I purchased a little chest to place everything from that pocket of time (as Kara would say) to remind myself of God’s blessing of my pregnancy, that it really happened, and so I will never forget. Today, I still cry. I cry because I am sad. I am frustrated and heart broken. I cry when I think about how my little silver chest holds all of the hopes and dreams that my husband and I had for this life, for us as a family, and the future of what would have been our baby.

Though my heart is broken, I will continue to move forward because it is the only choice I have.