STILL (a serious one)

Waiting Room

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

We waited excitedly. Nervously. My stomach flipped anxiously, uncertain of what was to come. I had yearly check-ups; I knew what to expect. Not today. Today was different.

..........

I was careful. My iPhone chimed everyday at 6:00PM, a musical reminder to take my prenatal. I'd been taking them since before we started to try. I read pregnancy books. Before bed, I filled Christopher in on just how big our baby was. A poppy seed, sesame seed, lentil . . . a prune. I felt pregnant. The signs were all there: nausea in the morning, exhausted all day, tender breasts... 

I walked. Tired as I was, exercise was healthy for me, as well as for the tiny life inside me.

I prayed, "Lord, this is Your baby. I trust You. Please bless this baby. Keep Your baby safe, strong, and healthy. Please let this be our baby in eight months... seven months... six months..." Over and over, a hundred times a day, I prayed this little prayer. 

I find myself breathing this prayer now. Still. After.

..........

While the doctor poked and prodded, I knew what to look for. By ten weeks, there should be a tiny baby in the black. I saw the darkness. I saw nothing else. I held my breath as the doctor silently moved her wand, searching. Christopher squeezed my hand excitedly. He didn't know what the screen should reveal. I closed my eyes, pleading with God.

..........

We took pictures each week, our faces lit with hope. We discussed names, giggling over silly ones, writing down names we loved. Christopher started working on the spare room again, a project he'd been putting off in the warm weather. We made announcement plans, deciding on Fathers' Day. Two days before 12 weeks was the perfect time to tell our fathers, our families.

We prayed, "Lord, this is Your baby. We trust You. Please bless this baby. Keep Your baby safe, strong, and healthy. Please let this be our baby in eight months... seven months... six months..." Every night before bed, we prayed this little prayer. 

..........

Christopher figured out what the doctor was going to say when she began speaking slowly, sadly. She said this was her least-favorite part of her job. Our baby was not where it should be at ten weeks. We should come back in two days to be sure, but our pregnancy no longer appeared viable. I was numb. Christopher's tears began to dot his collar, but I held mine in. My doctor hugged me, then left us alone.

I held my tears until we got home. Then we held each other for hours, gasping for breath, tears soaking the pillows.

We went back in two days, but it was over. I began miscarrying two weeks later.

..........

A month later, the pain is still here. Sometimes, I gasp for breath. Sometimes, I feel okay. Our baby is with my mom, my grandpa, Christopher's grandparents . . . as much as I want our baby, I know he or she is in good hands.

I pray, "Lord, I trust You. Please bless Your babies. Keep Your babies safe, strong, and healthy. Please give us our babies soon." Over and over, a hundred times a day, I pray this little prayer. 

I breathe this prayer now. Still. After.

*I wrote this because it is part of our story.

In the past few weeks, I have searched for stories to help me not feel so alone, stories to give me hope.

I've been hesitating to share this, but perhaps this story may help someone else not feel so alone. 
May we hope together.

GOODBYE, CRANBERRY

After months of pleading and convincing from Christopher, I have upgraded my vehicle. I've always hated change, so trading in my little cranberry Saturn was difficult for me. I shouldn't get so attached to things. I know, but! The memories!

Dear Cranberry Saturn,

It's been a long, beautiful ride. We've been through so much together. You were my top pick when my little white Ford Escort got too expensive to keep up back in 2003. You didn't have power locks, windows, or STEERING (seriously, I still can't believe you didn't have power steering!), but you made up for it with your smooth ride and high miles per gallon.

You transported me all over Wisconsin, the U.P., and even downstate. You were the first car I drove over the Mackinac Bridge (eek!). Each trip we made over it was easier and more carefree.

You put up with my mix CDs and audiobooks. Wait, put up? I mean, you were rewarded with my excellent music and intellectual (or not) books.

Remember when I left you with my parents while I had an interview in Arizona? I knew they'd keep you safe until I returned. You were so good, they forgot you were there. You didn't make a peep when my stepmother backed her Jeep right on top of your hood. That was your only accident and I wasn't even there for it! Good thing they had you fixed up before I got back! 

You listened to my tears of heartache. You heard my squeals of glee and saw my double fist pumps.

You were with me through (most of) college. What fun times! I drove you home to Green Bay occasionally on weekends, and through Marquette during the week.

You were with me on my very first date with Christopher!

I drove you safely to visit Christopher for nearly a year when we dated long distance. Gladstone to Eau Claire was an exciting trip, full of anticipation. Eau Claire to Gladstone was a long, quiet trip, full of wonder of when I'd see my love again.

You got me to my interview at my current (and past) school. You kept me safe for nearly four years while I drove over 50 miles a day on back roads, easily dodging black ice and deer.

Holli and I road tripped with you. Maybe one of the most memorable trips was to Country USA. You helped shade us in the 100+ degree weather. You saw our ridiculous homemade videos. You heard us practice (yes, practice) our parts in RENT musicals. Over and over. You listened to us ask my little green Bible and radio stations for advice on the night and the future.

Two years ago, my students wrote a song about me visiting Nonie. You were in the song! One of the girls said she could change the lyrics to my new car, but I told her to keep them as is. You will be forever remembered in the line, 

Over the highway and through the woods to Nonie's house she goes

Mrs. Lopac's cranberry Saturn knows the way in the white and drifting snow.

You got me to my wedding rehearsal! And wedding appointments! And my WEDDING! On time even!

You may have logged in 166,000+ miles already, but you have plenty of life left in you, old girl. Good luck with your new owner. Hopefully she'll have as good of taste in music as me.

xoxo,

Me

My new ride, ready for years of memory making.