That morning

It's been a full year. I've survived. Part of me didn't. It was a part of me. I loved it. It didn't have a name. It didn't have an idea of what the world is like. It didn't have a gender. It had a purpose. It had somewhere to call home. It had a home to come to. It had a family to meet. But it never got that far in its plans. Something was wrong. Something out of my control. I was deeply saddened that that part of me didn't want to join me. Couldn't join me. Couldn't come home. Couldn't meet its family. Couldn't fulfill its goals, dreams, aspirations, or purpose. But I loved it. I still do. I can't forget it. I won't let myself forget it. A bittersweet memory, but all for the best.

On November 3, 2007, I woke up to what no one should ever have to go through. But come to find out that it happens nearly 25% of the time. I was pregnant when I went to sleep the night before. My little growing beanpole stopped growing. Something was wrong. It didn't like the world. Or it didn't like the environment I was providing for it. Or it just knew it wouldn't survive. I woke up not pregnant. I had a miscarriage. It was horrifying. I tried to act strong and in control of myself. I faired pretty well with going to the doctor's clinic, then being told to go the hospital because they thought it may have been ectopic, which could have posed further problems for me if things weren't checked out. I could have bled to death if not taken care of properly if it was truly ectopic. I looked ok but was checked in for an overnight stay for safety precautions.

It was devastating. I was so deeply saddened and taken back by what happened. I was a healthy, young woman. What did I do wrong? Nothing. Just something wasn't right. It took me a few weeks to really admit the fact that I can't act as strong as I do without being that strong. But I can't put up a stone wall to every horrible thing that comes my way. So about two weeks after the event, I came to terms with myself that it was truly out of my control. All I could do was keep staying healthy and taking care of myself. Wait for the next round when my body would be able to support another being. Give my body some time to recover. I was so in love with the little beanpole, I was torn between its loss of life and trying again.

Here's a note of how weirdly in tune I am with my family, even though they live in Florida. That same morning, a few states away, my step-dad woke up and asked my mom if she had ever had a miscarriage because he had a dream about one happening. They weren't too terribly surprised to get a call from me later that day saying I was in the hospital for overnight surveillance because I had a miscarriage. They were sad and felt horrible for my loss, but they kind of had a weird heads-up moment. Unfortunately, I didn't get to see them until around Christmas. I could have really used my mom's support then especially, but a phone call will do. I saw them a few weeks later and it was nice.

Then a month later, on December 9th, I found out that I was pregnant again. I was ecstatic. I was scared. I didn't want to go through another horrible morning like a month before. But this one stuck it out, no stops, guns slinging. And now, writing this a year after that morning, I have my sweet little Sadie to laugh with, hold, snuggle, get barfed on by, get peed on by, nap with, and love. I will never forget my first beanpole, nor how it made me grow as a person inside.