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Hi, my name is Katie and I am about to get super real and vulnerable with you. This is a story that is so central to our story— but it is not the sum of our story.
See, when my husband and I got married we decided that we wanted to wait a few years to start our family. Those few years came and went, and during that time through a series of events (more on that!) I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS). At the time, I had no idea what that would mean for my health but also our process of getting pregnant. Once our pre-determined timeframe had come and gone (5 years-isn’t it funny how we think we can plan these things??), we did not start right away with aggressively trying to get pregnant. Instead, we sort of just stopped trying NOT to. Over the years I took my fair share of random pregnancy tests, always getting excited when i saw a faint indent line, only to be heartbroken when my period came. If you have ever been TTC (trying to conceive), you know this cycle well. Hope, excitement, planning, despair. And on to the next month.
Fast forward to an October evening in 2016. We had just settled into our new home in the mountains, my in-laws were visiting from Indiana, the Cowboys were beating the Packers on the TV in our living room, and everything was just GOOD. I had been feeling a little off, but irregular periods are just a thing when you have PCOS. I snuck into our bedroom and on a whim took a pregnancy test. Imagine my literal shock when two very dark pink lines popped up immediately.
Shaking and crying, I called Michael on his cell phone and told him to get into the bathroom because I needed him. Thinking I needed some toilet paper, he came in and found me in my emotional mess. We called my mother-in-law in and showed her the tests. Our whole family rejoiced. The next day we drove 30 minutes to a little boutique that I love and i purchased the most perfect baby journal. We spent the weekend in a glow. Our waiting had paid off and our miracle baby had just come into our lives all on its own, in its own time.
That Monday I called our OB-GYN office and told them I had gotten some positive tests. We went in for an ultrasound and they told us it was early, but there was definitely a fetal sac. We scheduled a follow up ultrasound for the next week and went on about or way.
My parents came for a visit and I laid out a spread of baby proof on the guest bed to surprise them. More celebrating, more screaming for joy, more happiness.
On a Tuesday in late October, my husband and I drove an hour (mountain life!) to have our follow up ultrasound, with a fun date day planned for afterward. We were seeing a different doctor within our practice, and we anxiously waited in a simple exam room. He came in, introduced himself and dimmed the lights. After a few minutes of searching around with the machine, 6 little words shattered my whole world. “This is not a viable pregnancy.” Everything he said and tried to show me after those words fell on deaf ears. Surely this is a mistake. Surely its just earlier than we think. Surely my weird cycles and inability to date ovulation are throwing things off. Let’s schedule a follow up. Let’s check again. Have a different doctor look.
So we went home. We prayed. We cried. We confided in family and close friends. We told ourselves that we would see a heartbeat at that next ultrasound and everything would be okay. That was the longest week of my life. I tried to cling to hope. I journaled in the baby’s journal and spoke and sang over it.
But sitting in a very similar exam room one week later, our worst fears were confirmed. Our new (and now favorite) doctor was behind the machine this time. He was patient and understanding, explaining everything to me. The empty hole where my baby should have been developing and thriving was a perfect match for the hole I felt in my heart.
We were given the option to go home and wait for spontaneous miscarriage. But because my body was still carrying this pregnancy a week later, we were also given the option of a DNC. Ultimately, I chose to go that route. To just try and get some closure.
The morning of the DNC I begged my doctor to check “just one more time.” Being the fantastic, Godly man that he is, he obliged. Without making me look, he confirmed that the pregnancy was not going to continue. He prayed over us (side note: find you a doctor who will do that!), the nurses sedated me, and we went forward with the procedure. I hope to share more about that in another post, at another time. Then it was home to grieve and heal.
I know that was an incredibly long post, and if you are still with me, kudos to you! I share all of this with you so that you will know our story. It is the root of so much of what this blog will be. Our journey through loss, faith, anger, heartbreak, healing, and trying again. Our journey growing and raising our sweet rainbow baby. Our journey into the wild world of parenthood. It is a part of me and I hope that I can use it for some good in this world— to share what helped us in hopes that it will help some of you.
Welcome to my little corner of the internet! Its great to share with you.