The Ultrasound, The Doctor and The Grave Truth

I went to work the Monday after the test was positive.  A few coworkers I was close with had known my battle with fertility, so I was ecstatic to share the news with them.  We decided to go out to lunch to celebrate.

Finally, after all this time, I was getting what I wanted... to be a mother.  I felt like God had entrusted me with a mission that far outshone any other... The most honorable of callings a woman could receive...  Like I had been given unprecedented favor despite the doctors' report that conceiving would be difficult for me, if even possible at all.  I felt fulfilled.

I ran to the restroom a few minutes before we planned to leave for lunch as I normally would have.

Blood.

It wasn't much, but still. I called my doctor and she told me not to worry and to come in the next morning for an ultrasound.

We went to lunch.  I felt a heaviness steadily settling on my heart.  Impending tragedy slowly crushing the hope I had let thrive for 3 days.

I went through my day as normal, trying not to focus my mind on the blood I had seen and what I believed it was foretelling.

I was fine.  Until that evening.  The cramping began.  The bleeding increased.  Despair began drowning me, replacing the hope and joy that filled me with sorrow.  It seeped into every corner of me until I felt nothing else but sadness.

I took a bath that evening in  a feeble attempt to relieve the cramping momentarily.  I cried.  I laid there, soaking in water and tears, speaking to my unborn baby.  I knew it was the last time I'd be with it.  I told it I was sorry, but I knew it would be better where it was going anyway.  I said, "I love you" over and over, just to make sure it knew that what was going to happen the next day wasn't because I didn't.  I felt more love for that little blob of cells in my fallopian tube than I had any other creature I had ever cared for.  It was part of me, my spirit, my soul, my body. 

I barely slept that night.  Between the physical pain and the anxiety over what I knew was happening, there was no rest to be had. 

Morning came.  I could hardly find the fortitude to stand, let alone get dressed and make myself presentable for public speculation.  I didn't care.  Nothing mattered that day.  I threw on some of the grubbiest clothes I owned, pulled my hair back and did absolutely nothing to my swollen sobbing face. 

At the doctor's office, we were received with a sullen atmosphere. The medical assistant ushered us back immediately to the ultrasound room.  The technician was gentle, endearing, sympathetic.  She was surprisingly good at concealing her reaction to what she was seeing. I suppose that is from years of practice delivering awful news to hormonally imbalanced women. After 20 minutes of internal ultrasound and finding no semblance of a fetus, combined with the agony I was feeling physically, I was on the verge of breaking down.  The technician exited the room sweetly.  She gave us no indication of what was happening.  But, I knew.  I think women, mothers, always know these things. 

A short moment passed, the door opened and my doctor came in.  She sat quietly for a moment, offering a compassionate smile, then told us the news.

"You have an ectopic pregnancy.  The fetus is stuck inside your fallopian tubes.  You need to go to the hospital immediately.  If you wait any longer your fallopian tube could rupture and you could hemorrhage to death internally.  I am so sorry."

The weeping from my already swollen eyes started before she even had the chance to say she was sorry.  Tom and I cried together.  The doctor left us alone in the room to absorb the severity of what we were just told. 

I will never forget that room and the reality that struck me, wounding my spirit and altering my life. 

Either I am going to die or my baby is going to die. 

Anxiety, PMDD & The Relentless Love of My God

This post talks about some heavy, negative emotions I deal with, so at the end I've added a video of a song that lifts all the heaviness.  Watch it.  It's worth the couple minutes it takes up.

 

I have to say that the most terrifying thing I withstand is anxiety. The source of anxiety for every person is different. For me, it's a physical imbalance. I was diagnosed 4 years ago with PMDD (premenstrual dysphoric disorder). Essentially, PMS x 1,000,000. It causes such an extreme fluctuation in my hormones that I become either petrifyingly depressed or hysterically anxious. Fortunately for me, there is medication that offers relief and keeps my hormones balanced when my body can't regulate on its own.  Some are ashamed of needing medication, but I’m not.  I believe God gave the doctors knowledge to help us.  It doesn’t mean I am not putting my trust in Him when I turn to doctors.  I’m just not stubborn, and I want to live my life to the fullest and be productive and happy… not live in sadness and fear.

 

There are times, though, that the medication just isn't sufficient.

 

A few nights ago I was feeling particularly on edge.  There was tension at work that I just couldn't seem to shake. Knowing I was already anxious, I came home, drew a hot bubble bath, turned on my favorite meditation app, and for 45 minutes did nothing but relax.  I focused on my breath, connecting each intake with the movements of my body, relaxing my jaw, putting zero effort into what my body needed.  I actively forced the tension out of myself.

 

Feeling sleepy, I nestled into my favorite robe and initiated my evening skincare routine (which usually takes about 20 minutes) when all of a sudden, I felt like a train full of hot water crashed into my chest.  A warm feeling saturated my heart and chest, I was dizzy, my hands went numb and I couldn't breathe.  I ran downstairs to find Tom and told him I was having an anxiety attack.  I burst into tears and sat on the steps sobbing for 10 minutes.

I’m going to interject here into my own story and tell you what I feel when anxiety hits me.  I stand, overwhelmed by a feeling of loneliness and fear, blackness covers me, it’s so heavy. I can feel it on my chest, pressing the life out of my lungs and crushing my heart.  I have to go somewhere, anywhere, to get away from it, but it’s everywhere. So I cry.  I don’t know why I cry, but it’s hysterical, uncontrollable.  I feel like if I say I don’t know what to do that someone will give me an answer, so I say it over and over between sobs.  I’m always afraid that it won’t pass and I’ll be hysterical/crazy forever and have to be committed.  I feel abandoned by God. 

 

Then I know it’s something I can beat, because I know that feeling of abandonment goes against everything I know to be true. 

 

I made my way to the bedroom, frantic.  I couldn't sit still, I couldn't stop crying, I kept saying "I'm so scared, I don't know what to do!"  I felt like I had cracked and I would never be fixed again.  I could see the fear and panic in Tom's eyes which made me more frenzied.  Finally, Tom suggested reading the Bible to me.  I immediately said yes and laid down with my head on his lap, still sobbing, as he began to read.  I don't know where he was reading from, although, I could find it if I looked it up.  I remember the story of the woman with the issue of blood, and the story of the old man beside the Pool of Bethesda.

Then the next thing I knew... it was morning.  Tom told me he read until I snored (which I never do, but it was most likely from crying and being swollen... just had to clarify! ;)

That day I read a devotional from Joyce Meyer... and coincidentally, it was about the old man beside the Pool of Bethesda.

"Okay, God. I'm listening."  Obviously, someone was trying to tell me something.

 

I haven't let go of my maladies.  I've been holding onto them... for absolutely no justifiable reason. I've been letting the fear of my sicknesses control me, dictate my every day, consume my spirit.

 

It's time for me to stop making excuses. It's time for me to let go.  Maybe they'll hang onto me for a little longer, but that bond will eventually fail and there will be nothing connecting these things to me.  My ailments do not define me. They are not who I am.

 

Who I am is a child of God.  Perfect. Whole. Favored.

I am incessantly grateful that my God loves me so relentlessly.  I'm a part of this deficient world, but He's offered me absolution from all the garbage that comes along with it.  All I have to do is ask... and then praise Him.  Something I do so eagerly.  What a small sacrifice to make for everything He does for me...