Jonny & Megan: July 2020

This is going to be a long, meandering, slightly traumatic post, so be warned. I wanted to get my thoughts written down while my memories are still pretty clear and without much of the editing I usually put my posts through. I'm sacrificing good writing for the sake of a more faithful record.

It started on a Saturday afternoon. We were meeting the Knoxes for some kayaking up at Rocks State Park and stopped at their house to help them finish loading up. As we were finishing, I noticed a pretty awful cramp in my side. I figured it was maybe from the contortions I had to do while latching in Luke's car seat. But as we started driving the pain lingered. It felt more like the pain I got occasionally in the middle of the month. Ovulation pain, to the best of my 'looked-it-up-on-Google' medical knowledge. But the timing was all wrong. I'd had a (granted, odd) period just over a week earlier. But bodies are weird things and maybe things were just earlier than normal.

Thanks to some INSANE flooding, it took us awhile to find a spot to play. We settled on Eden Mill although we opted not to kayak in the muddy, high water. But the kids had a great time in the sand and mud, even without kayaks:

(Check out all the trees on the dam thanks to the flood!)

The pain was bad enough that I had to walk very slowly. I told Melissa what was going on and how weird it all was. My best guess was that there was probably a cyst. No big deal, just a little painful for now.

By that evening during our D&D night the pain had gone. There was still a little ache from where it had hurt all day, but the cramping was over. The cyst had burst, or ovulation ended, or whatever. I had no problems sleeping that night.

The next morning I got up early with Elijah so Jon could sleep in. We headed down to the couch to play quietly until everyone else woke up. When I sat down I noticed that the pain was back. Odd. After some googling I started thinking this was something more. Maybe a really big cyst causing issues with an ovary. Or possibly my appendix (the pain was on the right, low down).

I got in touch with my OBGYN's office. The midwife asked questions, then said she'd have one of the doctors call me back. I was waiting for the phone call when Seth woke up and came downstairs. Suddenly I felt...something. Pain, and flowing. I jumped up, told Seth to watch Stinky, then gimped up the stairs as quickly as I could to wake up Jon.

"I think I need to go to the hospital." Definitely not the ideal way to be woken up. He followed me to the shower where we saw quite a bit of dark brown blood. I texted Melissa to warn her that we might need some help with the kids.

When the doctor finally called, I was surprised by how unconcerned she sounded (although she always has been my least favorite doctor). I thought the blood meant something scary was happening. Apparently not. She told me to take some pain medication and see what that did. If the pain didn't stop or became unbearable, go to the ER.

I took the medicine and sat in the tub, googling some more. A cyst, for sure. Probably burst and had blood in it. But the pain was still awful. I started worrying about ovarian torsion. Finally, I told Jon I needed to go in. Whatever it was, it hurt and I wanted it to stop.

Melissa and Craig were there instantly. Craig and Jon gave me a blessing that everything would be okay. That no permanent damage would be done. Then Jon helped me to the car.

On the drive I told Jon what my googling had told me. Almost definitely a cyst. Possibly with ovarian torsion, which would explain the pain. Less likely: burst appendix. Even less likely: ectopic pregnancy. But since I'd just had my period a week ago, that was highly unlikely. I just prayed that they would find SOMETHING. The worst thing would be to have no explanation.

After some confusion as to where exactly the ER entrance was (lucky us for never having been there in 12 years!), Jon walked me to the front door where a nurse met us with a wheelchair. I was doubled over and walking painfully slowly. And then, thanks to COVID-19, Jon had to leave. It was harder than I expected to let him walk away, but I was glad he would be with the kids.

Hanging out in the ER, waiting to be admitted

Despite my irrational fear that the ER would reject me for not being sick enough, I was admitted and wheeled into a room. After a round of questioning, an ultrasound tech appeared at my side almost immediately, scanning all over my abdomen. Her screen was facing away from me and she said nothing about what she saw, just kept apologizing for the pain she thought she might be causing.

She was there for a LONG time. Over an hour, I think. Long enough for us to chat about everything from coronavirus to homeschooling (side note: the COVID-19 test is awful. Fiery nostrils of burning fire). Lots of other people were in and out as well: giving me fluids, drawing blood, taking blood pressure/temperature. But it wasn't at all hectic. Just a lot of people doing their jobs.

All snuggled up with warm blankets because I was shivering.

Not from cold--shock, I guess? I do it after I have babies, too.

Eventually the ER doctor came in. The ultrasound tech showed her something on the screen.

"That's a viable ectopic."

Honestly, my first reaction was relief. Relief that there was a REASON for all this: the pain, the blood, the phone calls and rush to the ER.

Next came joyful surprise. I was pregnant? Really?? We NEVER get pregnant this quickly!

And then...and then. I've miscarried many times before, but not like this. Not when I could see tiny legs. Not when there was a tiny heart beating right in front of my eyes.

A bit of background:

When Elijah was born, a big part of me was ready to be done with babies. Most of my friends finished having babies years ago. Now their babies were heading off to school. They could do things like go on family hikes or bike rides: activities that are just SO complicated with babies and toddlers. I was ready to start heading that direction.

But when it came time to actually start giving away the baby clothes and other newborn items, I just couldn't do it. I remember getting teary talking to a friend at church who'd had a baby the same time as I had Elijah, but who was ready for this to be her last. I told her that every time I think about being done, I kept visualizing this little girl up in heaven saying, "Not yet, Mommy!" But was this some kind of vision? Or, more likely, just post-pregnancy hormones? Hard to say. But I kept the baby stuff.

And then I set about pestering Jon. "Do you think there's another baby?" "Are we done having kids?" "How much longer should be keep trying to have kids? I'm getting close to 'advanced maternal age.'" Basically I just wanted him to say, "Yes. I have had a clear impression that we need to have another baby at this specific time" or "I received a revelation that our family is complete." But that's not how it works, so I got things like, "What do you think?" "It's up to you. Do you want another baby?" "Whatever you think is best."

That started to get irritating after a while (for both of us). Finally, one night he said, "Do you feel like anyone is missing?"

And there it was. My answer. What he didn't know was how often I had felt that way and for how long. There were many times right after Elijah was born that I found myself confused, wondering where the baby girl clothes were. Or holding Elijah and momentarily thinking of a baby girl. Or having everyone in the family room for prayer and still getting that 'not everyone is here' vibe. This was especially strange since we had VERY much wanted Elijah to be a boy and were excited when we found out his gender (Elise was all the girl we could handle at the moment). So it wasn't a case of unfulfilled longing. I didn't really know WHAT it was until Jon made that comment. But there it was: someone was missing.

Now I got to pester Jon about timing. Normally we have a nice 2.5 year gap between our kids (or more when things don't go according to plan). But I was almost 34 when Elijah was born. And Seth was almost 11 and heading into 6th grade. I didn't want to deal with the additional risks of being an older mom if I didn't have to. Nor did I want to do the "newborn with a kid in seminary" thing, even though I admire mothers who do it. So we upped our timeline by a LOT. When Elijah turned one and stopped nursing, we decided we would immediately try for another baby. If after a year we'd had no luck (Elise took 7 months to decide to show up), then that was that.

We assumed it would take some time. It always had in the past. I also assumed I'd have some early miscarriages (usually 6-7 weeks). I almost always have in the past. So to find out that I'd actually gotten pregnant basically immediately and that I hadn't miscarried was almost unbelievable.

But the proof was right there on the screen. And I knew what it meant. There's not really a choice with ectopic pregnancies. You end it, or you and your baby both die. My choices were even more limited since baby was so big and my tube had already ruptured (they found blood in my abdomen). I would be having surgery that day and almost definitely would lose a tube.

With all this whiplash of information, I didn't really process everything. They told me what would happen and I nodded and I understood. It made sense and there's really no other choice. I'd never had serious surgery before, so that was kind of an interesting thing to think about. Lots of surface level thoughts.

But during a brief period when I was alone and resting, one of the ER nurses came to see me. When she had come in earlier we recognized each other. She had been in our homeschool co-op and had been one of Elise's preschool teachers. I didn't know her well, but it was a comfort to have a familiar face. She brought me a printout of the ultrasound. I hadn't even thought to ask for one. "This is all I have of some of my babies as well," she told me. "It was comforting to have at least a picture since I couldn't have anything else."

That was when the reality started to sink in. I was pregnant. I had a tiny baby with a visible heartbeat growing inside of me. But in a few hours, I wouldn't. There was no choice, but it somehow still felt like I was making the wrong one. How do you choose to stop a tiny heart? To end a life you wanted so much?

"I want you to know that the baby's heartbeat is not what it should be. It's only about 50 bpm. Normally at this stage it should be close to 150 bpm. I thought I would tell you since I know that we're both religious and that this is a hard thing. The baby would not survive either way."

That's when I finally felt the first tears. I will forever be grateful for Tracy. She didn't have to do that for me. She wasn't even my assigned nurse. But that picture and information brought me so much peace. I felt very clearly that Heavenly Father had put her in the ER that day just for me. She was absolutely my angel.

I got another blessing in the form of my OBGYN. I normally see the midwives because I don't care much for most of the doctors at the practice. There was one exception, though: Dr. Bellantoni. He was the one I had prayed would be on call when I went into labor with Seth. Unfortunately Seth just took too long to be born, so I only got to have Dr. Bellantoni for half my labor. But I loved him. He always pointedly took the time to make sure I felt comfortable and that my questions were all answered. When I found out that he would be handling my surgery, I felt completely at peace.

I was surprised that he recognized me after almost 12 years, but he did. He apologized that this happened to me. Apparently it's extremely rare for someone with no risk factors and with several successful pregnancies to have an ectopic. Lucky me.

He said that until they actually got in there and saw what was happening, he couldn't guarantee anything. But based off the ultrasound and where my pain was, he was pretty sure they would need to remove my entire right tube. Since he knew we were hoping for another baby, he would do whatever he could to keep things intact, but that was the most likely outcome. He apologized again, then said he would see me later for surgery.

Because I was stable and somehow not in much pain anymore (still not sure why--positioning, maybe?), they didn't rush me into surgery. My blood pressure was dropping, but slowly. They all commented on how strange it was. Normally with a ruptured ectopic it's a "rush into emergency surgery before she bleeds out" situation. I'm still not sure why that wasn't the case with me, but I'm grateful. Considering I walked in with an undiagnosed ruptured ectopic pregnancy, I'm still shocked by how completely calm and peaceful the process was. And even though I was there alone the entire time, I never felt anxious or isolated. Another blessing.

Eventually someone came to wheel me up to the OR. Then there was another round of waiting while they finished up another surgery (apparently an appendectomy). Thank heaven for cell phones and ebooks or I would have been going insane from boredom by this point. But still better than the alternative of crazy, bleeding out and almost dying rushed surgery...

Laying on my hospital bed, waiting to go into surgery.

I don't remember much from the surgery besides being lifted onto the table. Whatever they gave me to knock me out was quick-working and quite effective. The next thing I knew I was waking up and extremely groggy and disoriented. Keeping my eyes open was very, very hard to do.

Once I was mostly lucid, they gave me a rundown on medication and caring for the surgical location. Thankfully they were able to do a laparoscopy which meant only three small incisions in my abdomen. And it meant I got to go home almost immediately! It was such a relief to hear Jon's voice on the other end when the nurse called to tell him I was ready to go home.

I don't remember much about leaving or coming home. Just that I was glad to be there. Physically the recovery wasn't too bad. The worst part was the horrid sore throat from being intubated. Did not see that one coming. I also wasn't supposed to carry anything heavier than 10-20 lbs., which was complicated since Elijah wants to be held as often as possible. Thankfully Jon was able to take off a little time from work, plus he was already working from home. He'd leave the door open and I'd let him know if I needed him to come grab Elijah. Seth & Catherine were also great helps with carrying him around for me. Although by the end of the week Catherine did inform me that she was tired of me "being lazy Mommy." Ha!

Emotionally it's been harder. The first few days especially. I'd be fine, then suddenly a wave of sadness would come in from nowhere and I'd be crying. I don't know how much of it was hormones, but it still felt painfully real.

Mostly, I'm okay. I know with certainty that God put people in the hospital that day specifically for me. And I've had my family and wonderful friends who have reached out to make sure I'm okay.

But the loss is there, heavy in the background. And sometimes it nudges its way to the front and I'm overwhelmed. I mourn for the little one we never got to hold. I mourn for a terrible choice that wasn't a choice at all. And I mourn for the future. What has never been an easy process for us has just gotten so much harder. Potentially impossibly hard. Lost a baby. Lost a tube. Lost my ability to have a future pregnancy that isn't automatically high risk. Possibly lost my chance to even HAVE another pregnancy.

Some of the other feelings are more confusing. I feel guilty for mourning our loss when I have five healthy children at home. So many women with ectopic pregnancies struggle with infertility. My heart breaks for them, but it still breaks for my loss as well.

I also feel guilty because I didn't even know I was pregnant. Absolutely no idea at all. I had what seemed like a normal period at the beginning of May, plus another weird one that was probably the beginning of the rupture on my birthday. So I wasn't attached to this baby. I hadn't calculated due dates or wondered how big baby was this week. In a way I'm grateful because it would have just made it even harder.

I also feel like somehow this loss doesn't really 'count'. Eight weeks isn't very far along. It's nothing compared to my sister's angel baby. Nothing compared to friends who lost their babies at almost full term. Do I have the right to mourn for something that's only barely recognizable as a baby? Barely over 1/2 inch long and not even one ounce? Was this baby even really a person yet? I don't know. But I'm mourning it as if it were.

I've also had internal battles about who to share this with. I told my closest friends and our family pretty quickly. But with COVID-19 keeping church and other activities from happening, I was able to keep quiet in a way that wouldn't have normally been possible. Bishop knew and asked if he could share with the ward council, but I just couldn't do it. We didn't need help with meals or kids. I do believe very much in the power of prayer, so maybe it was stupid not to accept his offer. But right now it's too raw. I'm not ready to have everyone asking for details or offering sympathy. Maybe eventually, but not now.

I am grateful for the few people who knew and reached out to check up on me. I'm starting to feel like the old adage "misery loves company", but I have been so blessed by other women who have lost babies and were willing to reach out to me. Hearing from a friend who had been through an ectopic pregnancy before was SO comforting. I had so many questions that she was able to answer. I also texted Kenna WAY too many times with questions about everything from stitches to depression. I felt (still feel, honestly) horrible about all the questioning while she's still mourning her own loss, but she always responded, no matter how ridiculous the questions started to get. Her advice to make sure I got outside and was exercising helped me get out of a bad week of feeling tired and totally empty inside. Every phone call or message asking how I was doing helped more than I expected they would. I think just having other people acknowledge the loss and the grief made it seem more like a real thing that did actually matter.

But what has really surprised me is how peaceful I feel. From the moment the doctor announced an ectopic there's been this whisper in my heart that it will all work out. I don't really know what that means right now. Does that mean we'll still get the chance to have one more little one? Does that mean that this baby was the missing piece and now our family is complete? Was this the little sister Carla Jackson that Elise has been talking about nonstop since Elijah was born? (I really hate that name, but she insists that she is going to have a baby sister named Carla Jackson and has not budged on the name even once). I don't have any answers, but I'm trusting in that peace. There's so much relief in being able to let go. To "give it to God" as my friends say. We've done everything we can do: it's in His hands now.

Heart attack from the YW.

I don't know how they knew or even IF they knew, but it made me cry.

Seth and his clone

Another tender mercy has been having Elijah around to snuggle. When we decided to start trying for another baby when he was still a baby, we both felt a little crazy. Could we handle potentially TWO babies? But the loss has been easier to bear because he IS still a baby. I still have someone to carry around on my hip. Someone to smother with loves and squeezes. I have little toes to kiss and little lips to kiss and a tiny button nose to kiss. I'm so grateful for the crazy timing that let this all work out.

And so, exactly one week later we were back at Eden Mill with the Knoxes. Back at the same spot with the same friends, but I felt like a different person. Like I'd lived an entire lifetime in that week. But it was exactly what I needed. The weather was GORGEOUS and the company was my favorite. I did have to miss out on the kayaking thanks to my new abdominal incisions, but just sitting on the sandbar talking to my friends and watching our children was all I needed.

Seth & Gabe performing the ancient Agni-Kayak duel.

Stinky enjoying a kayak ride with Jon:

As we were loading up to head home, I was sitting on the little dock waiting for everyone else to make the kayak ride back. The sun was warm, the water was cool, and the air smelled like honeysuckle. We joked about how appropriately named this place was: it really did feel like Eden that day.

Watching our giant crew of various kids, adults and kayaks come floating down the creek like a small armada made me laugh. I wish I had gotten a picture. But in that same moment I felt such complete peace and happiness. Yes, I am still sad. Yes, I still wonder if we will be able to have another baby. But I know that whatever the future is going to hold, it will be okay.

The lines of an old hymn that I just recently became familiar with have been whispering in the back of my mind for months. I came across them again during an Etsy search and felt a powerful nudge: "This is important!" And then, from nowhere, Jon used them as part of our FHE lesson this week. I got the message. And truly, despite it all, it IS well with my soul.

When peace like a river, attendeth my way,

When sorrows like sea billows roll

Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say

It is well, it is well, with my soul.

***Update***

Not sure if it was hormones ebbing or if the process of writing this was a super effective therapy, but ever since I got this all written down I've felt much more level-headed. Still a little sad, especially as each week passes and I think, "Baby would have been 13 weeks today." But I can talk about it without crying. And I honestly feel like it will be okay, whatever ends up happening. Not sure if this is just another stage of grief, but I'm grateful for the peace.

Jonny & Megan

Thursday, July 23, 2020

The Mold Book

The Disaster

Tuesday, July 21, 2020

Elijah Updates

June Fun

Saturday, July 11, 2020

It Is Well

The Beginning

Our Story

The Old Stuff