Grief is real. Joy is profound. Loss is felt deeply. Though I must admit, I never thought that I would feel all of those things at once, over and over again, until the last 9 months of my life.
On the Thursday before Christmas, I found out that I was pregnant. It was a complete surprise as I only took the test because I needed to start the next round of fertility. When I looked at the line, my heart stopped for a minute. I just held it and slid down the wall in tears. After trying for 4 years, we were pregnant. I had every intention of telling Nick in some cute way, but that all went out the window with my shock. As he came in the door from taking Hazel to school, I yelled for him. To hear him tell it, he was either in major trouble or someone had died. I showed him the test, and just fell apart.
The next several days were a blur, as the month of December usually is, but it was more so this year. I was exhausted. I should have known why, but I guess I never thought it was possible, so it didn’t even cross my mind. What I do remember though, is the joy that I felt. As I sat and listened to the story of Christmas Eve (several times, cause yeah, I am a pastor. LOL), I found myself feeling just a little bit of the joy that Mary felt. By this time next year, I will have a 4-month-old and get to be a mom, something my heart has longed for so long. That day, I learned that I couldn't move as quickly as I usually do, and learned to slow my walking so that I could breathe. Apparently growing a baby takes literally everything you got.
A few days after Christmas, I began to experience “morning sickness,” I put that in air quotes because it really took place between 10am-2pm and after dinner. So, it felt like much of the day. I was so nauseous, and I have never felt the intense exhaustion that came from being pregnant. After a couple of weeks, I had my first ultrasound.
We had about two weeks to enjoy the news that we were having twins. Two weeks. And then the first hit happened. I had my next ultrasound; we lost one of the twins. The other was still doing well, and there was hope that the pregnancy would continue like normal. It happened over and over for so many; why not me?
It is a strange place to be to grieve the loss of a baby that you have
found out about two weeks prior, and to still have another baby that seems to be thriving. So, I sat in this place of tension, grief and joy. I don’t think I ever felt it so strongly before, but there I was. I would have my moments of struggle and sadness, but they were often accompanied with moments of joy. I can remember one day sitting at my desk and just closing my door for most of the day to work so that I could cry and work at the same time. It was hard, but there was still light.
My doctor made the decision to send me to a Maternal Fetal Specialist intending to make sure that we were doing all we could to care for me and this baby. The appointment was set for a week or so later.
Then the second hit happened. The baby had a cystic hygroma on the back of its neck. While a cystic hygroma doesn’t necessarily mean bad things, for some babies, it can go away before birth and be a completely healthy baby. The questions became, is it accompanied by other anomalies or genetic or chromosomal issues? That day, our doctor told us that the typical blood test would not work because of the twin that we had lost, and that a good choice would be a CVS (Chorionic Villus Sampling) along with a detailed ultrasound. Something that the doctor said, and that my research backed up, is that there was a 50% chance of there being no chromosomal or genetic issues, and while the risks scared me, I wanted to know what we were facing.
Throughout all of this, I had every intention of telling the church at 12 weeks. I was so excited and terrified to tell the church, but then when I had two really bad ultrasounds and bad news, I began to think maybe it wasn't a good idea, but I thought I would know by the following week what I was facing and would make the decision after that as the initial thought was that the appointment could take place the following week. However, the appointment ended up being the first week of March, which meant that we had 3½ weeks to sit in all the possibilities. And I had to make a decision as to whether I would wait until 15 weeks to tell the church, knowing that my emotions had been heightened and people had started asking questions.
I decided that I think the church would want to support us either way. So, after I went to an ultrasound at my OB/GYN and other than the hygroma, everything looked good, including the heartbeat, I decided to begin to tell the church, though several closest to me already knew and had kept me going when I felt my worst.
For the first time in this pregnancy, I felt pretty good. Quite a bit of the nausea had subsided with some lingering at dinner. But I was able to enjoy being pregnant. I first told the ladies who had been on a retreat with me. They were full of joy and excitement for me. I shared with many of them that this pregnancy could go either way, but that I have decided to sit in hope despite my fear. Next, I began to share it at the church, knowing that I could receive bad news the following week. It was a joy to experience the support and love offered by so many. Frankly, it's overwhelming how loving and caring our congregation really is.
Monday and Tuesday, I found myself getting more and more anxious leading up to that March appointment on Wednesday. That said, I had work to distract me. So I worked.
Wednesday morning, I woke up, not really having slept much, and feeling a deep sense of dread. Deep down, I knew that something was wrong, but I just didn’t know what. We got to the doctor’s office a little bit before our appointment; they called us back. They took my vitals (oddly enough, through this whole pregnancy, the anxiety, and the ups and downs, my blood pressure had stayed the same, sometimes even low). Then they showed us to the room. The ultrasound began. She was scanning for every part of the baby's body. When she got to the heart, she said that it was at 143. I asked if that was good, and she said it was. It caused a bit of alarm within me because it had been in the 170s at the appointments prior. She continues her search. Of course, the baby wasn't cooperative, takes after his dad, I think ;)
It felt like it took forever, and the longer it took, the more concerned I got. Then the doctor came in, while the ultrasound was still happening (not a good sign). He said, I see a few things that are concerning. First, I think there could be a heart defect, the abdominal wall is not where it should be at this point, and there was an issue with the growth of the nasal bone. He said, I am concerned that this could be trisomy 13 or 18.
While I was prepared for the worst, I wasn't. My heart completely sank. All the hope that I had seemed to vanish at that moment. I had prayed over and over that this baby would be healthy and that all of this would just be a nightmare that I would wake up from. But I realized in that moment that the nightmare wasn't just going to continue but was going to get worse. I decided to move forward with the CVS, probably one of the most uncomfortable things I have experienced, but they were so kind and gracious throughout it. We finished, we had some more conversation, asked some questions, and honestly, were well taken care of by the staff. We were told we should hear preliminary results within 72 hours, and that they could also send it off for more extensive testing to see if this would happen if Nick and I were to get pregnant again.
We left. I had never felt more defeated and heartbroken. Typically, the worst-case scenario doesn't happen, but here, it did. I began to think about how we didn't need to take apart our library for the baby's room, I began to recognize that we weren't going to need to have a baby shower, and I began to realize that we weren't ever going to physically be a family of 5 with this baby. Being a mom and hearing someone call me mom and know that I was their mom, and it wasn't just an accident, is all I have ever wanted. And now, it seemed unlikely.
That in mind, I still had this small part of me that had hope that this wasn't it. That the test would come back negative and that all those issues could be fixed (as my research told me). If it had been negative, this could all have been ok.
In the 48 hours that followed that appointment, I found myself sad at times, angry at others, and fine as well. Grief is a strange thing that can become all-encompassing. One of the things that the doctor said to us at the office was that this wasn't our fault; we did not cause this to happen. While I know that he is right, and research backs the statement up, I found myself saying to a friend how I felt like it was my fault, because Nick has two perfectly healthy children with other women, why can't my body handle the same? I know it's not logical, but I got stuck there for a bit.
I was angry, asking God, Why is it that I can't have the one thing that I have always wanted? Why is it that everything is so complicated and hard? Why is it that nothing that I have ever wanted could be easy when I watch other people easily get what they want, some of whom aren't even prepared for what was to come?
I was sad, with either prognosis, miscarriage or stillbirth was likely, and if they were born, they likely wouldn't make it very long, and if they did, they would suffer or be in pain.
We have so many who reached out that day to see how the appointment went, and I just couldn't respond. It took everything I had to simply focus on what I needed to do and to focus on Hazel, who was with us. I didn't want to tell her something was wrong until we knew that something was wrong. We had a friend who came over with her girls and made us dinner. I was struggling greatly that night, my head hurt, my heart hurt, and I was out of the ability to be with people, even the ones I loved.
Friday was, oddly enough, an easier day; I was distracted by work, schoolwork, and then doing trivia night at the church. It helped distract me as I was awaiting results that didn't come that night.
That Saturday, we spent the morning with family. I came home, took a nap, and then went outside with my computer to do some homework and work on the sermon for tomorrow, and I received a message that testing results are available. I took a deep breath and opened the results. It read: the chromosomal pattern that the baby has is consistent with trisomy-18. This is also consistent with the anomalies they found on the ultrasound on Wednesday before I had the test done.
My heart just dropped. It all became more real, and the nightmare continued. I began to research Trisomy-18. It wasn't good news. In fact, in some research, there is up to a 95% chance of miscarriage or stillbirth for those who have trisomy-18. Of the 5% that may survive birth, many don't live to see their first birthday.
Tears began to fall. I realized that all that I had begun to think about with the baby's room, the family of 5, and even a celebration like a baby shower was true. None of it would happen. The rest of this pregnancy would be flanked with pain and suffering and a consistent wondering if I was going to lose this baby before I reached my due date. And death was imminent.
The good news in all that we learned that Saturday afternoon was that we are having a boy. A boy that we would name and love no matter what. Over the next several weeks, we decided on a name, and while Nick and I had been keeping a list of names since we got married, we didn't use any of them. Instead, we picked out names that had meaning: Nathaniel Lucas. Nathaniel means "Gift from God." Lucas means "bringer of light." Even in the midst of my heartache, Nathaniel Lucas was all of those things for me. He was that gift that I had longed for, and a light that brought me hope even in the midst of one of the darkest moments of my life.
As I journeyed through Lent this year, I didn't need help being in that place of reflection, but I did need help seeing the light in the dark. Being a pastor, I preach most Sundays in at least one of our services, and looking back on the last few months, I would say that grief poured out through my words, and I did not realize it. There were so many moments when I know God, wrote the words on the page, because I had none to say. 
One of the only pictures we got with Nate
We made it to Easter, one of my favorite days of the year, and while I was so glad to see the day come, I had a mix of emotions. We sang all the typical Easter hymns, and I was prepared, but then we came to "Because He Lives." A song that I know so well, but forgot that the second verse is about holding a newborn baby. Sitting in the front row of the Sanctuary, I broke down. Luckily, I work with someone who carries a handkerchief and who understood what was going on in that moment.
The following week, we lost Nate.
Through all of this, Nick has been amazing. He has walked with me, at times, reminding me to breathe when I was scared. He held me as we faced it all together. He has gotten the food that I craved, made me laugh when I just wanted to cry, met my dark humor with laughter (even when it was really dark), and made sure that I didn't have to worry about anything, including dinner, when I couldn't cook it because I couldn't handle the smell.
The weeks that followed were a blur; my heart was shattered. The thing that I remember most profoundly is how very loved we were by those who knew what we had lost. I cannot tell you how many texts, emails, cards, notes, and gifts were left in my mailbox and on my doorstep. It was overwhelming to know just how loved we are.
All of this came a few weeks before Mother's Day. A day that I already struggle with, as a stepmom, and now one that I struggle with as someone who lost their child. I took the day off, as honestly, I couldn't face anyone telling me, "But you are still a mom..." Nick and I had a good day; we went for a hike, made lunch, and spent the day together.
I got through the summer, went on a vacation to see family, finished my MBA, turned 38, and enjoyed time with family and friends, while the pain, heartache, and grief lingered.
As we began school again in August, I couldn't help but think about how I should be getting ready for this new adventure. I couldn't help but think about how Nate's room should be done. That it would be decorated in Harry Potter. I couldn't help but think about how I should be getting ready to be on maternity leave and putting things in place to be able to do so. But I wasn't. Instead, I began preparing myself for the day that Nate was due, knowing that it would bring an anniversary that I wasn't ready to face.
One of the ways that I prepared was to build a box for all of Nate's things that were given to us. A friend and her dad helped me create a design and put it all together in one afternoon. It was therapeutic as we put it together; however, completing that box brought so many emotions I was unprepared for. This box gave me a space to hold Nate not just in my heart but also in our home without having to see all the gifts every day, but knowing that they are there.
That day that I was preparing for came this week, September 3. I did things that brought me joy. But my heart is still so shattered. This week, I have felt the weight of the tension between grief and joy. I felt the anger about how something that started out feeling like a miracle, especially since finding out at Christmas, became this heartbreaking experience that continued to get worse and worse. And truth be told, I have felt the shame of asking the question, "Do I even deserve to grieve?" And as my therapist told me this week, I do. We all do.
As I continue to move forward. My heart still aches. Grief is present and so very strong at different moments. But also, I have found that even in the midst of great grief and loss, love grew.
Nate existed for a short time, and I will always be Nate's mom.
For that, I can be thankful.
