Newly Pierced, Forever Grateful

I’ll get to the punch line quickly: I’m miscarrying.

Words aren’t coming to me right now. I feel frozen in front of my keyboard. Maybe it’s because of sleep deprivation - my son has been waking up at 4:30 AM the last few mornings and not going back to sleep. Maybe it’s because of the shock of everything happening so fast or the trauma of seeing so much blood. So. Much. Maybe it’s because of sadness fogging my brain.

I’m sad. Really sad.

I was just starting to let myself believe that this pregnancy was real. To play around with baby girl names in my head. To start subtly wondering aloud about the idea of a sibling with our son (without overtly telling him).

It was all going so well. I did a third blood test on February 6, four days after my second blood test that for sure confirmed I was pregnant. The third blood test only super confirmed I was pregnant - my hCG level needed to be 1,300 or higher. Mine was 2,990. I started to have morning sickness and extreme fatigue about five days ago. My pants started to feel a little tight in the waist towards the end of the day thanks to the early pregnancy bloat.

And then Sunday morning happened. And the abrupt redness and utter sadness that punched me in the gut at 3:30 AM. The sunrise never seemed to come that morning. I felt numb, shocked, empty, sad.

But I also felt some relief - that I wouldn’t have to go through another scary pregnancy, that I’d be be able to get my body back and drink coffee again and soak in a hot tub. And the high from that initial small relief carried me through the day until bedtime, when the shadows moved in and invaded my vulnerable mind. That’s when it hit me.

Today I made my way into the clinic for a mid-morning ultrasound where it was confirmed that yes, the pregnancy did not look normal. The ultrasound tech saw a gestational sac and a yolk sac but “no fetal pole or heartbeat.” They also saw a bunch of debris, as if the inside of my uterus contained the aftermath of a fatal earthquake. The bleeding I experienced was most likely a subchorionic hemorrhage, and I would still need to wait for the worst of it to happen naturally or have a D&C. I opted for the D&C. There’s something about having a little control in closing the door on this.

After my ultrasound, I was led to a small clinic room and was soon joined by Kacey, the nurse practitioner I’ve worked closely with over the past five years. We talked about the details of the D&C. And she spoke lots of clinical details at me. I tried to hold onto them like sand between widespread fingers. And when she was done, her eyes softened and she slipped back into her humanness. “I’m so sorry this is happening to you, Kristen.” And in that moment, I came up for air. Like a diver arriving back at the surface after a plunge into the crushing darkness of the sea. The oxygen entered my lungs and exited as tears. Tears of gratitude for everything she has done for us the past five years. For their compassion and expertise and kindness. For the clinic giving me a shot…giving us our son.

And I showed her a picture of my son (the same picture at the top of this post). And we smiled together at the light in his eyes and the joy in his smile. And I cried. And she cried.

Not all women who walk through the doors of fertility clinics walk out with a baby in their arms. I’m one of the lucky ones.

So to celebrate the end of an era…the gift of my son…and the return to myself…I got my nose pierced this afternoon. I ended my celebration of grief with some King Soopers sushi and a small McDonald’s french fries and a large Diet coke. Because I can. And because it’s delicious.

Much like this new phase of my life, my nose piercing feels foreign, but needed. I feel some loss for the Kristen with two un-pierced nostrils. And I feel some excitement for this Kristen with a new possibilities…and new adventures…and a new hole. An important hole.

My hole, my choice.

Something I got to choose. Something for me.