Peanut and Poppy

Last night went better than I thought. I didn’t shed a (full) tear when dropping off Taylor. Maybe a few mini tears, and I only asked for nine hugs and kisses and looked over my shoulder 16 times as we left the backyard, but I held it together quite wonderfully, if I may say so myself. I knew that she’d have a blast blowing bubbles, swinging, sliding, and playing with her cousins, staying up late and being loved on by her Aunt Robin (who was nearly tackled to the ground with hugs when we arrived). Taylor was in more than one pair of great hands.

Jimmy and I arrived home to an awesome, complete meal provided by one of our great friends, Jack and Tiffany. Caesar salad, spaghetti with some of the yummiest sauce ever, and garlic bread. I love garlic bread. It was perfect. Just what we needed. A full meal of comfort food, and we didn’t have to life a finger. So special. Jimmy and I then stayed up late watching some of our favorite shows, without worrying about laughing too loud or keeping the volume down enough to not wake Turtle Toes. We even witnessed one of the most hilarious events that I have ever seen, thanks to our burping, not-so-sharp dog Cayman. Jimmy let our dogs into the screen porch from the backyard, and then opened the glass door, to let them into the house. Curby ran through and into the house, but Jimmy stayed on the porch. And so did Cayman. He thought that the door was still closed (even after seeing Curby run through) because Jimmy was still outside. He stood there, barking, begging Jimmy to open the already wide open door. He pawed at the open space, thinking it was a closed glass door. Not until he pawed so hard that his body fell through the door space onto the hardwood floor, did he realize that the door WAS open. He then ran through, barking. Poor blondie. I laughed so hard my belly hurt, something I haven’t done in months. After that episode, I capped off the evening with the last piece of Jimmy’s birthday cake. He’s such a good husband to let me have that honor. I’m not sure the evening could have gone any better. Garlic bread, laughs, love, relaxation, and cake. We are so blessed to have such great family and friends to put our minds and bellies at ease.

I slept well, and the 5am alarm was tolerated without too many groans. My mind was surprisingly clear, allowing my quiet time to be special and my prayers to be very articulate (a rare occurrence lately). On the way to the Surgery Center, my song came on the radio. “And the arms that gripped me felt like grace, and I realized in their embrace, to be held so tight I’ve never felt so free. I’ve never known a love like this. You’ve captured my heart and You brought the sweetest peace to my life, brought me into the light. Now I’m all Yours, Jesus, draw me into You.” Good morning, God. He was talking to me already. Fears that had started to bubble in my belly were immediately silenced by this song.

I was then fine, all the way up until we neared the center. That’s when the pit in my stomach made it’s debut. As I got out of the car and walked towards the entrance, I envisioned Jesus walking just a few steps ahead of me. He looked as I always picture Him, dressed in a long white robe, long brown hair, tan and chiseled features. He didn’t say a word, just walked peacefully ahead of me and I followed. The pit in my stomach started to dissolve.

In the waiting room, I had one episode of tears as I started to think of Taylor’s face, and then was immediately called over to sign papers. That was hard. To have to acknowledge what was happening, in medical words, clearly written on paper. But, I signed, and pulled it together emotionally.

Just a few seconds later, the nurse called my name. As I turned around, my eyes grew larger when the nurse repeated my name with enthusiasm and recognition, and grabbed me for a big hug. It was my friend, Kathleen. A friend that I met through another friend, probably 5 years ago. One of the sweetest, kindest, most gentle women I have ever met. My tears stopped immediately and my heart was at ease. So was Jimmy’s. We walked back, got my vitals and talked. Kathleen did my IV and I didn’t feel one thing. Seriously. It was clear that Jesus walked ahead of me into that building, handpicked the nurse, and guided her hands and her words to put me at ease. Over the course of the next 30 minutes in pre-op, I met a handful of nurses, all of whom had experienced at least one miscarriage. Each had a sense of peace, understanding, faith, and comfort about them that calmed every nerve in my body.

One of the most potentially emotionally-dangerous situations was when I was left alone in the pre-op room for about 15 minutes. If allowed, minds can wander and can cause severe paranoia. But, instead, I saw Him. He had taken a seat on the oversized pink chair that sat opposite my lounge chair. I saw Jesus sitting knee-to-knee with me. (And, no, I had no pain medications in my system at that point). It was all Him. He had the same disposition — quiet, confident, and bubbling with peace. Envisioning Him there carried me through the waiting time beautifully. The anesthesiologist then talked with me, more nurses, then Jimmy was invited back for a hug and a kiss before heading back to surgery.

I walked back to the OR, Jesus in tow, and, from there, I couldn’t tell you a thing. In the room, I only remember my sweet friend, Kathleen, and all of the nurses that had personally been where I was at one point in their lives. I felt at ease, loved, and had absolutely no fears.

I woke up in the recovery room and all I remember is Jimmy sitting there. The nurses brought me ginger ale and saltines. And, from what I understand, I did a lot of slurring and repeating myself. I even lost my mind a bit at one point. Jimmy told me that he was going to pick up a piece of Romanelli’s chocolate cake (my all-time favorite dessert) for me to eat tonight. Apparently, I said, emphatically, “I don’t need cake…but I could have some more of these (pointing to the saltines). These are GREAT.” Yeah. As soon as I fully came-to a few hours later, I was sure to clarify my desires to Jimmy. Cake, please.

I have napped this afternoon, continue to munch on saltines and sip on ginger ale (still a bit nauseous and woozy), but, most of all, I sit here in awe. In awe that I have so many friends that stayed up late and woke up early to pray for me. In awe that I am so at peace with all of this right now. In awe that I was blessed to have Kathleen as a nurse. And totally grateful, but not surprised, that Jesus was with me all morning. He walked with me; He blessed that surgery center with talented doctors and compassionate nurses; and rained peace over me He sat in that pink chair. And, now, He is rocking my Cupcake as Poppy bounces cloud to cloud singing and dancing. What a beautiful, loving God.

Last night I had a dream. I was in an old hotel. It seemed to be a place for gambling, drinking, shopping and sleeping. Very 1920’s. Except it was now. There were hundreds of people filling the place, all laughing. Music playing. People enjoying themselves. Except for me. I was lost and alone. All of the hallways, stores and rooms were dark and red with patterned carpet and walls. The hallways were long and winding. I was drunk to the point where I couldn’t find my way anywhere. I’d ask for directions only to forget moments later, angry with myself. Stumbling. Confused. Scared. Utterly out of control. I don’t know where I was trying to go, except for away. A group of my closest family members were there, including Jimmy, and they were all searching for me. I was trying my best to hide, running through the endless hallways. Drunk. Lost. And trying to avoid contact. I could not let anyone find me. Desperate. Stumbling. Begging myself to come to, out of the drunken stupor. I didn’t speak a word. I didn’t know where I was going. I just ran. Away.

And that’s all. That was my dream. And I can clearly see how it was an image of how I felt yesterday.

The healing process for this loss has been different, but also the same. I am going through the same stages as I did with Poppy. The first few hours were very mechanical. I just needed to know the medical information; the diagnosis and what was to happen next. And, then, for 24 hours, I was great. So hopeful, so at peace with everything. So grateful, and just overall in complete understanding of why this was all happening. I accepted it, and was thankful to God for giving me another opportunity to grow closer to Him. That’s where it was a bit different this time. I had a clearer picture as to “why” this was happening. I felt (and still feel) so close to Him. I knew/know that this is all in the plan, and that it is all for the good. With Poppy, I was so new in my relationship, that my faith was a bit more blind. I just knew I had to believe in His purpose. Now, I know why I believe in His purpose.

After the 24 hours was up, my heart finally became exhausted. I was no longer able to stand tall and smile. I was worn down. And, when the emotions were uncovered, they were raw. I was sad. I could do nothing but be silent, and be sad. Just like with Poppy, I couldn’t speak. I didn’t want to speak. All I could do was think. Think so much that my mind became numb. And that is not pleasant or beneficial. Next was anger. Not a fun emotion. And, again, not a beneficial one. Thankfully, that only lasted an afternoon (yesterday). And then the next stage was a re-occurrence of peace. Thank you, God, for that reprieve. Feeling sad and angry can really take it out of a person. I needed my old self back. The self that saw the silver lining. The one that realized that I am so blessed, even given this tragedy. That it could be SO much worse. That we are so so blessed. And that’s how I went to sleep last night.

Maybe I don’t even have to explain the dream. It is so clear what it was portraying. For the most part, yesterday was a day of being lost. Feeling out of control. Scared. Sad. Wanting to be alone. I was running from everyone that cared. And, when you are grieving, there is nothing wrong with that. You HAVE to be sad. It’s part of the process. And, thanks to a great friend, I no longer feel guilty about being sad. Jesus is sad too. He cries with me. But reveling in sadness and letting anger (Satan, i.e. dark, red hotel) take over, is not what Jesus wants. And, so I am glad that I conquered that stage. And hope that, if it comes back, that I can escape it quickly through seeing the blessings in all of this. And get my brain back on the road to sober, in-control peace. Feeling out of control (drunk) and in a place of fear and anger is not healthy for me. It’s a part of grieving though, and I accept that. But, next time, I prefer to leave the dark, red hotel behind and visit a cool, white, peaceful pool, sunbathing with my Jesus instead.

So, today has been OK. I have been very busy with work projects (thank God for distractions), and then spent the last few hours on the phone with insurance. Not fun. But that is behind me. Now, I just have to get through the next 36 hours. The surgery is Wednesday in the very-early morning. And, once that is over, I think that I can begin on the road to healing. The waiting period, when you know that the baby is no longer with you…but it is with you, is the hardest. Because you still have the little baby belly to look at when you shower, and the cravings and the hormones of a pregnant woman. It’s hard to begin healing when you still physically and emotionally feel like a Mommy-to-be.

But, as I have learned through the loss of our many babies, I will survive. We will make it through. Jesus is holding me as I type. Healing my heart. Making me stronger. Opening my eyes to the blessings in my life. Giving me hope and teaching me patience. With every day that passes and every pregnancy lost, God’s love is more and more evident to me. For example, Taylor. Do you all realize that Taylor is a gift from God Himself? Gift-wrapped and with a big pink bow on her big, cute belly, she was delivered to us as proof of His existence and love for us. I cannot get past that. It’s such clear evidence to me that He is so present in our lives. He is alive. He LOVES us. He equipped me with the best medicine before all of this started happening — a healthy daughter to love, to watch, and to laugh with through all of the tears. I feel so blessed to be her Mommy. To have a husband that loves me even when I run and hide from his love. To have family and friends that get on their faces in prayer when I feel weak. And to have a God that loves me so much that He will carry me through even the deepest valleys of grief. THAT is what gives me light in the darkest of life’s hallways.