So I re-read my words today, weeks later, and I'm glad I wrote it. It helps me to remember, even if it was painful. It makes it real, and not so easily forgotten. And I have decided to share it. I have nothing to be ashamed of, and my goal is not to have people feel sorry for me. It's to share a story that is usually not told. Maybe someone will find comfort in my words, know that it happens and it's okay to feel unsure of your feelings.
I'm still struggling internally with some questions, but I do believe it was a child. And one of the names we said we loved if it was a boy, was Jude. I like to believe it was a boy, I just have this feeling. And I even listen to the song "hey Jude" to make me smile sometimes.
I will always love the name Jude, and every time I hear it I will think of our baby. And who knows, in the future if we have a boy, we may name him Jude.
So here is the journal entry I wrote the day after my hospital visit...
Maybe this will be healing.
They say if you don’t deal with your feelings at the time of grief that they will keep coming back up to the surface, even years later. I’m pretty good at pushing emotions away, yesterday, is a perfect example of that. Any person who saw me probably thought I was visiting someone else at the hospital, except the band on my arm, which was a dead giveaway.
I laughed, I joked, I gave my son lots of kisses and I did everything not to think of what that shot was for. Maybe this is how everyone acts at the hospital when it’s something bad…
I tried hard not to think about how I wanted Joel there. I tried not to think about how some radical religious group somewhere thought of this as murder. I tried not to think about the names me and Joel picked out when those two days of hope happened.
I thought for sure I was pregnant, I could feel it, and I was.
It was an ectopic pregnancy.
I cried at the doctor’s office when he confirmed it. It was so final. I cried slow, controlled tears, with a small apology. Men always look so uncomfortable when a woman cries… my doctor, who looked sad himself, told me it’s okay to be sad. I couldn’t bare to look at Joel. I know he was hurting too, and it would have made my semi-controlled crying spell much more ugly if I looked him in the eye.
I really had the most mellow, calm, and caring doctor for all of this. Dr. Crouch will always have a special place in my heart. After the tears, I apologized and asked him to say whatever he had just said again, because I was in my own little world. And he gladly repeated himself, with as much patience and care as he did the first time.
After our second meeting, an internal ultrasound, and three blood tests later, I was injected with a small dose of chemotherapy to kill the fast growing cells in my body.
I’m so thankful I didn’t have to have surgery (so far so good). It takes several weeks, and several more blood tests to confirm it worked. I just want this to be over.
I’m thankful yesterday is gone and today is here.
I have lots of questions for God, many that even if he answered maybe beyond my understanding.
Was this a child? Will he/she be there when I’m called home? Will he/she be an infant and I able to raise this child in heaven?
Joel, normally, the talker of us, doesn’t want to talk about this. I think it’s too hard for him. And me, normally, the “leave me alone, I just need some time”… wants to talk about this.
Joel got really sick yesterday with a stomach virus, so bad that he ended up at the hospital too (he is much better, I am happy to report). He couldn’t be there with me, so my mother, who was supposed to be our babysitter, ended up taking me, and Jack tagged along.
Thinking I’d be in and out within an hour, I didn’t have a problem bringing Jack, he could be my distraction. Let’s just say we got there at 12:20 and didn’t leave Dayton until around 5 or 6pm.
It was a very… long… day.
My mother, however, is always up for talking… so we talked. She told me she didn’t think there were ages in Heaven, and that we didn’t have spouses either. She also said there’s no tears, so do we forget about those who are not there? That was her question. She thinks it was a child, and he/she will be there, waiting for us.
I hope there are ages in Heaven, I hope we’re all the age we want to be, and the age that we want others to be.
I’m not sure what I believe. I just know I’m trying not to imagine a child. It’s easier this way.