Just when you thought it couldn't get worse...

Bungee jumping. Never tried it. Never will. But this week it feels like I've been doing just that, metaphorically speaking. Standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to jump. Only in my case I feel like I was pushed, not ready for the ride that's to come. Free-falling, waiting for the crash that will certainly lead to the end of you. Then suddenly, an unseen force yanks you up, and you think, "Oh, this isn't so bad. I could kind of get used to this." And you reach the height of acceptance, then, quite unexpectedly, you are overtaken by gravity and you plummet again, sure that this time you won't make it. And so it goes, up and down, highs and lows. Not sure when this ride will end.

A bit extreme, I realize. "Roller coaster" didn't seem to even touch the range of emotions going on. Bungee jumping was more like it.

Where to start? On Thursday, March 29 (my mother-in-laws birthday), I discovered that I was pregnant. Hmmmmm. Good news, to most. Here's the thing: my wonderful husband had a vasectomy. In December. 2011. Back up the truck.

Our children are ages 7 and 4. We love them dearly and have felt complete in our family of 4 since J was born. It took many years of loving encouragement (by me) to convince Mike to get the procedure. I was tired of being on "the pill" and all that goes with it. I thought, hey, isn't it time he take some initiative in this contraceptive process?

So, he finally mustered up the courage, swallowed his manly pride and went ahead. Great. We were anticipating the future, ready to move on to the next stage of our children's lives. Preparing for our youngest to enter kindergarten in the fall, planning what my fall would look like and discerning God's purpose for me next.

Wow. Did we get thrown for a loop. A few weeks ago, I felt some tenderness in my breasts, and what appeared to be a lump, or unusual hardness. I freaked out momentarily, thinking cancer. I know first-hand that cancer is a very real possibility. After mentioning it to my level-headed husband, he reassured me it was probably nothing, and even joked about being pregnant. Ha ha. We laughed, knowing that was not possible.

Think again. A few days later, I realized that I was "late". I thought, just a few days. No big deal. Finally Mike said, "Let's get out the calendar and figure out how late you are." 1...2...3....4....5...Oh...More like 12 days late. Okay. Well. What now? After work, Mike rushed (yes, rushed!) to town to pick up a test. And, the results? Drum roll, please! Positive.

Again, I ask: what now? I can't remember if I cried or not, but the news was less than gratifying. All I could say was: "Crazy."

Mike took it even less well than I did. He was mad. Downright made. At the doc. And God. And ourselves (for not being more careful!). And the cat. You name it! Me? I went through the stages of denial and shock a little quicker than he did.

Friday morning I took a trip to the clinic to have a confirmation test. Yup. Positive. 6 weeks, from what I could determine. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. By the time I got home, I had already started to come to terms with what was happening. I stopped taking my antidepressants immediately (to which my loving husband replied, "I have to deal with THAT now too?") (Funny to me now.) I filled my plate with more veggies, increased my water, resisted the temptation to drink that Cherry Pepsi in my fridge, limited the heavy lifting, started getting excited about telling people, and coming up with cool ideas to surprise them with the news.

That was Friday. You know the saying, "It's Friday, but Sunday's a-comin'"? (Referring to when Jesus died on Friday, but Sunday He would rise triumphantly). Well, in my case, it was the good news on Friday, but Sunday would not be the triumph we were hoping. After church, I began spotting. I had had cramps the night before, and all morning, but brushed it off as after-effects of yard work and raking I had done on Saturday.

But the blood did worry me a bit. Again, I had to shock my husband with the news. He was still in his "mad phase." Okay, fine, he needs time to get used to the idea. I get that. I'll deal with this on my own for now until he figures it out in his head. I called Healthlinks to see if there was any reason to be concerned. The nurse I spoke to reassured me that some spotting and cramping in early pregnancy is perfectly normal. Is this your first pregnancy? No. Have you had a history of spotting? No. What color is the blood? A strange question, I thought. (But now in hindsight, I understand the significance.) Have you had a history of ectopic pregnancy? Nooooo, but thanks for just adding a new worry to my list. She suggested that I go see a doctor just to be safe, but not to worry.

So, Sunday we headed to my folks, and broke the news to them. They were shocked, ecstatic, concerned, yet very positive. Going home, I felt more reassured and that this was going to be okay.

Then, in the evening the dams of hell let loose and our home was filled with dark emotions. I won't go into many details (to save my husband's dignity), but we talked (and cried) for hours. I was experiencing mother's intuition, suddenly very aware that this baby was not going to make it. And yet, hoping, against all odds. I begged and begged for God not to take this baby, and yet in the same breath I prayed for the health and safety of him/her. I listed every disease, abnormality, deformity and health issue that I could think of, praying against every one. I told God, this baby has already beat so many odds. Mike's chemo was supposed to cause him to be sterile, obviously the vasectomy was for this specific purpose, my age decreased the chance of getting pregnant, etc, etc., etc. Lord Jesus, don't give me a baby in the midst of all the odds and then take it away! I grieved in the shower, as I suddenly had this overwhelming sense of, "It's gone."

The next morning, as I prepared to go to the ER for testing, I felt numb, yet sad. I knew what the news would be. My good friend drove me to the hospital. After many hours of waiting (even though I was told I was a higher priority), I saw a great doctor. She also was extremely positive. After doing an internal, she said it looked fine and not to worry (famous last words). She assured me again that some spotting was normal, not to do anything different, go home and be pregnant. They did bloodwork, which confirmed that I was pregnant. I was told to come back Wednesday to make sure the the hormone levels were going up and for a possible ultrasound. That sounded like good news to me!

So, I ignored my maternal instinct, and went home feeling upbeat and hopeful.

Mike was still not in a great place of acceptance. I told him what I felt was good news. He couldn't relate yet. That's okay, I told myself. This was a shocker and it's still fresh.

However, Monday night is when the bottom gave way. I won't disgust you with details, but the bleeding increased, as did the cramps. I would describe them as mild labour pains. Let me just say that I was a little mad and a lot confused. God, why is this happening. You've given me little confirmations along the way that this is your plan, you've put so many positive people in my path to reassure me that everything will be okay? Why would you give me a miracle, just to snatch it away? What is going on?!?!

That evening I knew that the baby had passed. And Mike knew it too. That was the darkest night of my life. I felt like the deepest, darkest valley imaginable. We cried together, held each other, confessed feelings of regret, grief, remorse, guilt, anger, confusion, sadness, and loss. Not once did the word "relieved" enter our vocabulary. Even though this baby was unplanned by us, even though we were not ready for this baby stage again, even though I felt too old to be doing this again, even though we struggled with accepting the truth, we still very much wanted it.

Wednesday morning I returned to the ER as planned. And the doc confirmed what I already now. Gone.

The news is still very raw. I feel like I've never felt before. It's called grief. It's interesting how quickly that motherly instinct kicks in as soon as you find out you're pregnant. I had to quickly remind myself of all the things to do to take care of my body and this life inside me. I only had three days to enjoy being pregnant. Then, poof, it's over. Crazy. That's all I can say. (although some other four-letter words have come to mind) Today, I am sad. Yesterday I laughed. I can't sleep well. Some moments I just want to cry. Other moments I hold my precious daughters close and tell them I love them. Some moments I feel as if the grief is going to swallow me. I don't know what it is like to lose a child whom you have held and nursed and taught and smelled. But this is my loss. I don't know what it's like to miscarry a baby that you have tried and tried for, waited for, longed for. But this is my loss.

Another day I'll write about what we will name the baby. Another day I'll write about how we plan to memorialize this child. Another day I'll write something funny and inspiring. But today I write about dreams crushed and hopes dashed. And I mourn.