a tiny christmas miracle

One year ago today I received a magnificent Christmas present. On December 18th, 2006, in a little ultrasound clinic in Muncie, Indiana, I learned, after four miserably long weeks, that the miscarriage I was told to expect wasn't viable - that I was, in fact, pregnant.

Last year, two days before Thanksgiving, I called my doctor to find out how concerned I should be over a tiny bit of bleeding I was experiencing. I had known for two weeks that I was pregnant, and still hadn't been in for my initial appointment. Though he wasn't especially concerned, he encouraged me to go get checked out at the Emergency Room to make sure everything was as it should be. I followed his advice and left work early.

I spent the next six hours at the ER undergoing blood tests and multiple ultrasound tests (transvaginal and abdominal). Blake waited with me as long as he could, but eventually had to head back to campus. I was sitting there alone, feeling vulnerable and slightly nauseous, when a gruff doctor with what I considered to be very poor bedside manners came in and bluntly told me that my hormone levels were lower than they should be, and though the ultrasounds proved that my placenta was growing, they could detect no fetus. I was, in short, experiencing a blighted ovum miscarriage and could expect to be back in the ER in a few days when the bleeding got heavier. Naturally I was very upset to hear this news and was more than a little miffed when this doctor didn't even think to offer me a tissue to wipe up the waterfall cascading out of my eyes.

As soon as I got my discharge papers I hurried up to campus to cry on Blake's shoulder. Later that night we cried over the phone to our families, and the next day, partly because of all the drama going on and partly because I continued to feel more and more nauseous, we cancelled the Thanksgiving plans we'd made with my high school kindred spirit, Emily, and her husband, who had recently moved to a drivable distance from Muncie.

Even though I was heartsick and stomach-sick, we went ahead and cooked our Thanksgiving feast. We had, after all, a lot of food needing cooking sitting in our refrigerator. But I could hardly eat anything. I chalked the nausea that was daily getting worse up to the fact that, like the doctor said, my placenta was still growing, but my body didn't yet realize that the pregnancy had been aborted, and therefore morning sickness was likely to happen.

My doctor was out of town for the holidays and the first available appointment I could make to see him was Monday December 4th, almost two weeks after the ER visit. During that time I continued to lose my breakfast shortly after I arrived at work each day, I cried with my wonderfully gentle and understanding visiting teaching circle, and I waited (and waited) for the heavy bleeding I was told to expect to happen.

I assumed that at my appointment, since this miscarriage was not progressing naturally, my doctor would schedule a D&C. However that is not what happened. My doctor was surprised to hear that I had not bled any more than that tiny bit two weeks before, and he was even more surprised when I told him that I was feeling incredibly nauseous. He decided to run a few blood tests to check my hormone levels and told me not to give up all hope quite yet. When he called me later that afternoon with the lab results, which were consistent with a pregnancy at eight weeks gestation, I couldn't help but feel an odd rush of hesitant relief. He told me to go ahead and come back in two weeks - December 18th, at what would have been my initial prenatal appointment. At that time he would check to see if he could hear a heartbeat.

So I was cautiously optimistic - no, make that cautiously ecstatic. After I wrote in my journal about the day's happy turn of events, I flipped back a few pages to read about the day I learned I was pregnant. It was Election Day, and I was coming down with a horrible cold. Blake had given me a Priesthood blessing, and in that blessing he told me that both me and the baby would be healthy and that the baby would grow to full term. Remembering that blessing prompted me to write a few more lines in my journal, mostly relating to the faith I knew I now had to cling to.

Waiting for two more weeks was hard, especially with my several-times-daily trips to bathroom to...you know...which was hard to keep doing because I didn't know for sure if there was a good cause for them. I know I wouldn't have been able get out of bed each morning if it weren't for Blake and the faith and prayers of both of our families and the few friends who knew what was going on. I was especially grateful for Nancy, the best sister I could have asked for to be on my visiting teaching route. Every time I saw her, she topped off my faith and confidence with her own and reminded me that even if things didn't work out the way we wanted them to, even though she knew they would, it would be what Heavenly Father was intending for me.

And then, December 18th! At last! The first thing the doctor did was pull out his Doppler stethoscope to see if he could hear a heartbeat. At only 10 weeks along, we would be lucky to hear something, but he thought he might try anyway. Unfortunately he couldn't hear anything. "Don't give up yet," he told me, "this doesn't necessarily mean anything bad." He gave me a routine prenatal exam and still couldn't determine if I was truly pregnant or not. He left the room for a moment, leaving Blake and I on pins and needles. When he came back he had with him an order for an ultrasound (stat) at a clinic across town. We'd all waited long enough to find out what was going on, he said.

So we drove to the clinic and as we did I chugged the biggest bottle of water I could buy from the vending machine in the office lobby. Because of my doctor's rushed orders for the ultrasound, I got in right away. As she jellied my belly up, I explained to the tech the reason for the ultrasound. She commiserated with me for a moment before she said, "Well, there's definitely a baby in there!" And there was! It was mostly head and heartbeat, but it had squirmy arms and legs...and it was swimming around so vigorously there was no doubt that it was alive and, by all accounts, thriving. Naturally I was thrilled to hear this news and was definitely pleased when the tech, who had very good bedside manners, handed me some tissues to wipe the waterfall cascading out of my eyes.

And now, one year later, I have the most adorable five and half month old baby boy in all of creation, my own tiny Christmas miracle.