The Longest Road

*disclaimer: This post contains words like "blood," "gushing," and "uterus." If you can't handle those words, turn back now. 

I've been thinking about this post for a very long time. I've thought about what I would say, how I would say it, what I wouldn't say, and how it would feel to finally write about this journey we've been on for the past 6 years.

Since before we were married, Preston and I talked about kids. We dreamed about our family, and painted pictures in our minds of how perfectly wonderful and insane it would be to be parents. We talked about how many we wanted, when we wanted to have them, and how excited we were to experience the greatest of all the adventures.

Our journey has been fraught with trial and despair. We had hopes and expectations which were dashed to bits, and we had to fight for some shred of understanding through the whole thing. This is an illustration of our journey.

As a quick side note, I know all journeys are not created equal. Infertility is a subject which holds a thick blanket of, "I don't know," surrounding every aspect of it. I know that we struggled harder than others, and a lot less than others. I'm not saying our story is better or worse than anyone else's and I don't want to offend. I just want to share the story that is ours.

The beginning of 2012 would find us in Utah, in the early stages of Preston's education at BYU. We were in a family ward from the very beginning of our marriage, and we enjoyed the opportunity to engage with the children who attended with their families. One day, we decided it was time to call a cease-fire on the birth control pills I had been taking. I don't remember how the decision was made, or how we knew it was the right time. Does anyone really know it's the right time to start their family? I just remember that we were excited and couldn't wait for a positive pregnancy test.

We didn't have to wait long. About three months after I quit using birth control, that silly little stick said that there was a baby cooking in there. I immediately began every internet search my brain could concoct with baby question after baby question. I'm not sure I learned anything, since I feel like the Google search engine box should have a disclaimer that says something like, "Use your brain. Common sense has the answer you're looking for." I did, however, find out that I needed to find an OB, and make an appointment. This is easier said than done.

It came to my attention very quickly that in that blessed state of large Mormon families, Utah, especially Provo, had lots of options when it came to OBs. And the craziest part was that none of them wanted to see me before I was 11 weeks pregnant. I had an appointment with a nurse to pee into a cup to confirm the pregnancy, and then I was told they'd see me in 3 weeks. Thinking this was right and normal, I went about my merry way, making plans, and dreaming dreams.

At almost exactly ten weeks, some intense and heavy cramping, and lots of bleeding led us to the ER, where it was confirmed that I had miscarried. We spent a week mourning, and everyone, EVERYONE told us that it was super normal to miscarry the first time. Thanks so much. That makes this ache and grief so much easier to bear, knowing that I'm not an anomaly. Nonetheless, with increased faith and prayers, we moved on.

About a month after, I went to another doctor. I wanted to figure out what had gone wrong, but since this was such a normal occurrence, I was told there was nothing for it but to try again. No tests, no seeking, just, "Keep trying." Ok.

We went about our lives, and it quickly set in that being in a family ward was pretty much awful. We moved, but into another family ward, and the fact that we didn't have kids quickly set us apart. People don't have time for you if you don't have kids. They can't set up a playdate with you, and they can't get to know you as a couple because then they'd have to find someone to watch their kids. There was one couple who took us in, and we are still exceedingly close with this family who decided we were worth getting to know, despite our lack of offspring. They know who they are, and we are forever grateful for their love and friendship. I digress.

We would both graduate, quit jobs, move twice, and wait three more years before we got pregnant again. It was a loooooooong three years. There came a lot of questioning and faith-trying in that time. It's hard to justify not getting this blessing, when you know that you're ready, this is a righteous desire, and you are seriously wishing the Lord would allow you to keep this commandment. Especially when our friends were already on their second, third, or even fourth kid by now. There is something so inherently unfair about wishing desperately for children when for others, especially others who didn't want them were popping out kids left and right.

In June of 2015, we had just moved to California and were staying Preston's family, and we found out I was pregnant. I was armed with more information this time around, better insurance, and a determination that this would be the one that would stick. I found a good doctor, who got me in pretty quickly, treated me as high-risk, and I was in for an ultrasound at 8 weeks. Such service! I felt spoiled. The ultrasound tech told us something that first time we were there. Something that would change this journey completely. She said that I had a bicornuate uterus. Huh. Neat. I had never heard the term before, and no one had caught it before, in the few ultrasounds I'd had previously. She tried explaining it, but it wasn't until I got home that I was able to look it up and get some clue as to what that might be.

According to the internet, I was born deformed. Or rather, my uterus was. The term meant that instead of looking like a big circle, my uterus was more heart-shaped, and sort of separated into two sides. When I spoke with my OB about it, she told us that there were many successful pregnancies with this defect, and that for the time being, there was nothing to worry about, and nothing to be done about it, since I was already pregnant anyway. We did our best to put it out of our minds.

That summer was busy. Preston was starting his first real teaching job in California, I was trying to get my massage license (which ended up taking EIGHT MONTHS, by the way. It took 3 weeks in Utah, if I recall), and we were desperately searching for a place to live. I was feeling exceedingly stressed and in my desperation, decided I'd see what a plane ticket home to Boise cost. They were cheap, I was excited, and, leaving Preston to search for a place without me (my hero!), spent 2 weeks in Idaho. We went camping, fishing, and swimming, and it was just what I wanted. Except the part where I ended up in an ER because I was bleeding and cramping. I could have done without that part. It was found that the fetus was fine, the bleeding was inexplicable, and I flew back to CA, eager to be with my husband. He had found us a fantastic place to live, and had already moved us in. I am so blessed.

The next day, I had an ultrasound scheduled. This one sticks in my memory, because I was 13 weeks along, and I vividly recall seeing the shape of a perfect baby body. Up to that point, it had mostly been a blob. It was a perfect baby body that was perfectly still. I knew before the tech told me that we had lost another one. She told me she'd tried every angle she could, but could find no heartbeat. I burst into tears, and she sent me to talk with my OB. She was very comforting and compassionate, and told me to take some time, and reach out when we were ready to figure things out a little more.

This was the hardest grieving period I've ever experienced, and I can honestly say that I've never been more angry with God. How could He do this to me? To us? Again? It was made harder by the fact that I was so far along, and we were just about ready to start telling everyone. I had seen that baby. I could write a whole post just on this subject, and maybe I will, but for now, let's just say that you wouldn't find me at church on Mother's Day.

After doing some research, I found out that my doctor had been a good one, but she'd let me down a little. She had never done any testing to see if I had miscarried before for any reason other than my uterus. I liked her as a person. But she was no Dr. Price.

We were referred to Dr. Price by a sweet coworker of Preston's who'd endured horrific obstacles in her quest to have children, but who swore by her doctor's perseverance and dedication. After about a year, I was ready to call and make an appointment to set up a game plan. When we got to her office, we met a no-nonsense, matter-of-fact, tell it like it is doctor, who I would love to be friends with in real life. She was prepared. She had already read my chart and consulted with my previous doctor. She knew about both miscarriages and my uterus, and had a dozen things she wanted to talk about and try. She was ready to stop at nothing to figure out what was keeping us from staying pregnant. That visit, we were mostly getting to know her, to talk about some options, and to work out a plan. Before we could put that plan into motion, we got another positive pregnancy test.

I was so leery of being excited about being pregnant, that I was an instant ball of pure anxiety. Dr. Price got us in as soon as we saw the test, and we had an ultrasound. Our tentative plans that we had set with the previous appointment had to be put on hold because you can't really fix a uterus that's full of a baby. She told us to be "cautiously optimistic," but to also be emotionally guarded, which is actually impossible (another post for another day), but I tried so hard that it put me into frequent panic attacks. We'd be laying in bed, ready to fall asleep, and all of a sudden, my heart would start racing, I couldn't catch my breath, and we both had to abandon sleep in favor of calming me down. Preston is my rock.

The next ultrasound showed that the fetus had not grown at all, despite 2 weeks having passed. Another "spontaneous abortion." I had known that this one would not work out. I could feel it the whole time. So we were sent home, with the knowledge that sometime in the next week, I would go through 'mini-labor' to pass all the tissue. I was a ticking time-bomb. From my previous experiences, I knew I was waiting for lots of pain. What a way to live. We waited that entire week before anything happened. I remember I was sitting at the table, helping Preston grade papers, and all of a sudden, I felt some medium-pain cramps. He's learned that when I get really snappy with him, I'm in some kind of pain, so he sent me upstairs.

What followed was about 6 hours of cramping, every two minutes, with me gushing blood, almost continually. We left for the hospital when I looked in the bathroom mirror, and saw no blood in my face. At the ER, they took my blood pressure, and it was 70/30. For reference, normal is 120/80. There just wasn't a lot of blood left in me! I was put on oxygen and given two bags of fluids. I guess they hoped that would magically give me some blood, because they kept checking my pressure, and it still wasn't going up...imagine that. Eventually, they brought in an ultrasound machine (I say eventually like we waited a few minutes...it was three hours. And we had been there since midnight), and checked to make sure I had passed all the fetal tissue. I thought there was no way anything could still be in there, since I had just bled enough to fill a bathtub, but there was still something in my uterus, so they sent in the on-call OB.

She was awesome, and we agreed instantly that it was time for medical intervention in this miscarriage. I had a DNC at 7:30 that morning, and then had to stay for another thousand tests. They kept doing blood tests, which I thought was ironic, because I felt like the precious little blood I had in my body should probably stay there, but they kept taking it. After a few hours, they decided I did actually need a blood transfusion. Two, in fact. For those wondering, it takes an hour to drain one bag of blood. They have to make sure there would be no adverse reactions. The blood returned to my face, they took JUST ONE MORE blood test, and sent us home at about 3:30pm. We had been at the hospital for over 13 hours all told. Poor Preston went to work the next day. What a trooper!

The emotional toll from this miscarriage was so much lighter than the previous one. I had known I was going to miscarry, and basically had wanted it over from the start. I was ready to start working on the plans we had talked about with Dr. Price, so when I felt fully recovered we made another appointment, at which point, we all decided that an exploratory surgery was our best option, and the date was set for August.

The plan for the surgery was simple: go in with a scope, see what the uterus actually looked like, and fix it if she could. Which is exactly what she did. Instead of a bicornuate uterus, I actually had a septum of tissue running right down the middle, which separated it completely into two cavities. Which was actually a blessing. She could fix the septum, but the bicornate uterus would have been something I'd have had to live with. She removed the septum, closed me up, and sent me home to recover for a week. Recovery wasn't bad, and the next week, we left to go to two weddings within 10 days of each other. In different states. And the second one was on the first day of school for Preston. PURE INSANITY. We made it through.

We were instructed to wait two full cycles before we could start trying again, and apparently the surgery was the solution, because we immediately got a positive pregnancy test. Dr. Price had me go in right away to test all my levels to make sure we had nothing else to deal with. I've been on progesterone supplements through the whole first trimester (suuuuuuuck), but she is a miracle worker, and I'll pretty much do whatever she says.

Which leads us to now. I'm under no delusions that we have a guarantee at this point that everything will work out perfectly. But we just have so much hope. And we're stronger for the experiences that we've been through, which will help us to tackle the challenges ahead. We are grateful for all the faith and the prayers offered up in our behalf. We know that we were strengthened when our situation felt absolutely dire. We are so excited about this babe!

I hope to keep the blog a little more active in the months to come, but we all know I'll say that and then not write for a year, so maybe don't hold your breath. Thanks for reading this giant of a post.

Love to you all.