October is more than pink.
Disclaimer- I'm not proofreading this. I probably wouldn't have the guts to publish it if I did.
October is pink. Pink everywhere. Breast Cancer stuff EVERYWHERE.
Now, I love me some pink. lipstick, clothes, shoes, ect. (I just bought a really cute pink sweater!)
But there is more than that going on in the month of October.
Specifically, for me, it's PCOS and Infant/pregnancy loss awareness month.
I want to talk about the last one, before I lose my nerve or procrastinate it away (again.)
It's estimated that 20% of all pregnancies end in miscarriage. The single pregnancy that I've had ended shortly after I officially found out about it. I say officially because I knew a couple of weeks before I got a positive on the test. I was scared more than I was excited. I was terrified. It wasn't planned, we were living paycheck to paycheck.
But I knew. I'm not sure when I figured out that I was pregnant. I remember eating a bowl of my favorite cereal and throwing the entire brand new box away because it tasted terrible. I remember getting extremely emotional over stupid stuff, and my breasts getting sore. I started feeling run down, like I was getting sick. I remember taking test after test waiting for a plus sign that wouldn't show up for another 2 weeks. I told a few close friends that I felt pregnant, that I felt off, that something was different.
I'm trying not to romanticize it.
I didn't want to take any more tests because I thought I was just going crazy. I bought a $2 one on a whim from Walmart when I was in the tampon aisle. I took it and walked out of the bathroom to do laundry. I walked back in and there was my plus sign. It was light...so, so faint, but it was there.
I literally fell to my knees and started praying. I don't do that anymore.
Andrew didn't believe me. I had to hold my bladder the next morning, drive to the store, buy a digital test & pee on that. It confirmed my little plus sign.
My 2 little lines were suddenly multiple lines and curves spelling out our new reality.
We were excited. Scared and unsure, but excited. I thought that this might help me heal; that growing and bringing life into the world would help heal the gigantic wound my moms death had inflicted. We prayed for that little soul every morning and night. We told our friends & family. They were ecstatic. My dad cried. My mother in law literally sobbed with joy.
We both thought it was a girl. I bought a little dainty onesie with little purple dots on it, and soft purple tulle on the butt and sleeves. Nothing overwhelming, just really sweet.
When I was 6 weeks pregnant, I noticed that my breasts weren't sore anymore. And smells weren't bothering me. I mentioned it to Andrew and that I was worried it was a bad sign. I knew then too.
When I was 6 weeks & 3 days pregnant I woke up cramping & bleeding. Andrew called out of work, and we went to the Dr.s office where the US tech was terrible & unkind, the waiting room was full of pregnant women & the couch was uncomfortable. My dr. told us that there was no sign of pregnancy. But the good news was that we could get pregnant (ha!)
I took a lot of hot baths. Sent out a couple of text messages, broke down on the phone with my boss when I called to tell her I would be out the rest of the week because "I wasn't pregnant anymore." I couldn't make myself say "we lost the baby."
I brushed it off after that. I said "at least it didn't happen when I was 26 weeks pregnant" and "Better now than later."
I remember my Dr. saying that I was "only a little bit pregnant." And that if I hadn't taken a test I never would have known. (I switched Dr's later that year.) Well meaning family told us that there was probably something wrong with it and that was why it happened. None of it helped, and in fact, looking back- it actually diminished what we were going through, what I was going through. My body had failed me, I had failed as a mother. The one thing I was supposed to do I couldn't.
It hurt. Physically & emotionally. And there wasn't really a place where my grief felt validated. It was sad, but" it happens." And it does. It happens often. I was supposed to keep my chin up & move on. My grief made others uncomfortable.
So now, 2 years later I can say this.
It mattered. It's supposed to hurt. We wanted that little girl. We wanted to hold her, and kiss her and hear her cry and talk. We wanted to watch her grow up.
I truly believe that she had (has) a soul. She didn't have a body, but neither does my mom. But I believe that they are both someplace better. I cling to that.
I carried her for 6 weeks. We've loved her for 34 months & 12 days. I look forward to seeing her one day.
We can't take care of her. We can't give her anything. But we can give her a name.
Her name is Katelyn Vivian Howell. She's our daughter.
October is pink. Pink everywhere. Breast Cancer stuff EVERYWHERE.
Now, I love me some pink. lipstick, clothes, shoes, ect. (I just bought a really cute pink sweater!)
But there is more than that going on in the month of October.
Specifically, for me, it's PCOS and Infant/pregnancy loss awareness month.
I want to talk about the last one, before I lose my nerve or procrastinate it away (again.)
It's estimated that 20% of all pregnancies end in miscarriage. The single pregnancy that I've had ended shortly after I officially found out about it. I say officially because I knew a couple of weeks before I got a positive on the test. I was scared more than I was excited. I was terrified. It wasn't planned, we were living paycheck to paycheck.
But I knew. I'm not sure when I figured out that I was pregnant. I remember eating a bowl of my favorite cereal and throwing the entire brand new box away because it tasted terrible. I remember getting extremely emotional over stupid stuff, and my breasts getting sore. I started feeling run down, like I was getting sick. I remember taking test after test waiting for a plus sign that wouldn't show up for another 2 weeks. I told a few close friends that I felt pregnant, that I felt off, that something was different.
I'm trying not to romanticize it.
I didn't want to take any more tests because I thought I was just going crazy. I bought a $2 one on a whim from Walmart when I was in the tampon aisle. I took it and walked out of the bathroom to do laundry. I walked back in and there was my plus sign. It was light...so, so faint, but it was there.
I literally fell to my knees and started praying. I don't do that anymore.
Andrew didn't believe me. I had to hold my bladder the next morning, drive to the store, buy a digital test & pee on that. It confirmed my little plus sign.
My 2 little lines were suddenly multiple lines and curves spelling out our new reality.
We were excited. Scared and unsure, but excited. I thought that this might help me heal; that growing and bringing life into the world would help heal the gigantic wound my moms death had inflicted. We prayed for that little soul every morning and night. We told our friends & family. They were ecstatic. My dad cried. My mother in law literally sobbed with joy.
We both thought it was a girl. I bought a little dainty onesie with little purple dots on it, and soft purple tulle on the butt and sleeves. Nothing overwhelming, just really sweet.
When I was 6 weeks pregnant, I noticed that my breasts weren't sore anymore. And smells weren't bothering me. I mentioned it to Andrew and that I was worried it was a bad sign. I knew then too.
When I was 6 weeks & 3 days pregnant I woke up cramping & bleeding. Andrew called out of work, and we went to the Dr.s office where the US tech was terrible & unkind, the waiting room was full of pregnant women & the couch was uncomfortable. My dr. told us that there was no sign of pregnancy. But the good news was that we could get pregnant (ha!)
I took a lot of hot baths. Sent out a couple of text messages, broke down on the phone with my boss when I called to tell her I would be out the rest of the week because "I wasn't pregnant anymore." I couldn't make myself say "we lost the baby."
I brushed it off after that. I said "at least it didn't happen when I was 26 weeks pregnant" and "Better now than later."
I remember my Dr. saying that I was "only a little bit pregnant." And that if I hadn't taken a test I never would have known. (I switched Dr's later that year.) Well meaning family told us that there was probably something wrong with it and that was why it happened. None of it helped, and in fact, looking back- it actually diminished what we were going through, what I was going through. My body had failed me, I had failed as a mother. The one thing I was supposed to do I couldn't.
It hurt. Physically & emotionally. And there wasn't really a place where my grief felt validated. It was sad, but" it happens." And it does. It happens often. I was supposed to keep my chin up & move on. My grief made others uncomfortable.
So now, 2 years later I can say this.
It mattered. It's supposed to hurt. We wanted that little girl. We wanted to hold her, and kiss her and hear her cry and talk. We wanted to watch her grow up.
I truly believe that she had (has) a soul. She didn't have a body, but neither does my mom. But I believe that they are both someplace better. I cling to that.
I carried her for 6 weeks. We've loved her for 34 months & 12 days. I look forward to seeing her one day.
We can't take care of her. We can't give her anything. But we can give her a name.
Her name is Katelyn Vivian Howell. She's our daughter.
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