October 11th Should Have Been a Special Day...

Have you ever had a day you were so excited for that you will never forget that specific date? In middle school, two of my best friends, Kaitlyn and Melany, and I were planning the most epic sleep over. May 3rd. We cleared it with our parents and it was a date we kept saying over and over. And now, thirteen years later, I still remember it.

October 11th, I'll never forget this date.

We were on our way out for a date, my husband patiently (ha) waiting for me on the porch with his keys in the door. Despite feeling really tired the last few days, I spruced myself up a bit and threw on a glitzy necklace and some heels. I ran back inside because I had forgotten my bright red lipstick and let's face it, it's very hard to feel hot without it. I flung open the hall closet door and there thrown haphazardly in the back, was a pregnancy test from a -scare- we had awhile back. Before we decided we were ready. I stared at it for what seemed like at least seven minutes while Sam jangled the keys in the door trying very hard to refrain from telling me that we were going to miss our dinner reservation. What was the date today? I had been feeling sick and exhausted and just weird, but could it have really worked on the first try? I didn't know. But I grabbed the box and threw it in my purse, completely forgoing the red lipstick.

I chewed on a breadstick once we got our seat at the Olive Garden. I kept nudging my purse further under the table with my foot, hoping it would help me to stop thinking about what was inside. My meal was hurried, conversation was distracted until I finally couldn't stand it and excused myself to the restroom. I remember waiting in the stall for people to leave because I didn't want them to hear me open the box and experience such a private moment in a Olive Garden restroom. I thoroughly read the instructions twice (I had no idea what I was doing) and waited.
2 lines appeared immediately. TWO LINES!!!!! I re-read the instructions one more time to make sure I really knew what that meant. It could only mean one thing...

I turned the corner of the hall back to the seating area of the restaurant and whammed right into a waiter. I just grinned at him and didn't even say sorry. The dining area was a plethora of rich aromas, laughing faces, warm candlight... everything seemed so much more beautiful to me now. I slid back into our booth with my proof ever so gently hiding in my clenched hands.

Sam was speaking and I was pretending to listen (sorry sweetie), but I kept imaging which adorable way -thanks Pinterest- I was going to break the pregnancy news to my husband. I was a bubbling vat of giddiness that couldn't stifled, so instead, I whipped out my phone to record his reaction, and in a stammering voice I admitted that I went to the bathroom and....HERE! I chucked the test across the table at him. Because of my rough and unplanned delivery, it took him a minute to comprehend what I was saying, but I'll never forget the way Sam's face looked. A little bit of worry, unbelief, a hint of 'are we really grown-up enough to do this?!', but mostly I'll remember his joyful smile and the way he said, "Kenna!".

A movie was absolutely out of the question at this point. How was I supposed to sit still and think about anything else?! I had something beautiful, miraculous, and so wonderful happening INSIDE of me! I wanted to shout to the world, "I'm a sacred vessel!". (Ok...I may have yelled that a couple of times driving down the freeway on the way home...)

Wait.
 "Should we get more sticks?" I asked. "Make sure this is real?!" and for one fleeting moment my heart was stricken at the thought that it might not be. That's what caused me to buy every single brand of test at the store (not cheap) and pee on all of them. And yes, every single stick had two lines. TWO LINES!!!!

I have a file on my laptop labeled "Hard times" which I haven't looked back on until tonight right before writing this. After re-watching these videos of me and my love gushing about the way life would change for us, watching my mom stroke my hair after I told her the news, and seeing my nephew's dawn of realization that he was about to have a new cousin, I see that my label is clearly mistitled. These were some of my very Happiest Times.

Pregnancy wasn't so easy. I was sick, had heartburn up to my ears, and I cried at every commercial. Every. Single. One. It didn't help that this was all taking place during the Olympics and for some reason all these young Olympians achieving their dreams (and thanking their moms for it) were more than my hormone-infused heart could handle.

One night after teaching dancing and throwing up more than a few times, I was sobbing on the couch because my favorite Russian figure skating couple was just eliminated from the Finals because the girl slipped on her triple axle that she hit JUST the day before during practice... (still bitter about this) and my husband came to console me and tried not to let his mouth twitch too much from attempting to contain his laughter.

Then it hit me like a jar of pickles, I wanted a Bratwurst. I NEEDED A BRAUT. I bellowed this to my hubs and was so excited my aversion to all foods besides pickles was subsiding. My husband rushed to the store and fried me one right up while I stayed glued to my whole infuriating ice figure skating debacle.

Sam brought me the plate and my greedy hands stopped dead before picking up the bun. This thing was grayish. And slimy. And completely different than I had imagined entirely. I timidly nibbled on the end and tried to swallow---no. No No No No No. I commenced in a super long puk-a-thon that made me miss the winning skating routine. I came out of the bathroom and whimpered like a child. Then I started to sob, and I could not stop. I couldn't catch my breath. I called my mother who was so frightened at first and once she made out what I was saying, "I- Www-anted a B-b-braut and they are NOT what I thought they w-w-were!!!!" She laughed so hard she made the tea kettle sound (if you haven't heard this laugh yet, it is a must), which made me laugh and then cry over the fact that I was crying over a hot dog.

My due date, October 11th, felt SOOO far away. Not because being preggo was uncomfortable, but because I could not contain my love and excitement.

I'm writing this because it is one of my favorite memories. Pregnancy wasn't easy but I loved every minute of it. I felt like I was in the movies.

One night (watching women's snowboarding this time), I started cramping really bad. So bad, in fact, that the only way I could handle the pain was to get in the tub and Google what could be going on down there. (Never google anything while pregnant. NEVER.) I started bleeding. I was so scared and so helpless I called my sisters in a mess. I could hear and feel their concern over the phone but I could also sense them masking their fear, which worried me even more. Nothing could make me smile right then, not even joking about Brauts.

I rushed to an emergency doctor's appointment a few days later. I told her my concerns (also one concern about this terrible cough I had. I was so scared it would vibrate my baby too much and it would come right out of the comfy little home I made it. Um yes... I do see now that this is complete idiocy). They took my hormone levels and said they would watch to see if they rose enough. I didn't know what any of that meant, but every day I woke up and told myself, "Come on. Be moody!"

GOOD NEWS! It came on a Thursday. I skipped into dance class and told my co-workers that I had just received a phone call saying that my hormones had TRIPLED in three days. They congratulated me and told me to stop skipping, I was pregnant after all, take it easy!

The days flew by and the weight flew off my shoulders bit my bit, along with my worries. I started wandering around the baby aisles at all the stores, and even though it was early, bought a blanket and a totally rad tuxedo bib and a teeny tiny snowboarding beanie. (Both of which I gave to my best friend's baby boy a few weeks ago, and my heart soared to see him wear them.)

I was now two months along. I woke up early to curl my hair before the doctor's appointment. I don't know why this was important to me at the time, I just wanted to be a beautiful mother with a beautiful baby inside of her. We drove to Salt Lake and waited anxiously for the doctor to arrive. Sam snapped a few pictures of me on his phone and told me this was the day we'd remember forever as the day we 'officially' got to meet our baby.

The nice doctor lady came in. Her face is now a blur, but I remember her calm voice as she prepared me for the ultrasound and told me to relax. I don't know how she knew my heart was pounding in my ears. The small talk subsided as she moved the camera around. The silence pressed against my warm cheeks. I didn't need to look at her. I didn't need to look at the screen. I already knew. I guess in a sense I had always known. I had felt that fear and that dread in my heart, a mother's intuition, that something wasn't right since the night I had cramped. I had try to squelch that fear and fill my mind with positivity especially after I was told everything was normal and okay. Though she knew I knew, and I knew she knew, the doctor had to say it. It's her job. Though I'm sure it's not what she signed up for. "Something is terribly wrong. I'm so sorry. I can't see a heart beat." She unplugged the machine and I remember the way the light left and the "zshoom" sound of the power turning off.

I also shut down. I didn't ask any questions. I didn't answer any questions. I couldn't look at anyone's eyes or even nod my head as they talked AT me not TO me. I just sat on the crinkly paper bed and tried to reign in the pain. I clutched my chest and felt the darkness squeeze around me. It was gone, it was gone before it had even started, but I didn't know it was this possible to love something this little so much. So soon. But I did. I loved it with my whole soul.

The receptionists were calm and sympathetic and everything they were supposed to be as they checked me out. I wanted them to yell and scream and throw the papers off their neat desks and tell me they understood how unfair it was! But they didn't. They called after me to "Come again, and Have a Nice day."

I got outside and crouched in a ball, trying to contain the pain again. Sam half carried me to the car. I had to call my mom and sisters. To me this was the hardest part. They were the people I loved most in the world and shared with them my excitement and joy every step of the way. In a way I felt like I had let them down. In a way, I didn't want to be pitied. But in the worst way, I wanted them there.

We drove to Walgreen's to pick up the prescription for the despicable pills that would officially numb the physical pain but wouldn't touch my soul. Sam ran into the store and I slammed my hand on the dash of the car over and over.

The next few days were my darkest. My mom came to take care of me, but I didn't talk, sleep, or eat. People visited, I acted like I was doing better, but I was not. I felt no glimmer of light. Not until I found a few pine needles in my bedroom. (See post: Grief and Pine Needles).

I was scheduled for the surgery the next day. I was so afraid. I didn't want to feel pregnant anymore, it just reminded me that I was no longer, but I didn't want it to end. Then I would be saying goodbye before I got to even say hello. The night before the procedure I started feeling contractions. Soon I was screaming in pain and losing a lot of blood. Sam called the emergency room but it was all happening so fast. I had never been in so much pain, this time both physical and emotional. I didn't want to see it this way, I didn't want to know anything about this part. I was supposed to be asleep in a blissful anesthesia oblivion when all of this happened. But I was coherent, so coherent every detail is forever embedded into my brain, and I delivered in my own home. It was so traumatic for me to see all the blood and something so sacred fall on the floor. This was my worst day.

I don't relive this day often. I don't let my mind wander to that folder I've labeled "Hard Times" that I have now filed away. But it is because of this that I think Miscarriage (Yes, I finally said that. awful. word.) is so hard. It is never talked about! The weeks that I was going through all this I felt completely alone. No one UNDERSTOOD the way I felt. Everyone else seemed to have fairytale endings. This is completely untrue. So many women battle these emotions every day. If only we shared our strength with each other instead of filing our memories away to be avoided.

The hardest thing about a miscarriage is never feeling like what you had and the child you loved was real. Only a select few people even knew I was pregnant. It feels like something that just happened to me many months ago. I felt that love. I felt that bond that a mother has with her child, and I am telling you that it was real.

I guess that's why I am sharing this now, it was so real. And though it was brief, it was beautiful. There were so many emotions tied to this time in my life. Elation, hilarity, devastation, and unbearable pain. But they can't be masked and they demand to be felt. Especially as this date approaches.

October 11th should have been my special day.
It's not happening like I dreamt it would every time I uttered proudly, "I'm due October 11th", but I'm going to make it a special day nonetheless. It's a day for remembering what once was and remembering what is truly important and what goals I want to attain. It's a day to be celebrated and a day to open up my "Hard Times" folder and see what Heavenly Father has really given me besides a trial I had to overcome. He let me feel immense love. He gave me a glimpse of what is yet to come.

He gave me a day to always be remembered.
October 11th, 2014.