9-11

9/11. A date that has so much significance for so many of us. Mine goes back 3 years before the day our lives as Americans changed forever. 9/11/98 - the day I miscarried my third and last child. I haven’t kept this date in my head for the last 11 years. It was just coincidence that I remembered its significance this week. I have this old Daytimer/Planner/Address book that I used to use religiously to keep my family’s life organized. I was going to toss it out a while back but decided to just throw it in a drawer instead. I came across it the other day and flipped through it. I used to write little notes and things on the calendar pages to help me remember things. It was interesting to read notes on Emma’s tear duct surgeries she had as an infant and Sarah’s children’s choir practices and play dates and duties I had at our former church. When I flipped to September I noticed that the days and dates coincided with this year.

The note on 9/11 took me back. On Friday thru Sunday it read, “cabin”. Steve had reserved a cabin at White Pines State Park for the weekend. He was out of town (Texas I think) until Friday morning and then we were leaving for the cabin. I was supposed to have everything ready and packed so we could leave and get there by late afternoon/dinner time. Thursday’s square reminded me that I had to drop off baked goods at the church rummage/bake sale. I was planning to make a peach pie from scratch.

This pregnancy had been a complete surprise. Not an unwelcome one, just a shock. Emma had just turned one in July and I was still nursing her. Infertility had become such a part of our life that we never even considered using birth control after either of the girls were born because we knew that if we didn’t just take what we were given whenever it happened we may never have any kids. Sarah and Emma were 3 ½ years apart and it had taken us almost 3 years to get pregnant for Sarah in the first place.

I was just coming to grips with the idea of being pregnant again when I woke up that Tuesday morning with cramps and an uneasy feeling. Looking back I realize that this pregnancy never really felt right or real. Later that morning I noticed light bleeding and called my doctor. He told me to take it easy and see what happened. Steve was packing to leave for another business trip and asked if he should cancel it. I told him to go ahead, I’d be fine. By bedtime it was obvious it was not going to be fine. I was alone with a one year old and a five year old and I never felt so alone in my life. When he called that night he again asked if I wanted him to cancel his meetings and come home. I said I didn’t care and I’d manage. In truth I was in denial that what was inevitably happening was really happening. Also I didn’t want to have to say “yes I need you” I just wanted him to want to be here and make that decision without me having to say it.

So what did I do? In the morning I called my doctor again and they told me there was nothing to be done but wait it out, if I hadn’t stopped bleeding within 24 hours or it got “too heavy” I could call again to schedule a d&c. So I laid on the couch, nursed Emma when I could, bribed Sarah with PBS shows and cried when she wasn’t looking. I didn’t really have anyone close that I felt comfortable calling to help me out so I toughed it out.

By Thursday morning I convinced myself that things were getting better. I made the pie for the church bake sale and made arrangements to drop the dog off at the sitters that evening. I was determined that this was not going to interfere with my commitments and the weekend Steve had planned for us. I baked, cleaned and packed and only stopped long enough to take care of the girls and occasionally rest and cry some more. My neighbor called to see if Sarah could play and I finally broke down and told her what was going on. She came over and took Sarah for a few hours and prayed over me. That evening I loaded the girls, the dog and the pie in the car and delivered the pie to the church and the dog to the sitters. Halfway through these errands I realized things were getting worse instead of better. I sat in a bathroom stall at the church and delivered what would have been my baby.

The next morning I realized things weren’t resolving themselves on their own and I would need a D&C. I called my neighbor take care of the girls for me and then called another friend, the same friend who watched Sarah for me when Emma was born, to drive me to the hospital. The procedure was routine and proceeded without incident. By that time I was exhausted and resigned to the situation. My friend got me home and settled on the couch and Steve pulled in the driveway, home from his business trip.

The girls came home from the neighbors and Sarah sat on the floor of the living room with her paper and crayons and drew me a picture to make me feel better. It was of a sweet little angel. She handed it to me and said, “Here Mommy, this angel is happy because she is in heaven now where everything is beautiful.” She had never been told there was going to be another baby and at that age would not have understood the concept of a miscarriage but somehow in that magic that is childhood she made that spiritual connection. If this baby had been a girl, her name was going to be Grace. Seems fitting doesn’t it?

We did go to the cabin that weekend and I continued to try to act like nothing had happened. I spent one afternoon in bed while Steve took Sarah hiking and fishing. I still got up in the night to change, nurse and soothe Emma back to sleep. I cried the entire time.

Time passed. I “got over it”. We never did use any form of birth control again. I never got pregnant again. Eventually I gave up the idea of anymore children. Eventually my endometriosis took its ultimate toll and I had a total hysterectomy. My doctor said that I was the most severe case he’s ever seen. I’m glad that part of my life is over, I don’t miss it. But I will never forget that weekend. And I will probably never be totally “over it.”


Post Script: I was also alone with the girls three years later when the terrorists attacked. Steve was stuck in Reno and ended up driving home in the last rental car available in Nevada. When people wonder at how I manage things around here when he is gone I just think about these two times and figure if I could survive them, I can handle just about anything.