Five years ago, I was pregnant. The week before Easter I had that first pregnancy-confirmation doctor's visit where you're supposed to see the "bean" and the heartbeat. Only there wasn't a heartbeat. I wasn't too worried because I thought I was only about 6 weeks along rather than 8. The doctor, though, ordered some blood tests and we made another appointment for the day after Easter.
After lots of phone calls to the lab about lost blood and going back to the doctor to get it re-drawn, I finally talked to a nurse about my bloodwork on Maundy Thursday. Much to my shock, she told me I would almost certainly miscarry (really, I think she would've left out the "almost" except that medical professionals are taught to never be certain). She gave me instructions about calling the doctor on call (since everyone would be out for the holiday) and going to the hospital as soon as the inevitable began. She may have said, "I'm sorry," but I don't remember, though I do remember sitting on our guest bed with the embroidered sage green satiny duvet cover.
Thus commenced the longest Holy Weekend of my life as I waited for death to come.
Only it never did. And on Easter Monday at that next doctor's appointment, the bean and the heartbeat were alive and strong.
And I cried tears of joy as I choked out, "She told me I would miscarry."
The doctor was shocked. It turns out that my blood hormone levels were low, but not really low enough to say I would almost certainly miscarry. The nurse had made a mistake. Part of me was angry at her, but mostly I was just so very, very thankful for a tiny beating heartbeat. So very thankful for life ... unexpected life.
My Boy wasn't really a miracle, just a bit of a medical anomaly. But to me he will always be my Easter Monday Miracle. How much we would've missed without this beautiful heartbeat:
No comments:
Post a Comment