Inside My Heart

Sometimes in life we have moments that change us. I have had a few. The moment when my parents told me that a close family friend, who was my age, had been tragically killed in a biking accident when I was in grade school was one. The moment that I realized that Jayme was both my best friend and the love of my life, was another one. And few moments have changed me like the moments when I first beheld my two children, and my heart turned to mush...twice.

One of the most significant moments for me happened eleven years ago, and it was more of an event than a moment. It took place over a thirteen week time period, and ended with my heart completely broken into a million pieces, and me forever changed.

Eleven years ago (and a few months), it was 1999. My husband and I had left Maine, the first place we lived as husband and wife, and moved to Florida. While our very first house was being built we were living with his parents, here in Orlando. It was springtime when I found out that I was...pregnant?

I was not overjoyed at this realization. In fact, I remember calling my mom to tell her, and sobbing on the phone that it was going to "ruin Christmas". I remember telling her things like, "It wasn't supposed to happen like this. I'm still a baby myself, and Chrissy is supposed to have kids first." My due date was January 2, 2000. Yep, I was going to have a Y2K baby. If you know me at all, it will not surprise you that to me this meant that all of the computerized medical equipment in the hospital was going to be failing right when my baby and I needed life saving interventions.

But a baby is a good thing, that much I knew. I was married, building a house, having a child with the man I love, and we both had jobs. The logical side of me, which always seems to win out in my mind, decided that this was good. I did not feel pregnant, but I did start to feel happy. That didn't last long. I was happy for a week or so, when the sickness started. It was constant sickness. People talk about nausea or even morning sickness. Ha! I scoff at them. I am talking about retching my guts out twenty four hours a day. Not being able to drink water, juice, soda, milk shakes, lemonade, or even nibble on a gingersnap without getting sick. Not being able to lay down, stand up, sit, or breathe without vomiting. I would awake from sleeping at night to get sick. It was not normal.

My husband called the doctor to request my first appointment, and they scheduled me for one 4-6 weeks away, the typical first prenatal appointment. I was convinced that I would be dead by then, so we got to go in that same week. Fear not, I traveled with my trashcan. At that appointment they diagnosed me with Hyperemesis gravidarum. That's the fancy name for throwing up all of the time when you are pregnant. They recommended lots of remedies and I tried them all. Pressure bands for sea sickness, ginger candies, raw ginger, saltines in bed ten minutes before rising, Preggie pops, mouth sprays, even a positive attitude (as it was alluded to that this may be a psychological condition). Anyway, check, check, check, check, check. The long story, short, is that nothing worked. I was put on Zofran, and anti nausea drug that they give to cancer patients, and had a Reglan pump in my leg that constantly infused my body with Reglan, another anti-nausea drug. I had home health nurses that came in (I don't know how) frequently to change the pump and check on me, but it is really all a blurr. All I know was that in thirty days I lost thirty pounds. During this time when they were trying to help me, I came to know three things without question.

The first is that I was not afraid to die. It might sound silly. I was just pregnant!! But it was really, and truly, that bad. I laid in my bed with my dog curled up on the floor feeling like there was no light at the end of the tunnel, and being legitimately sick, malnourished, and dehydrated. I had no strength. Even going to the bathroom made me nearly pass out, which I did once when I tried to take a shower. I would watch the praise and worship channel on the TV all night long, and during the day when it was not available I sang, "It is well with my soul" about fifty million times. As is often true during desperate times, I have never been stronger in my faith or closer to God than I was during those couple of months. I knew He held the answers, the hope, the health, and when the time came to meet Him it would be a great relief.

The second is that my husband is an incredible man. This was a crazy time in his life as well. We had moved down here so that he could help his parents build their company. Originally, Jayme's dad was a man who owned and operated a car transporter (those giant trucks covered in cars that I am scared to pass on the Interstate). Jayme came to help him build a business where he did not operate the truck, and where they would have multiple trucks and drivers, and clients. He ended up doing that, but not without a lot of really hard work and long hours. At the beginning, he worked out of the house, the very house that I was a dying prisoner in. He had to run upstairs to check on me about a thousand times a day while implementing computerized billing systems, finding clients, hiring drivers, etc. He also had to go out to check on our house periodically and make decisions for the builder to get things how we wanted them. He slept on a mattress on the floor next to my bed. Every night. With the praise and worship channel staying bright in his face all night long, and having to wake up hourly to help me with my trash can. Do you know what? Every time I called, he came. With a loving pat on my arm, kiss on my forehead, and smile on his face, he emptied my trashcan, and held my hand, and proved to me that no matter what the future held for me, it held him.

The last thing I learned was that I loved my baby. I was so silly to not have wanted to be pregnant. During my thirteen weeks of unbelievable sickness, I got to hear my baby's heart beat several times, and with all of the time spent in bed I did a lot of thinking about "his" ( I don't know why I decided he was a he back then, but I did) possible future. I didn't want to be sick, but I wanted to be a good mother. Maybe I had to sacrifice my health for "him" to exist, but there was beauty in the sacrifice, and it was worth it.

The story took a happy turn when I finally got a picc line in my arm to "feed" me intravenously. The doctors had been saying that if I could get food in me I would feel better, but they had said a lot of things so I was skeptical. This time, they were right! I felt better within a day or two. The nutrients started to help the levels of every chemical in my body level out, and I started to feel...not good, but definitely less bad. The whole time of sickness is a blurr, with me just remembering random moments. I recall eating frozen grape juice chips, singing in my bed, and the massive dreaded endeavors to see the doctor. But, I absolutely remember the Fourth of July. It was FUN!!!! I spent time outside on the lounge chair by my in-law's pool and watched while Jayme and his dad set off a bunch of fireworks. I laughed. I smiled. I didn't throw up!! Things were looking up, and I was entering my 13th week of pregnancy where they had said the hormones would level out, and I would naturally start to feel better anyway. I had a glimmer of hope!

I found out on July 5th, 1999 that I had a miscarriage. It was devastating news. I think it was worse because of all that we had gone through just to get that far. I didn't cry when the doctor told me, but Jayme did. For me, it was like time stood still. I didn't feel. I just asked if they were really, really sure. I had to have a D&C in a couple days and didn't want to risk that they had been wrong. The rest is pretty much a blurr too, but we made it through. We survived.

We never did find out why. They tried to do genetic testing on the baby, but it was inconclusive. It's fine though; it really doesn't matter. I don't know what went wrong, or if the baby waiting for me in Heaven today is a "he" or a "she". I just know that someday I will get to say, "Hi, little one. I'm your mommy". I so cannot wait.

You're not with me anymore. We said goodbye before we even said hello. The emptiness is hard to ignore. I feel like I've lost my soul. But your still my baby boy, you're still the news that came and filled my heart with joy, and even though we're apart, you're always here with me inside my heart...