A Miracle Year

My miracle year ended yesterday, and I've begun a new journey.

Yes, it's true. For those of you who've been with me the past year you'll remember that Isaac turned one yesterday. A big milestone in his life and mine.

It all started several years ago when Kevin and I decided that we wanted a third child. A simple enough request since we'd had two previous children who delightful and healthy. Though we'd had trouble prior to the birth of our first child, we never suspected that we would have trouble again, we figured that we'd done our share.

I remember the first time I told Kevin we were pregnant after we had decided to have another baby, he was so excited. The kids were also really excited. The excitement didn't last long as the bleeding began.

It's a long, sad story, one that does have a happy ending. One that is painful to write out, even now, years later.

Each of the miscarriages or ectopics has its own story. Each one different and yet the same.

The highlights include a ruptured liver 12 hours after finding out we were pregnant in the summer of 96, which led to emergency surgery for a suspected ectopic pregnancy, only to find the liver bleeding instead. A six week wait to see what would become of the pregnancy, only to find it was a cornual pregnancy. And a subsequent hospitalization when that ruptured.

October 21, 1996 we found out we were expecting again. Our marriage was breaking down, as were the lines of communications. The only thing we had in common was a burning desire to have a baby.

Kevin was busy trying to finish his doctorate in mathematics at a university several states away. He had come to associate pregnancy with killing his wife.

I was so hellbent on having a baby I didn't listen to anyone anymore. Kevin was no longer pleased to hear that I had seen the plus sign on a pregnancy test. Nor did he enjoy the fact that I took a pregnancy test nearly every day, as if it would tell me that everything was okay.

Within minutes of his return from finishing his dissertation defense, I started bleeding yet again. This time bright red gushing with enormous clots. Off to the hospital we went with our plastic ware in hand. I made bad jokes about creating a line of plastic container for this very occasion, because I didn't have much left at home and the hospital never seemed to return it.

I was bleeding so heavily that we decided on a D & C to be done immediately. Poor Kevin signed me up for surgery again and left me as instructed. The last he was promised a 15 minute surgery I was gone over eight hours.

It was over and I was home. Then the inevitable happened, my pager went off. Someone was in early labor.

I tried to shift into gear for the birth of another baby. I trembled and cried silently. All the promises I'd been making to myself, G-d, anyone who would listen. The way I judged others for simple things like complaining about 2 AM feedings. I swore that I would always welcome a baby, even at 2 AM for the umpteenth time.

It wound up that I did two births the following day, just three days before Thanksgiving. One was even in the hospital where I'd had my D & C just hours before. I remember calling Kevin from the pay phone and crying. This wasn't fair, why us, etc. He was as kind as he could be in his own grief and at 3 AM.

The genetic studies came back and I remember watching them print out on my fax machine. I saw that the baby was a girl, normal and healthy. What was wrong with me? Kevin had said that he would like another girl a long time before, where I had thought that the child I was carrying was a boy. In a very snotty manner I went into the bathroom where he was shaving and I said, "Ha, it's a girl. That's okay, I wanted a boy." And I walked out. I didn't even care if I hurt his feelings and it was almost intentional.

February 11th I figured I was pregnant again, and a test confirmed it. I'd taken to sneaking pregnancy tests. I had dropped Kevin and the kids off at McDonalds to play and went to the store, doing the test in their bathroom. It was negative there, but I rechecked it as I drove up at McDonald's to get them and it was positive. I managed not to tell him for a whole 24 hours. I had originally wanted to wait until Valentine's day to tell him. I'm glad I didn't.

When I finally broke down and told him, he was furious. How could this happen? I reminded him of the lack of birth control, etc. How could I be happy? I tried to explain that I had to feel positive about it or I wouldn't make it through.

I kept a journal online this pregnancy, and prayed that it would ward off the demons. I had had some ritual for nearly every pregnancy, including tell everyone early. When I look back and read that journal now I see how sad and afraid I was.

The pregnancy was uneventful with the exception of a bleeding episode in the beginning, which of course made me believe that it was over. I was already afraid of certain bathrooms because I'd had pregnancies begin to bleed there before. For example, I couldn't go to the bathroom downstairs at my mother-in-law's house, or the upstairs bathroom at the JCC. It was really sad, but one of those things that I did to try and tell myself I had control, which I didn't.

Kevin seemed to get better after we saw a heart beat and he enjoyed playing with the baby through my belly, but now tells me he wasn't going to believe it or be happy until the kid was 18.

I felt much better after about 24 weeks. I started the countdown and the little bugger decided to stay an additional two weeks for good measure.

I told Kevin, "I think we'll be going to bed with our baby tonight."

The birth was faster than I'd experienced before, but uneventful and delightful as Hilary and Benjamin watched their brother come into the world.

As we went to sleep with our precious baby in our arms, I couldn't sleep. I was way too excited. I kept telling Kevin, "Watch him now, he'll be different in the morning!"

I was a mother again, and I had made a lot of promises that I had to keep. Being super mom didn't do much for me except give me mastitis at eleven days postpartum. And when 2 AM hit and I had to get up, I cried and begged Isaac to sleep a bit longer. Then I cried for letting myself down.

The road to get Isaac was rough and covered with stumbling blocks. The road since he has been here hasn't been much better, but at least it's been more enjoyable.

I brought a lot of baggage and I've tried to not make Isaac suffer for that. He has grown up happy and healthy despite us.

His birthday was yesterday. He turned one and I can't believe it. It really seems like many of the previous wounds have healed, though still sore when you rub them. We still remember our losses, and even the kids will ask about the baby they affectionately call the "purple baby," their sister. Hopefully Isaac will always know that he's loved and very wanted.

Hopefully he'll read the journals some day and see what a gift he was. Hopefully we'll remember that when he's a teenager and really on our nerves.

The one thing I've learned is that the odd promises that you make in order to try and have your baby are promises to the wind, because they don't work and can make you feel guilty later. Much like the little girls who pray at night that they will always have a clean room if they can only be the lead ballerina, or the boys who promise to take the trash out if only they can go to this one game, I made promises I had every intention to keep.

In the end I was blessed. Not with the baby that I expected, or the pregnancy, or anything. But with the most perfect human being in the world.

As we sang Happy Birthday to Isaac last night all of these things reminded me how much I loved him and always would, how long we tried to have a baby, and how much he is loved by many.

Could any baby be this lucky? Or any mommy?

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