When you lose something you almost had. – Part 1

A post broken up in parts due to its’ length.

It is a bittersweet time of the year for me. November marks a significant month for several reasons. It is my husband’s and my “power month,” as we like to call it. The reason for this is that we first met in November, we got engaged in November, and we got married in November. Last November my parents also came to visit all the way from Germany, and it was a beautiful reunion after 5 years of not seeing each other.

These are all beautiful reasons and you might think “So, where is the bittersweet part of all this?” Well, last year on the 21st day in November I fell pregnant for the second time. And just like the pregnancy before it was not a viable pregnancy again. It was definitely a heartbreaking experience, given the fact that my two pregnancies happened only three months apart, and I still choke up when I think about it.

It was in the beginning of August 2015 when things started feeling different. I was not sure what was going on with me but something was definitely off. My dog was acting a little different too. He was just really attached to me, constantly by my side, lying next or on top of me (have I mentioned he is a 55lb dog!), watching every little thing I was up to. I had no idea what I was about to find out.

We had a friend in town who stayed with us at that time, and one of the evenings we decided to go to the pub to play some shuffleboard and grab a bite to eat. I rarely drink alcohol these days, but back then I enjoyed having me a good pint of Guinness. As I was sitting there watching my husband and our friend play shuffleboard, I kept thinking to myself “When was the last time I had my period?” I really couldn’t remember. I’m honestly quite bad about that. Despite all those apps on my phone and my handwritten pocket calendar, I still miss to write those dates down.

I wasn’t thinking any further about it and figured that Aunt Flow would show her face in due time. I even joked and said to my husband, “Maybe I’m pregnant.” We went home and the boys were in a great mood, figuring it would be a great idea to continue celebrating whatever they thought they were celebrating. I declined the offer for a drink. “I don’t feel like drinking. Staying away from alcohol might be the last thing that will save the rest of my fertility I have left, if any.” I was really joking when I said that.

The next day, it was August 18, 2015, I decided to go ahead and pee on a stick (“POAS”).
I didn’t expect anything. I mean, after 10 years of infertility who would even think about something like that. Every time I POAS the result was negative and Aunt Flow showed her face the next day. I guess I thought the same thing would happen then. Or maybe I did have a little faith that miracles do happen. After all, that’s what my husband kept telling me whenever we spoke about the infertility thing.

So here I was, waiting for the control line to pop up. And just a few seconds later I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was positive!


Like, what just happened?! I can’t be! My tubes are blocked. No way! Is this for real?
I immediately broke out in tears, calling my husband hysterically. He didn’t hear me until our friend told him that I might be calling for him. My husband came running to the bathroom, I pointed towards the positive test, and he smiled and hugged me, telling me “See, I told you nothing is impossible!”

All of a sudden everything started making sense to me. The sleepless nights, runs to the bathroom to pee, my loss of appetite, my aversion to alcohol, my dog…..

I continued to POAS for the next days. I mean, it could have been a false positive. A defective test or whatever (yea, I know crazy), but the result stayed the same. We were pregnant!

We were debating on telling our family and decided to only tell his parents and mine. It’s probably needless to say that they were super excited. My Mother in Law had no idea. She thought we called her because of the package she had sent us just a few days prior to us finding out. One of the gifts was a resurrection plant or also called Rose of Jericho. It is a dessert plant that does not die and always “resurrects” when put in water.

As soon as we told her the news she said “Oh goodness! It worked! That’s what the resurrection plant stands for.” It completely blew my mind! Now I’m not a superstitious person, or let’s say try not to be, but this was just amazing!

We were over the moon and nothing could steal our joy. We even thought about names and what always amazes me is, that we both thought about the same (boy) name and even said it out loud at the same time. Total tear jerker moment.

Everything seemed so exciting until the day we ended up in the ER. I had mild cramping here and there but wasn’t too concerned, and had my first scan scheduled for 7 weeks. I figured it was normal since I’ve heard the cramping is pretty common. But I was a little sceptic about it and honestly just antsy because waiting for the appointment to see our beautiful baby seemed just like forever. So we ended up going to the hospital.

While we were there, multiple doctors saw me and they did blood tests along with several ultrasounds. My uterus was empty. Nothing. No sac, no baby. Nothing. The doctor said it might be too early. According to their calculation (which was probably completely off because I couldn’t even remember my last period), I was about 6 weeks pregnant. We had to wait for the blood results, and when they came back we knew something was wrong. The doctors suspected a tubal or ectopic pregnancy and recommended either the methotrexate shot, which they mentioned would not be the best choice as the tube might be damaged already and it would increase the risk for another ectopic pregnancy afterwards, or a surgery to remove the pregnancy and possibly my damaged tube. They mentioned it has to be done as soon as possible to avoid any possible tubal rupture, as the inner bleeding caused by it could kill me.

I was freaking out. I didn’t want to go into surgery. I wanted my baby; I wanted my baby to grow and to be born into this world. I wanted to be a mom. And I didn’t want to accept what I just heard. But I also didn’t want to die. What was I supposed to do?

Good thing my husband was there, he’s always level headed and calms me down when I can’t find peace. Although he was not too sure either about what to do, he suggested doing the surgery. I tried to weigh out all the pros and cons and decided to go ahead and do the surgery. In the end, the doctors said that if my tube is salvageable, they will save it.

The surgery took a couple of hours. I think we spent our whole day at the hospital though. When I awoke, my husband told me that they couldn’t save my tube but that everything is ok now. He mentioned that the doctor who performed the surgery said, that everything else in there looks good and the other tube looks fine. My husband tried to encourage me that maybe this was God’s way of leading us into the right direction. Maybe this was the necessary step, to have everything cleaned out in order to be able to fall pregnant going forward. At that time, I was just slowly finding my way back to God. Up until then I was really confused, and was not sure if there is one actual God. But when I fell pregnant after all this time my heart definitely started changing.


I agreed with my husband that all this was not a coincidence and truly the work of God. I was still a little angry but I had hope.

My doctor told me that we should restrain from having intercourse for the next three months. He also mentioned that the risk for another ectopic pregnancy rises about 2% after having the first one, but also said that this does not happen too often. I definitely did not expect it to happen again. I really was convinced that we could and would not even fall pregnant that fast again.

My recovery from the surgery and removal of my right tube took about two weeks, and I really needed that time. I was weak, bloated, sleepy and not to mention depressed. I binged watched Netflix, and didn’t even feel like leaving the house at all. I think it was a couple of days before I returned to work, that I actually left the house to go get my hair done. I needed a change. I needed to lose the weight I was carrying, even if it was just in a symbolic way.

I tried to believe that this was God. That there was a God who loves me, despite me being such a sinner. A God that forgives me for all the wrong I have done in life and blesses me with a miracle, and that He had a plan for me. But I just could not wrap my head around it. I could not figure out what it was He was trying to do to my life or which way to go.

Little did I realize then, that God was already working on me and through me, and my life long before I noticed it; all to be revealed later on.

To be continued…



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