I swear it was only yesterday.
The day I gleefully shoved a positive pregnancy test in my husband’s face, nothing in my heart but sheer excitement at all the joy to come.
The day my coworkers peeled me off the bathroom floor at six weeks pregnant, in far too much pain to stand, walk or drive.
The day I stayed right by my phone, waiting to hear my hCG numbers. Waiting to hear if we would lose this baby. That day I got good news.
I swear it was only yesterday I lay weeping on my bathroom floor, my body betraying what the nurse just told me.
I remember so clearly every pain, every moment leading up to surgery after my fallopian tube ruptured. I remember the nurse helping undress me, and the way my OB looked at me with kindness and compassion. “I don’t know how bad of shape you are in, and I won’t until I get in there,” she said, referring to my abdomen filling with blood, “but I promise I’ll do everything I can.”
I don’t remember saying good-bye to my husband as they wheeled me off for emergency surgery, but I did wonder if there would ever be another hello. I closed my anesthesia-heavy eyes wondering if they would open ever again.
I swear it was only yesterday I woke up in recovery with the stark realization that my baby was gone and would never be coming back. I spent that week on the couch, numb and broken, the loss consuming my every thought and yet still, completely unthinkable.
I swear it was only yesterday tears and triggers filled my days.
Two-week waits, then two-week waits to try again. Heading to Wal-Mart with a fellow loss friend, buying ovulation predictor kits and stocking up on those 88-cent pregnancy tests (because when do you ever just use one?)
I swear it was only yesterday I sat in the same OB’s office with an impending miscarriage, her words “it’s just bad luck” ringing through my ears. Why, my heart cried, did this happen to me again?
I swear it was only yesterday I still believed loss had some kind of limit.
Like you paid your dues, and then all of existence cried, “That’s enough! Leave her alone, she suffered enough. Just let her be.” I swear it was only yesterday that my third loss happened, and I buried my naivety deep because more than just my baby died.
It couldn’t have been long ago that the only community I wanted to be with was my loss community, those online and in person. They were the only ones I didn’t feel like required some sort of explanation on how I was, or why I was. I could just be me, broken, hurting me, and that was enough.
RELATED: Recurrent Pregnancy Loss Is: Me
The question of why this kept happening drove me to places I never imagined … to rheumatologists and fertility clinics. Infertility stripped my modesty. Drawing blood no longer bothered me, but the price tag attached to each test sure did.
Why did we have to pay thousands of dollars and still have no baby to show for it?
I swear it was just yesterday I was picking out the name for my fourth loss — wanting so desperately to keep all my babies separate, to make sure that they each had a place in my world. I worried I would run out of names. That fear was not unfounded. I gave up on my fifth loss, referring to that one only as “baby.”
RELATED: The Real Definition of Infertility
I swear it was only yesterday I discovered I was pregnant yet again. A rainbow in the sky brightened my heart the day of our first ultrasound, the day I first heard her heartbeat. I was pregnant for nine months and yet it feels like only days. I remember every moment of her birth. I think I always will.
I swear it was only yesterday … and yet crow’s feet are now gathering around my eyes.
My rainbow baby is no longer baby, but a full-on toddler and every bit as spunky as toddlers are. My oldest, just two when this all began, is about to start her last year in elementary school. I began our journey in my twenties. I was a young thing compared today, as my forties and mid-life are just around the bend. Every time a new year rolls around, I automatically compare it to the year our loss journey began, and I have to ask myself, “how can so much time have passed?”
I know I’m moving forward. I’ve grown so much, changed so much, accomplished so much. Some days, I can think of this time as a season long since passed.
But then again, on days like today …