It's kind of sad that we have to write this post now, after nearly two weeks of being too busy to post much of anything, especially since so much good has happened in the past two weeks. Mr. Baseball started Kindergarten, the Monkey's finally saying quite a few (all be them mushy) words, we reupholstered a gross arm chair, we watched BYU go 2-0 in the first two weeks of the season, and we've enjoyed the relative relaxation of the last few weeks of summer (school starts up for me tomorrow with a vengeance--three classes, plus teaching, plus a new computer lab job).
On the other hand, its been a rough couple of weeks. Between the QB, the Monkey, and me, we made six trips to the doctor in the last two weeks. The monkey had an ear infection and a WIC check up, I sprained my knee playing basketball at the church, and perhaps the most difficult part of the past two weeks, the news that many of our friends and relatives already know, the QB had a miscarriage.
At 9 weeks pregnant, with a little bleeding, very little morning sickness, and an intuitive hunch that she described as "not feeling pregnant," we went to the doctor last week fearing the worst. Except fear isn't the right word. Yes, we are definitely disappointed, and if either of us think about it too long, we get sad, but even when she told me last Wednesday that she thought she ought to go see a doctor, we weren't scared. We decided together that the human body is pretty smart at figuring itself out, and if whatever was going on inside the QB over the past few weeks wasn't going to add up to healthy baby, then we're glad the body was set up to handle things like that.
Wednesday we were cautiously optimistic--we had thought she'd miscarried with the Monkey as well, and he came along okay...
Thursday we were cautiously pessimistic--according to the blood test, her hormone levels were just barely above "inviable"...
Friday we were resigned and at peace--the ultrasound and another bloodtest confirmed our suspicions, which relieved us from having to either make a potentially premature decision, or to wait the weekend to see what would happen.
She had a D and C on Friday morning and came home and rested most of Friday afternoon. I think I was more nervous about the operation than she was--she kept holding my hand and smiling at me, as if to say, "You know, this is going to be alright."
I can't even identify what I was nervous about--just a generalized anxiety about seeing my wife in a hospital gown and hair net, hooked up to monitors and tubes of chemicals, lying on her back, smiling at me, moving her lips and flexing her eyebrows, as if she were gearing up for a dental exam, or trying on lipstick, and then the anesthesiologist injecting something into her IV line and the nurse showing me the door and telling me she'll call me in about twenty minutes and then I'm alone in the waiting room with Rachael Ray on the television and Golf Digest on the table and warm creams and browns and soft repeating patterns in the carpet and the upholstery and on the wall and I'm curling my toes in my shoes and feeling quite helpless, so I step out into the clinic lobby and buy myself a Milky Way out of the vending machine. Then I'm back in the waiting room, eating my chocolate bar, and turning down the volume on Rachael Ray's school lunch tips so I can sit and wait for my wife in silence.
The QB appreciates your thoughts and prayers, as do I, and we are absolutely thankful for our two wonderful boys who have kept things light and happy around here when they could be dark and heavy. We are thankful too for God, and His infinite wisdom, and we both appreciate this opportunity to be still, and know that He is.
"Some trust in chariots, and some in horses: but we will remember the name of the Lord our God. They are brought down and fallen: but we are risen, and stand upright." --Psalms 20:7-8