It happened one October day. It happened suddenly and swiftly. I fell in love the moment I saw that pink line appear. After trying to conceive without success and discovering some health issues along the way, I was both surprised and overjoyed to finally be pregnant. It changed my life almost immediately. I was a mother. It didn't matter that our baby wasn't born yet, we were already parents. We were charged with the care of this tiny little one and we were excited.
We spent the weekend together, going to a concert, attending church, enjoying our little secret of life. But there was a pain. A pain that wouldn't go away. A pain that kept growing. We knew I needed to go to the emergency room. The doctor confirmed I was pregnant, but after two ultrasounds they informed us they couldn't find the baby. The pain in my heart overwhelmed the pain my body experienced. We were sent home. I cried until sleep overtook me.
My husband called the OB the hospital referred us to. They didn't have any openings. He called another. Nothing available. He called another. And another. He finally got us an appointment and we went right away. Upon arriving I was taken back to the ultrasound. The tech was kind and gentle, unlike the one in the hospital the night before. She effortlessly moved the wand, searching and recording. She paused. There. On the screen. A tiny form. Ity-bity arm buds. A tiny ball moving with rhythm. There was no sound, but I knew it was my baby; it's heart beating. The tech called in the doctor who confirm the pregnancy was ectopic. Our beloved baby had implanted in my left tube. The pain I was experiencing was the pressure our growing baby was putting on my tube. The doctor schedule the surgery.
Calling our family to tell them the joyous news of our baby then to follow by the great sadness of our scheduled loss was incredibly hard. I wanted this baby. I didn't want it to go. I didn't want to lose it.
Waking up in the recovery room I asked the nurse if they were able to save my tube. I knew they couldn't save my baby. I knew when the doctor went in to cut my baby out of my tube, she cut off it's life. I knew there was nothing I could have done to save my baby. But I hoped my tube was saved. I hoped to have another baby.
The doctor showed my husband the pictures taken from my surgery. She explained the baby was so embedded into my tube they couldn't save it. She showed him how big my tube had been stretched, pointing out the purple areas, indicating the thinness of my tube, about to rupture. She said the baby had been about the size of a blueberry. Blueberry. Our blueberry.
Recovering wasn't easy. I ached. It hurt to lay down and sit back up. It hurt to move around. It hurt to have loved and lost. I thanked God for allowing my life to be spared. I thanked God that walking through this loss brought my husband and I closer in a way we had never experienced. I thanked God that our little Blueberry was in heaven. That it never knew pain or hurt or loss. I thanked God that our Blueberry only knew love. Our love for those four days and God's perfect love for all of eternity. There was still pain. There was still hurt. There were questions. There was longing. But there was love.
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