God's Plan

God* teaches us humility, and humanity, in funny ways.

For those who don't know me very well, or don't know me at all: I have been type-A since I came out of the womb. I am the planner, the fixer, the do-it-all'er, the purist who must have all the checks in their boxes with no colors outside the lines. In Kindergarten, I once told a classmate that the picture of the girl he was coloring can't possibly have purple hair because purple hair doesn't exist. I mean, now it does, but maybe it didn't in 1994, I don't know -- I digress. You get the point.

Thus, in late June 2018, when Husband and I landed ever-so-happily in perfect-for-us Boston, we decided it was time to have a baby.

We had so many friends who had children -- many of whom got pregnant within the first three months or, even luckier, the first month of trying -- that we didn't give much thought to the process. At first, Husband was even planning the kid's birthday to ensure it was after tax season. In hindsight, the though of this is so comical it hurts.

Month one went by uneventfully. We weren't paying much attention to the "schedule" because we weren't "those people" who got all stressed about trying to conceive.

Month two was difficult because I was dealing with some health issues: debilitating migraines of the hemiplegic sort. This made me irritable, tired, and -- most notably -- scared. If you aren't familiar with hemiplegic migraines, think of the signs of a stroke. Facial numbness, numbness on one side of the body, cognitive dysfunction, and impaired motor skills all accompany these types of migraines. Picture walking back to your office with a coffee, feeling your right hand go numb, and then not being able to physically open your office door because your body won't cooperate with your mind -- fucking terrifying. After having one to two of these a week, I was immediately referred to a neurologist who ran some tests and prescribed medication to mitigate these specific types of migraine aura I was experiencing. Thankfully, the medicine worked and by late August I was migraine-free.

Month three was game time. Suddenly, I had turned into "that woman" that I judged so harshly in the past. Every day I would take my temperature, pee on an ovulation stick, adhere to the "schedule". Hardly what you would call "taking it easy" or "conceiving without stress". Looking back, I wonder why I didn't give myself more of a break; but then I re-read paragraph one of this post -- planner, type-A, goal-oriented -- and it all makes sense. 

Month three was the month we got pregnant. I will never forget the feeling the first time two little lines popped up on that stick. Happiness! Then fear; what if we can't do this? But happiness! A baby? Oh wow it actually worked, huh. More happiness! So what if I suck as a parent? All the feelings buzzing around and around in my head. I think Husband and I spent the first 48 hours in pure shock.

Immediately the planning crept back in. I need to make a registry. I need to decide what the nursery will look like. I must order a baby book. And when is the appropriate time to tell our friends and family? The obsession went on and on and then one day, after a few weeks, something just felt wrong.

At this point, I had previously taken a slew of pregnancy tests. From the cheap-o ones that you have to be a cryptologist to decipher to the bougie ones that just said "Pregnant" or "Not Pregnant". I had kept all of the positive tests and also had photo evidence because, well, I'm me. I decided, one morning around the six-week mark, to take another test. I think I knew in my heart it would be negative before the words "Not Pregnant" confirmed it. I sat there in the bathroom in shock, letting it sink in that I just had an early miscarriage (or chemical pregnancy). I called my husband and told him the news. And for a few weeks after that I cried randomly, wondering if there was something wrong with me and asking why God had determined that my body wasn't fit to carry a baby.

"Miscarriage" is not a word you'll hear often in conversation, even among close friends. It seems our society has made it a dirty word...something to be ashamed of. In my own experience, I've had people, even family, tell me that I should keep such things to myself. For a while, I thought they might be right, but no longer. Sharing experiences sets you free and maybe my experience will encourage one other person to share theirs, leaving them that much less alone.

Months four and five were also no good. Emotionally, we just weren't in the game. Physically, our bodies seemed to know this. We ended up taking these months off, whether purposefully or not.

And then there was month six. Month six is this month. At six months, if you are over the age of 32 (which I am not), you qualify, at least per my doctor, for fertility assistance. At six months, if you are me, 29-year-old Lauryn, your brain decides to fight you once more. 

At my quarterly neurologist appointment two weeks ago, I was diagnosed with Idiopathic Intercranial Hypertension causing Papilledema. Not a doctor? This means that my brain is mysteriously swollen and it has put so much pressure on my optic nerve that I am at risk for blindness. For about two months prior, I had been having trouble focusing on things and was feeling like my head and neck were inflamed, which I relayed to the neurologist. I was not overly alarmed by these symptoms at first because they were leaps and bounds better than the migraines I was experiencing over the summer. The neurologist called for an emergency eye exam coupled with an MRI, MRV, and spinal tap. Luckily, these tests confirmed no tumors (MRI), no aneurysms (MRV), and no other weird diseases (spinal tap). Unluckily, the eye exam and spinal tap did confirm increased cranial pressure, which resulted in a new prescription of medicine. Also, the spinal tap and resulting spinal headache were quite horrible and left me horizontal for a decent chunk of the past week. Did you know that they need to leave the spinal tap needle in your back for ten to fifteen minutes while collecting fluid? I sure as heck did not. Eugh.

When I look back on the past six months, in light of recent events, I can't help but think that God has a plan. Does that make me a religious hokey? Maybe. Is it possibly because I am sick of stressing and thinking about the plan of my own and want to give it up to God? Probably. Either way, it's safe to say that no fetus would have wanted to be growing under all the physical stress that I have endured over the past six months. Further, my new brain-fixing medicine is not safe for growing babies nor pregnant ladies, so I'll be taking it slow for at least another six months, minimum. It makes me so anxious to think of what I would be going through if I had this issue while pregnant and I am thankful every day that it happened while I am not.

For now, I'm going to focus on me for a bit with particular emphasis on taking care of myself and my health. After all, I still have over two more years until I'm 32 ;-)

*A.K.A.: The big man upstairs, the universe, Allah, Jehova, Yahweh, the almighty, and/or creator.