I’ve said it before. I’m sure to say it again. I like order. I like plans. The quantified, reliable, measurable and most importantly anticipated are all things I love. My little tags of security that give me the freedom to be spontaneous and fun within the safety of a well made plan. Sometimes I think God must laugh at the way I mentally and emotionally return to my little self made security blankets in life again and again. Even when I know they don’t provide any actual security at all.

We had a plan. It was a great plan. Was going to be our modified-hybrid-honeymoon-dream-vacation we’ve never done. We were poor newlyweds who erred on the side of practicality. Our Honeymoon was a drive in a U haul from GA to NM with a gigantic German Shepherd that was prone to getting car-sick. I’ve never regretted our honeymoon, or the lack thereof. As we have worked in our marriage to get ourselves out of debt it has been a relief not to have had to deal with an extra pile of it which is what a “nice” honeymoon would have been for us at that time. But I digress…

Five, almost six years of marriage and we were finally going to be able to do it. Between a business opportunity and an aligning of several other factors we were going to go to Maui. The very thought took my breath away! So exciting. So cool. So amazing that it could happen for us in the right way at the right time. It felt surreal and wonderful all at the same time. So we made plans. Bought plane tickets. Made lodging reservations. Bought tickets to go on a boat to go Whale Watching. It was a wonderful plan!

Somewhere along the way over the past few months my body has decided to throw a new curve-ball. A new front of random and annoying problems arose from the host of other problems that have been on-going. It has been frustrating but served as a catalyst for me to bite the bullet and do what I’ve been loath to do. Part of my ‘story’ is that Dr.’s and I do not have a good history. They try very hard to help me. They give me a lot of tests, come up with very few results and even fewer answers, slap labels and diagnoses on me and prescribe medications to me and caution that it is likely I’ll need to remain on them for the rest of my life. Typically I’m exhausted, drugged, frustrated and bleeding money at the end of my Doctoral encounters. I should clarify that they all (well, most) seem to have the best of intentions and would genuinely like to help me. Their paradigm of care simply does not offer many options for healing for someone like me. The greatest healing and actual medical answers I’ve received in my life were well outside of a Dr.’s care and supervision. So, it was with great reluctance that I came to terms with the reality that it was time I seek care from a Dr. again. This time a carefully selected specialist, one who has had a lot of experience dealing with a multi-problem patient like me.

A specialist was located 2 hours from us. A distance I’d gladly triple to be seen by someone who has the experience and tools to actually help me. I called and an appointment was made for two and a half months later. The very earliest he could get me in. In the interim I decided to put up with the new and old symptoms as best as I could with as little complaining as possible.

This explains the state of affairs that led to me *not* go running for a pregnancy test last month. I’m a compulsive tester. I always have been. The gamut of motivators from paranoia to hope to excitement to dread to just good old fashioned curiosity have driven me to the magic sticks that obligingly return results within minutes. My long suffering husband has considered buying stock in the companies that make these wondrous things because he says they’ll never suffer no matter how bad the economy when there are women like me out there. I assured him that there are indeed more testers than just me roaming the aisles of Pharmacies everywhere pondering whether or not a package of three is enough to have on hand “just in case”.

This time though, I didn’t test. I have had the symptoms a dozen times before. I’ve tested for them. It was always negative. My body plays cruel tricks at times and being conned into buying more and more tests for something that wasn’t happening seemed the last straw. So I refused. The line was drawn. I had an appointment with a Dr. and I would just hold out and endure anything and everything until that appointment where hopefully I could get some help to get the ol’ body balanced and the crazy symptoms to stop. Days went by. Symptoms worsened. One day I could hardly eat all day and had this feeling of craving food and involuntarily wanting to gag at the thought of it all at the same time. THAT was the one new trick that hadn’t been played yet.

So. I scrounged the backup test from the very back of the bathroom cabinet. The very.last.one.

I took it so I could tell myself that I had. So that I could then say, see? No more tests. Not buying anymore. Negative is negative is negative and your body cannot be trusted to give you an accurate sign anymore than a Groundhog can predict weather.

I wasn’t even planning on waiting the full 3 minutes this test claimed to need in order to show results.

The second pink line showed up right away. And I sat in shock. It couldn’t be. Not now. My body is in the worst place it’s ever been. A flood of thoughts ran through my paralyzed brain and then I just went numb.

My dear Man responded as every parent should respond. With joy. He prayed immediately for me and the wee life. I was still numb.

The vacation has been canceled. With my miscarriage history flying this early in pregnancy is definitely not recommended. The Dr. was called and an emergency appointment was moved up to two weeks instead of two months. I ordered a slew of blood work so he could have the results in hand to check when I go to see him.

I’m still numb but not quite as much as before.

My plans have all fallen apart. My entire next year is hanging in the balance. Doing my “yearly goals and plans” pregnant is a huge difference from doing it un-pregnant. If I even stay pregnant. And that is the catching point. I am trying my best to put all future everything aside and focus on what I do know in the here and now.

All I have is one day at a time to fight for this baby. To take every supplement I need to take. To eat everything I should eat. To rest as much as my body needs the rest. To get every test I can possibly get that might help us know what to do to help save this little one. I can’t make plans. Long term planning and pregnancy are not options for me for the first part of my pregnancies. It’s a luxury I find myself envying other newly pregnant women who can freely make plans for maternity clothes and begin compiling lists of what they will need. I won’t know if I can do that for weeks yet.

It is definitely the least expected thing we could have happen. They don’t make insurance policies for ‘surprises’ like this.

Please pray for us. Pray for this baby. Pray for Doodlebug. Give us grace if you do business with us over the next few weeks/months. Our lives are having a rapid re-prioritization and some business details or communications may slip through the cracks as we shift our focus and attention to our wee family for the next few weeks. Please pray that we will have wisdom and pray for the life of this baby. Our sweet Doodlebug was a medical Miracle. Between the HCG numbers and a sonogram with no heart-beat we were told she would not make it, yet, she did. We know miracles can happen. We trust God to take us through another miracle baby that we get to keep for a few years or another loss whichever happens.