I love teaching math. It is arguably my favorite subject to teach. I love the daily counting that is sometimes monotonous, and I live for the moment the little light bulbs go off in their precious minds.
There are, however, times I do not like math. At all. For example, the chance of precipitation on my wedding day. I cannot even think about the hours I get to actually spend with my son, awake, when he is not at school and I am not working. It makes my heart ache. Math is not always fun.
Today, I got to thinking about my journey to motherhood. It hit me. Seventy-five percent of my pregnancies have been losses. 75%. That is more than half. That is the majority. The glass-half-full type would be talking to you all about the 25%. Oh goodness gracious, I am so thankful for that 25%. He is one of the greatest joys of my life. But today, sitting here in the depths of my grief, I’m thinking about the 75%.
Never in my life did I imagine this would be my story. Hear me when I say, I know I am not the first and I know I won’t be the last. I also know my story pales in comparison to the tragedies of others.
Each of my losses hurt in different ways. The first one hurt because I was so naive. I had no reason not to embrace that pregnancy with full fledged hope and faith. That miscarriage opened me up to a world of realization — realizing how much of a miracle it truly is to carry a healthy baby to full term.
The second one hurt because it stole my joy for giving Whitt a sibling. I know this will happen for us some day. However, in that moment, I was so excited. We took “big brother” pictures and everything. Again, maybe still a little naive.
This third one hurt because it wasn’t even on my radar. I was gearing up to start fertility medication on the fifth day of my cycle. Per routine, they drew blood to confirm I wasn’t pregnant. A little over two hours later, my phone rang and they told me I was pregnant. What? How? I have been on my period? They told me that bleeding can be very normal in pregnancy. I had stopped bleeding, so I believed them and clung to that hope and faith yet again.
The next morning, I woke up bleeding again. I knew what was happening. My heart has shattered. I feel completely broken. This one felt cruel. It felt like a carrot had been dangled in front of me and then taken away.
I used to think that there were degrees of “hurt” depending on how far along you are. I was wrong.
The math here tells me that they each hurt, 100% of the time.
