I Surrender

My husband and I ran our first 5k together today. I welled up with tears as I crossed the finish line. Not because I knew I placed among the first 10, but because two months ago this was not possible. Two months ago I laid in a hospital bed in the ICU unsure if I was coming home to my family.

I haven’t wanted to talk about it. When the man who witnessed it all courageously brings it up, I walk away. Of course he wants to talk about, he almost lost his wife and those were his babies too. But I am weak and I am damaged. Weak because I am afraid of the darkness. Damaged because all I have known for the last year is pain. But the ruthless memories of that painful season continually find their way back to me and I know now that it’s time to face my fears.

We were reluctant to try and get pregnant again but we didn’t want to spend our lives wondering what if. Six months ago we found ourselves back at the infertility clinic asking for help. We spent two weeks anxiously anticipating if it had worked. We spent another two grateful for another chance. And then we spent another ten paralyzed with fear after discovering that we were having twins. I was at even more of a risk being pregnant with two babies because of my history. And I was no longer a candidate for the procedure that we hoped would keep me pregnant. I prayed to God each night to wrap his arms around my growing babies and keep them safe until they were developed enough to live in this world with us. Ten weeks of sleepless nights. Ten weeks of overlooking the present because we were so afraid of the future. And then our worst fears had come true. I could see the look of concern on the ultra sound technicians face. Proof once our doctor had confirmed. Baby A’s fluid was low and my cervix had shortened. One week later it was immeasurable. I was admitted to the hospital right away; right in the same room where we found ourselves last summer. This wasn’t real life. It couldn’t have been. But it was. Four days went by and there was no activity. We were given hope for Baby B. We were told Baby A would not live once he was born. If this was the sacrifice we had to make then we would get through it, we said. Just seven more weeks and our baby’s life was viable. We went home and I spent the next two days bedridden and scared, but we were hopeful. And then life took another turn. It’s a blur from there. I have flashbacks of my husband driving manically for two hours to get me to the hospital. Flashbacks of the pain that shot through my body as it prepared for labor. Flashbacks of him calling to me as I went in and out of consciousness as sickness took over my body. Several nurses swarmed into my room. I cried in pain and I was begging my babies not to go. I didn’t want this to be over. I can’t do this again, I thought. My prayers were not answered. I felt every agonizing contraction before I delivered Baby A, yet I vaguely remember holding him. Everything was happening so fast. I heard the doctor discussing the possibility of needing the rapid response team to come in and I saw a look of terror in my husband’s face. As I was being transferred to another hospital I was suddenly begging God not to take me too. I labored Baby B in the ICU of another hospital. My husband stood there watching helplessly as I received blood transfusions, bags upon bags of IV fluids, test after test and as I cried in pain both physically and emotionally. Infection was flowing through my bloodstream taking away my ability to focus on my twins. I couldn’t understand why this was happening to us again. Not only did we just lose our twins; our two sons that we prayed like hell for, but now we weren’t sure what the status of my own health was.

My body betrayed me yet again. It gave up on my pregnancy and two more lives that deserved to be here with us. Left me to grieve again. Took away my ability to take in a painful yet desperate moments with my sons. I desperately wish I could have those painful memories of holding my sons because they confirm their lives. They put faces to the lives I carried inside of me for four months. But I can’t remember and that brings more pain than my loss’s themselves. Those moments were taken from me. I missed my little sister’s wedding and lost precious time with my daughter while I spent the next week in the hospital recovering. These are the memories I am left with and cannot bare to relive. My family has endured more pain in the last year than some people do in a lifetime.

So instead of reliving the pain, I tucked those memories away when we got home from the hospital. I put on a face for everyone around me so that they wouldn’t have to feel sorry for me. I shot my husband down every time he reached out to me with pain in his heart. I thought that if I just forgot about everything I wouldn’t have to hurt anymore. But today, as I crossed the finish line, I thought of them. I thought about all of them. When I started this journey, it was for Brody. I blogged about his life with the hope of helping someone else who has experienced loss. After I lost the twins I lost my passion. Passion for writing, running and everything else that speaks to my soul. Today we ran for a great cause. For every woman fighting and who is a survivor of breast cancer. But today we also ran to remember them. To remember that we are strong no matter what challenges have come our way. Today we faced our fears and I am no longer afraid of the darkness that comes with pain.