The time that hurt, a lot...

Another Loss:

It has been so long since I provided any updates on our journey.  Life has been busy and overwhelming to say the least.  Looking back on this blog, I last spoke about our life in 2021.  Well, that year ended with sadness on several levels.

On November 11, 2021, we transferred our last euploid (normal) embryo and it worked!  We were excited and felt like this was it!  All the numbers looked good and so all we had left was to get through our seven and nine week ultrasounds and we would say adios to our fertility clinic.  On December 10, 2021, we cautiously entered our clinic for the seven-week ultrasound.  The tech started scanning and didn’t say a word; she didn’t show the screen, nothing.  Immediately I knew something was wrong.  All the tech said at the conclusion of the scan was “I will take you both to a room so that the provider can talk to you”.  Once she left, I looked at Jeremiah and shook my head indicating that we struck out again.

It’s done.  All the endless injections, ultrasounds, blood draws were for nothing.  NOTHING!

We waited in the consultation room for the provider.  When she joined us, we were told that the pregnancy had resulted in a blighted ovum.  In a nutshell, the fetal cells failed to develop resulting in an empty gestational sac.  They offered to do a D & C and I declined.  After the last miscarriage that resulted in three D & C’s, I decided I wanted to do it at home.  When we left the clinic, I phoned a friend and midwife at the local clinic and told her the news.  I agreed to come to the clinic on Monday to be checked.

Jeremiah and I had also gone to Denver with the intent on watching the Lion King play.  We decided that distraction was needed at that moment.  We went to dinner and we both had a well-deserved glass of wine.  The next day, Jeremiah and I had a great time roaming around downtown Denver and barhopping.  It was good for us.  Probably one of the funniest moments with Jeremiah was listening to him talk to his parents on the phone when we were back at the room.  He was looking out the huge window at our hotel and he was completely “mind-blown” about the sky; to be fair it was pretty, but the beer really made it pop.  He went on and on about how beautiful it was and took probably a dozen pictures.  That night we went to see the Lion King and the next day we went back to reality.

*Jeremiah's pictures from that night.

At the clinic the following Monday, it was confirmed again that the pregnancy was a blighted ovum.  I opted to take misoprostol at home and pass the pregnancy on my own; I needed to feel it and own it.  I took the medication the next day and that shit hurt both physically and emotionally. 

*Four little pills (misoprostol)

I took it easy over the next few days until the next blow came.  Less than a week later, one of my hero’s fell apart.

Losing Rich:

On December 19th Rich, my stepdad, arrived home from a trip to the Western Slope.  He was very unwell and had significant abdominal pain, nausea, and vomiting.  The nurse kicked into gear, and I checked his vitals that were normal, but something wasn’t right.  I asked him if he still had his gallbladder and he said yes.  It was time to go to the emergency room.  I called en route to let them know we were coming. 

It felt like an eternity before they took him back though I don’t think it was any more than 15 minutes.  He got an x-ray, CT, and labs at the blink of an eye.  We were notified that he had gallstone pancreatitis; he had a gallstone lodged in his common bile duct.  This won him a ticket to be flown to Colorado Springs for further care.  We waited and we waited.  This part was frustrating and took hours.  This was during the height of COVID and so all the front range hospitals were bursting at the seams.  He was brought in around noon to our local hospital and didn’t get flown out until after 10pm.  We were told that the hospital was not allowing visitors after ten, so we decided to stay home and get rest before going to Colorado Springs the next day.

Sandi, Rich’s wife, called me early the next morning to tell me that Rich had taken a turn for the worse and was now ventilated.  I immediately got ready and headed to the hospital.  On the way, one of the ICU providers called me and said that he had gone into respiratory failure secondary to shock.  They also believed that he had suffered a heart attack during the night. 

My main priority was to get to him, be present, and figure out more of what was going on.  When I arrived, I was told that I was not able to see him.  The reason?  He wasn’t vaccinated for COVID and they needed to run a PCR test before I would be allowed to enter his room.  I was vaccinated but it didn’t matter, they didn’t care.  I was allowed to enter the unit and look at him through the glass door and watch him fighting for his life, alone. 

Rich’s daughters came down (Christina & Elaina) and we all shared a vacation rental. 

We were contacted the first night in the rental that the medical team wanted to have a meeting with us the next morning and they would allow us to all go see him.  We arrived early the next day and were taken to a conference room; the kind where only bad news is discussed.  Rich had gone into multi-organ failure.  At that time his liver, heart, lungs, and kidneys had all taken a bad beating and he was running on fumes.  They started him on continuous dialysis that morning and he was requiring max doses of vasopressors to keep his blood pressure up. 

The doctor was amazing and gave us hope.  We all truly felt that he had a chance, so we waited and waited and waited.  Between Sandi, Christina, Elaina, and I we kept watch over him for several days.

I had been gone for two or three days and I returned to the hospital to spend time with Rich.  When I entered his room, I lost it.  This wasn’t Rich I was looking at.  He was as orange as a pumpkin and as swollen as a tick from the liver failure; his toes had turned black from the vasopressors.  They had also shaved his chin; it didn’t even look like him. 

We patiently waited for a miracle until the next meeting with the doctors.  The meeting felt gross on so many levels.  You can never prepare yourself for making decisions that may include ending a person’s life.  Per the doctors, they had done all that they could do and asked us to consider removing life support.  Christina, Elaina, and I agreed that this was no way to live.  Over the next day we would start saying goodbye. 

On January 11, 2022, we all stood in his room and watched Rich take his last breath.  He was gone.  This man that I saw as unstoppable since I was seven years old was no more.  He was with mom now.

Back to a harsh reality:

After losing the pregnancy and Rich, Jeremiah and I didn’t have time to grieve, and we only had time to focus on keeping a business going that Rich had entrusted us with.  So that’s what Jeremiah and I both did, just went into autopilot, and forgot about ourselves for a while.  We both kept our primary jobs (I resigned from my part-time position at the hospital) so that we could payoff some debt, so we were exhausted all the time.

Over the last two years, Jeremiah and I have learned some tough lessons and won some battles when it comes to running a business.  I have cried, yelled, and smiled; sometimes all in one day.  Fun, huh? 

I feel like the smoke has started to settle over the last several months and we’ve had a little time to breath and think about a future again, a family.  More to come on that, but some of you already know what I am about to tell you. 

Now that I have cried over my keyboard for over an hour, I need a break and a snack.  I will be back with you shortly.