Cindra Fox
Mom to Cadence Harper Fox
(due May 18, 2009 and lost September 18, 2008)
(due May 18, 2009 and lost September 18, 2008)
and
Riley Arden Fox
(due June 20, 2010 and lost November 23, 2010)
(due June 20, 2010 and lost November 23, 2010)
Orange, California
In the summer of 2008, I found myself locked in a bathroom stall, staring at three positive pregnancy tests.
My marriage was rocky. I had developed severe chronic migraines from the stress of trying to hold the relationship together for the past three years; to reduce the migraines, my doctors pulled me off my birth control pills. Condoms had obviously proved less effective.
I was a solid mix of terrified and thrilled; as much as the timing was off, I wanted children and couldn’t have been happier with the news. I went home and told my husband, who promptly hyperventilated and started discussing joining the military to fund his growing family. We hugged. We discussed our options. We debated how to tell the grandparents-to-be. We decided to set up an appointment with my ob/gyn first. The doctor ran her own tests and confirmed the pregnancy. My head was swimming.
It wasn’t long before she was called me back into her office. The more detailed tests indicated I should be one month into the pregnancy but a quick visual had shown…nothing. She assured me it was possible I was only a week or two along instead, saying these calculations weren’t an exact science, but she wanted to rule out an ectopic pregnancy. More tests.
It would be nice if time stopped in moments like this. My mother and grandmother had unexplained difficulties with their pregnancies, so I was very nervous. But I went to work. I attended day-long seminars in which I struggled to stay focused on the speakers. My husband called me every few hours asking if I’d heard from the doctor. I wanted to curl into a ball. I hounded the office with my own phone calls, but we didn’t hear until late afternoon on Seminar Day Two.
Early miscarriage. The initial tests had detected dropping HCG levels instead of rising ones. We had caught my little baby as he was saying goodbye.
I called my husband with the news. He was sad, but practical. He supposed there was no reason to tell anyone about the pregnancy now that it was over. I oughtn’t mention it: it would just hurt our parents who so desperately wanted grandkids. Later, he would refuse to discuss it at all, saying it was better to pretend it never happened. I was too numb to say anything. Besides, I was at work.
Fast forward to over a year later, in September of 2009. The marriage was getting worse but the migraines were improving. We’d figured out my migraine triggers and doctors placed me on daily medication and a healthy diet. I was exercising, taking vitamins and minerals, and back on birth control…Birth control rendered ineffective by the new migraine medicine. By the time I found out–and the doctors and pharmacists apologized for “forgetting” to mention that little side effect–I was already pregnant.
After the first miscarriage, my husband had informed me he didn’t want to know the next time I was pregnant until I was “sure.” In other words, at-home pregnancy tests were no longer enough; I now needed a doctor’s stamp as Certified Grade-A Knocked Up. We’d had a couple talks that confirmed this brutal stance. Since my ob/gyn was out of town and my new insurance provider made it atrociously difficult to book time with another one, I just kept the news to myself. Completely; I didn’t feel right telling anyone before my husband. I had an appointment for the week the doctor returned, and until then I lived in a world that was just me and the baby. I dreamt up names, imagined faces and hair colors, browsed online baby stores, and basically enjoyed being an expectant mother.
With the first baby, there wasn’t time for me to recognize motherhood: it was a whirlwind of stress and news. But I got to enjoy this little one. She came with me to work, was the focus of my thoughts when I picked out lunch, was my companion for reduced-intensity workouts at the gym. I say “she” because I think of the baby as a “her.” I don’t really know. I was about two months along, and a scant four days from my appointment with the doctor–four days from telling everyone–when I lost her.
No one was home. I curled up on the tile floor of the bathroom, in pain from cramps that hurt worse than any I’d had in a lifetime of bad cramping. Bleeding. And crying. I didn’t call anyone. I didn’t go to the hospital. Those would have been sensible things to do but I couldn’t think sensibly. All I could do was lay there and lose her.
It was a month before I told anyone. My husband wanted to know why I was so distant; why I didn’t want to be touched, or really even spoken to; why I just lay on the bed some days after work and stared at the wall. I finally told him. He said I was probably “never really pregnant” to begin with. Those were his words of comfort to me; and when I called him on it, told him never to say that again, impressed upon him that I was pregnant and did have a miscarriage, he decided it would be better if we never talked about it. And we certainly shouldn’t tell anyone.
Through counseling, my husband and I have come together in our memories and love of our lost children, and have agreed to tell his family members the story. We have our babies to thank for pushing us to a crisis point where we sought help. Our marriage is stronger for it; their lives forever changed ours.
You can contact Cindra at cindra.fox@gmail.com.
I’m so sorry for your loses, Cindra. You are such a strong woman and mom and I’m sure that Cadence and Riely are looking down at and so proud of you. I wish you all the best as you and your husband go through counseling.
I have no doubt that your children are proud of you. *HUGS*