The Big Day: Infusion and Miscarriage

Hyrum received his first CAR-T cell infusion! He's still recovering from it (fever, fatigue, vomiting, tumor inflammation, and more) and he will be for a while. Michael is incredible- he's constantly monitoring Hyrum's developments, working with the medical team, sending updates to me and the family, and surviving on very little sleep. I'm in awe of him. 

Contrary to our original plan, the kids and I are back in Utah. Wondering why?

3 days after arriving in California, Michael and I discussed my increased/prolonged/constant sadness over the past few weeks. Questioned if I might be depressed, need therapy, medication, a move back to UT, etc. Unlike April-July times, with extreme moments of pain and regular moments of peace/contentment/some normal happiness, I've just felt so gray recently. All the time. 

The day after that conversation, we drove to our California church building for the first time. Soon after we arrived, I started cramping. I'd been bleeding lightly for a week, and I'd also wondered if my pregnant belly was actually getting smaller...? We had a gut feeling that something was wrong, so we left church and went to the emergency room. Michael took our kids to my aunt's house, and I wheeled into an ultrasound alone. 

I saw a tiny gray body and heard a lot of silence instead of a heartbeat. 

We didn't get much more information at that hospital. They told me to check in with a local OB/GYN for a procedure within 2 days. Apparently, it was a miracle that we only had to spend 4 hours in that ER (which is notoriously slow lol), and we got back together with our kids before Hyrum's big hospital day. Everyone got to bed on time that night, and Michael and I updated our parents and discussed options. We decided to fly me and the kids back to Utah to deliver the baby here. The next day was Monday: a goodbye morning, giving hugs and sending Hyrum and Michael off for his big procedure. Miraculously, my cousin already had a flight scheduled from San Francisco to Utah that afternoon, and he was a huge help with carrying bags/entertaining kids. 

I felt my bleeding increase during the flight. We arrived in Provo, loaded into the car with Mike's parents, and the kids started digging into fruit snacks. I began feeling contractions. We made it to my parents' house, I ate a few bites of food, and I asked my mom to accompany me to the ER. Almost as unprecedented, Grandpa was left to do bedtime all by himself with my littles! lol They did sleep eventually (after flooding his upstairs bathroom... )

3 hours later, I delivered Clara. She was measuring 13 weeks, which apparently is a pretty awkward size for miscarriage procedures... A little too big for some, a little too small for others... But she saved me from a possible 3-day labor/procedure process by just slipping out painlessly. Her body was so warm, tiny, so amazingly developed, so peaceful and pure. I spent the evening washing, holding, singing to, crying with, and rocking her precious little frame. The next morning, Maclane (brother-in-law) and his mortuary employer came and took her body for preservation, allowing us some time to make burial plans.

Honestly, beyond that logistical retelling, there's just FAR too much to say about this. Obviously, we mourn for Clara and the additional loss that this represents for our family. Michael didn't get to be there. That hurt. On the other hand, I carried her silent little frame for 6 weeks, and that drained my body and spirit in ways I haven't fully processed yet... I feel a DRASTIC physical and emotional relief since delivery. 

This seems so clear to me: I don't need to have all my children immediately, physically. Because of specific covenants I've made with God and because I KNOW we are really living them, my children are mine eternally, in a way that crosses boundaries between life and death and allows me continual experiences with them even when they are beyond the grave. I knew Clara before she was ever conceived. I saw her bouncy little living body at 12 weeks, and I just knew it was her. The day I delivered her? She wasn't actually there. I may have been treasuring her little body, but she was with Mike. She was with Hyrum. It was also HIS big procedure day, and she was absolutely, definitely in California with them. That bright, summery soul (her full name is Clara June) is still with us and still will be, in ways that we will desperately need over the next few years. All we had to do was give her a tiny little body, for a tiny little time, and we have another eternal teammate that is so uniquely ours.

As I mentioned, I feel MUCH better than I have in a long time. Please feel free to reach out. If you do, don't feel the need to say "I'm so sorry" or "This is so sad." It is. But we're trying to take the comforting, faith-promoting experiences from this miscarriage (most of which I could not include in one blog post) and use them to move forward in a positive way. We've done medical emergencies long enough to know that sad days always come again. When there's a happy one, you run with it and stretch it and feel it as hard as you can. You take that deep, soulful breath of fresh, joyful air, and it fuels you for what comes. 

I am just so happy to feel this physical relief. So happy I made it to Utah, and that she came when she did. So happy I knew her, and know her, and still will. It's so nice to have energy, to feel like I can mother again instead of just getting by. I now have the emotional and physical space to bear what Hyrum is suffering right now, to be on board with Michael instead of being another concern for him. 

Feel free to add to our list of little miracles and happy moments by texting me something you love about me. I am a sucker for sincere words :)