Never Take Things for Granted

“Oliver! That's my favorite boy's name and we can call him Ollie for short”, I said with excitement. “I thought you liked Granted. That could work for a boy too”, Brett said reminding me of the name I wanted for Bean. “Granted, that's right. Well I liked Granted Leigh for a girl, but don't think it would work for a boy. Let's just take this day by day”, I said with a little worry since we had just found out that we were pregnant with our third.

A week had passed by and things were going smoothly. My mind was engulfed with thoughts of new living arrangements, what life will be like with a newborn in the house again, how easy it would be if we were blessed with another girl, how difficult it may be with a little boy, but surprisingly I was happy. Happy at the thought of another baby in our lives and without an ounce of stress in my veins, until I saw a major warning sign. I knew since “mother nature” was a week late I shouldn't be seeing anything but I was shown different.

I decided to head into the ER to get evaluated to be on the safe side and was there for 2 hours when I got my results. My emotions were running high. I had gone from being happy at the prospect of a third, to thinking I was having a miscarriage, to seeing the egg sac on the ultrasound and finding out I was 6 weeks pregnant, to finding out that I had a rare cornual ectopic pregnancy (which occur every 1-3% out of ectopic pregnancies). My little one had implanted itself interstitially within part of the fallopian tube and uterus, while resting on a major artery. Without treatment it could eventually rupture, with the potential result of my death by internal bleeding. I was shocked. Overwhelmed with emotions. Was there a way to keep the tiny baby alive? Could it slowly move to the right place with a little TLC? What did I do wrong? What decisions did I make in my life to allow this to happen? I was sitting alone with an IV stuck in my arm. The visions of the Ladybug and Bean hovering sweetly over a bassinet slowly dissolved as my eyes filled with tears. The doctor returned to the room and confirmed that there was no vital heartbeat. He also confirmed that my health history didn't contribute to this unfortunate event and that I was simply lucky {or unlucky} this time around. He also urged that the only way to avoid problems was to get an injection of a chemotherapeutic drug to dissolve the tissue growing in my tube. With no hesitation I agreed to be admitted into the hospital.

The night was long. The drugs had nauseating effects on my body combined with excessive sweats. I fell in and out of sleep. The smell of the hospital blankets helped recall the moment I met Ladybug for the first time. My dream had no auditory significance except the sound of my heart beating. It was if I was reliving the birth of Ladybug on a live video loop. Everything was in first person, but blurry in sight. The visions and feelings overcame me as her warm little body was delicately placed on my chest. The intoxicating baby smell permeating from her head as it rested on my clavicle, as the pheromones saturated my nose telling me that this was the baby for me to love. Then finally watching Bean kindly stroke Ladybug's arms for the first time looped in my brain for hours. I'm not sure why these thoughts—or dreams—overpowered me that night but I was thankful for the memories.

One week and a half has passed, and and I'm still enduring the physical side effects of the chemo drug (as I received another dosage recently), and emotional side effects of this rare ectopic pregnancy. What I do know is that I wish I didn't take my first two pregnancies for Granted, we are blessed that the powers above Granted us the gift of two precious children, and I'm terribly sorry that Granted Leigh couldn't be part of our lives.