Another Miscarriage?

[Baby shoes, source]

16 years ago, I had my first child, conceived on our honeymoon, even though we figured we'd wait a bit before we'd be ready to add a third party since we were both older when we got married. We wanted a little time together first. God had other plans, and my boy joined the party. 

[Girl booties-source]

14 years ago, I had my second child, conceived the very first weekend we even tried. I was giddy with delight the day I found out I would get my girl. It seemed our plan of having four beautiful babies in a row was right on track. Even though my husband was 38 when we had our first, and I was 28, we looked forward to joy with our armful of little ones. 

[Rose-Colored glasses fading-source]

12 years ago, we had our first miscarriage, and our glossy, rosy-eyed view of this baby-making process faltered. Devastation set it. Loss apparently COULD happen to us. Then, we tried for 11 months to have another baby. It was a struggle and a bit disappointing. But no worries. Everything would still be fine. 

[Miracle baby booties-source]

11 years ago, we welcomed our second daughter, precious Alamanda.  Her life was a miracle because we found out with her we were homozygous for Kell antibody, which kills through anemia almost every pregnancy it touches. All of that waiting and praying was worth it. She was tiny and honked like a gosling. But she was our little miracle, and we loved her. My little girl was beyond delighted to have her very own baby sister born just after her birthday. Our boy was mystified by our weird taste in pets because he didn't quite register babies as people. We were back on track. 

[Loss with a capital L-source]

Four months later, Alli was gone. I'd rearranged my life, our lives around her, and she rolled into a pillow that was nowhere near her, with unexpected and inexplicable actions she hadn't shown herself capable of before. She suffocated, and the doctors couldn't save her. And just like that, she was gone. My perfect princess number two went Home to her Father in Heaven, and we were left reeling. Not only could loss happen to us, but it was becoming a pattern. 

[Angel statues-source]

For the next several years, I dreamed of completing my perfect family. I yearned for that perfect rainbow baby, so I could once again count fingers and tiny toes. Instead, time and time again, no sooner did I get a positive pregnancy test than I'd also get a still, silent ultrasound or blood to show my dream of a rainbow had fallen into darkness again. Two or three years ago, we prayerfully decided we were done trying for a rainbow. We had 15 little angel statues representing 15 miscarriages on our angel shelf but only our first two children to hold.  

[Only babies allowed are cats-source]

I've come to terms that we won't hold any more babies until the Lord comes again. Once, my kids would have been delighted to pick out a name for a new little one. Now, they would vote me off the island if I even suggested the idea. They're teenagers with no interest in little ones unless they have four legs and fur or scales. 

[When the body is broken-source]

I missed a period recently, and when no symptoms came, I decided it must be the beginning of menopause. I actually viewed it with a kind of relief. I know symptoms pretty well by now. I've been pregnant 19+ times. After the second month, I even took a test, just to bring myself peace of mind. But the next day, I had what I'm pretty sure was yet another miscarriage. I'm not even sure how to feel about it. I don't feel the devastation I once did. Just a hollow echo of the melancholy I used to have every time. I'm more numb than anything. Too much loss is too much. 

[Through the glasses darkly-source]

I'm thankful I can feel empathy for those who bury a baby or have a miscarriage. But it's a hard thing when rose-colored glasses become sunglasses, where darkness is all you see. I am also thankful to mostly have peace with the whole situation. I remember the pain of fresh loss and can reach out to those who are new or at least newer to the empty arms club, also called parents of angels. I'm also thankful to know I will be able to hold my little ones again, thankful for the knowledge that families will be reunited again and that loss is not forever. In the meantime, the wound is still there. The pain is less acute, but I will always, at least in this lifetime, be a mother in mourning.   

Finding Kinship with the Past

[My Kell angel, who left footprints in my heart.]

The nature of my enemy

 When I was pregnant with Alli, my angel, I tested positive for Kell antibodies.  Not just that, but we learned my husband is homozygous for the Kell antibody, winning a most unfortunate and undesirable genetic lottery.  What does this mean?  It means that my body would treat every baby who inherited Kell like a disease, and they were all going to inherit Kell.  We were told 8% of humans have Kell, and of those, 2% are homozygous for it.  Talk about crappy luck.  The body will attack the baby like a disease until he/she becomes anemic and has to be induced or death will result.  The usual pattern for Kell is the first child is born without a problem, then the body becomes sensitive to Kell.  Every baby after that is likely to end up anemic, usually to the point of death.  I read about a study in the 80s.  Of 6 women who conceived with the Kell antibodies, 6 babies were lost.  It's a lot like the Rh- treatment except there is no cure, no treatment, no solution except to watch the baby's skull and transfuse or deliver early.   

[My Kell Antibody Curse]

How it Happened

My boy came without a problem, of course.  My first girl didn't have any problems either.  The only thing I can imagine was that because my boy came a month early and had to be induced, somehow, my body didn't get with the program.  However, by the time Alli came along, she triggered the deluxe treatment.  I had to travel to a hospital an hour away every 1-2 weeks from the 20-week point on, until they induced her at 37 weeks because she was safer out than in.  Of the 15+ miscarriages since, none has made it far enough along to have been affected by Kell.  We wonder if there may be some kind of unknown antibody or other problem they don't test for that caused it.  We'll never know because we've given up the battle.  

[Looking back through family lines]

Looking Back

We watch my husband's family history line for possible Kell.  If they had one or possibly two children, they're great candidates for Kell.  Obviously, since my husband is homozygous, it had to come from both sides, both the Swedish Finn side of his Finnish mother and the Scandinavian/English side of his American father.  We do periodically find a family that makes us think Kell.  Obviously, we'll never know.  

[Henry VIII]

Not My Hero

Imagine my surprise when I was reading up on Henry VIII and learned that some historians believe the main reason he had such a hard time getting heirs from his wives was because of Kell.  He consistently blamed them, especially his first wife, but it was very likely because of him.  I never expected to feel any kinship with this fascinating but notorious historical figure. I can't say this makes me feel empathy for most of what he suffered and/or inflicted on others, often because he blamed them for all that went wrong in his life.  But I do feel this strange connection because I get the struggles of hoping this one, this pregnancy, will be the one, the one you get to hold and raise. I'm not sure how to feel about this connection except that it makes me feel at least a little less alone in the struggles we've had, even if I don't love the company.  I'm just thankful for the two we can still hold and for the knowledge that we'll hold them all again.   

Close Calls and Miracles

[My big boy preemie]

Do close calls haunt you as much as they do me, moments when you were either aware of how close you came to loss at the time or considered it later?  I've had close shaves in traffic that haunt me for quite a while after.  I should have lost my boy because of his fragile umbilical, which broke on its own when he was born a month early (early enough to be called a preemie but big enough that he didn't look it).  He could have died had he twisted the wrong way while in the womb.  Thoughts of this kind of close call haunt me. 

[My perfect (but shouldn't have been) second baby]

My girls were both miracle children as well.  My older girl should not have had a picture-perfect pregnancy and delivery due to the Kell antibody, a rare antibody that acts like RH- but with no possible treatment.  It treats the baby like a disease in the womb, one which needs to be attacked and killed.  Many babies have died of anemia or have had to be induced way early due to anemia.  My first daughter was in no way affected but should have been. When I was pregnant with my angel, we found out that we were 100% guaranteed to deal with Kell every pregnancy.  Yet it wasn't an issue with my first daughter.  Although we drove a 2 hour round trip every 1-2 weeks to the hospital to have my angel observed, she showed no signs of stress.  Both little girls were miracle babies because Kell didn't affect them, didn't seem to even touch them.  Meanwhile, I'd read a study of 6 women pregnant with Kell babies during the 80s.  All six babies died.  Mine were untouched. 

[My tiny angel who came and went]

Then, four months after birth, my second daughter, one of my miracle children, died in an accident, rolled into a pillow.  That was not a close call.  That was loss and pain that colored every other close call from before and after. Loss and pain that changed everything.

[Ambulance ride to remember.]

 
Now, I'm hypersensitive to close calls.  At the end of the summer season when my baby died, my older daughter collapsed in the beach with a grand mal seizure.  We were rushed an hour away to the closest hospital.  I knew I could have lost her there, but she was preserved.                                                                                                                                                                         

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Close calls haunt me elsewhere, too.  If I have that close-call in traffic, it bothers me.  When I tripped and fell on a sidewalk, and my head somehow skimmed past a bumper to land between bumper and ground, I knew I could have died.  I found out fairly recently a serial killer was working at the same school where I was working in college.  He was picking up and murdering women who roamed those streets mere blocks from my campus.  That feels like a close call to me.  Close calls are scarier than they ever were before because I understand mortality more than I ever did before.  I know I'm not in the "safe" land of it-couldn't-happen-to-me.  I understand bad things can happen to anybody at any time.  Close calls become scarier when you understand the angel if death is not far off for any of us at any time. 

[Helping hand]

Which is what makes our guardian angels all the more precious, what makes the protective hand of providence all the more prized.  When my daughter walked away after treatment for the febrile seizure with no permanent harm, I was reassured in a blessing that my children had a mission, that they would be preserved until that mission was fulfilled.  I know I have a mission, a purpose, here.  And I will be here and safe until that mission is fulfilled.  There is fear in focusing on close calls but comfort in focusing on faith.  At any one time, we can choose to embrace faith, to trust God and know He knows the grand plan.  He knows when it is our time to be preserved and when it is our time to be called home.  If I trust in Him, He will protect me until my mission is done.  It's easy to let fear creep into my mind, to remind me that close calls and loss are around every corner.  It's up to me where I allow my mind to dwell.  And my life is a lot happier when I trust in the hand of the Lord.