Was That A Sign?

This past Friday, all of my professing about just being came to a head.  I had requested an additional appointment at 10 weeks from my OB during my last visit, even though during that last visit (at 8 weeks), I had an ultrasound that should have convinced me that everything was okay.  It was reassuring in the moment, but I knew it wouldn’t last.  My last baby left me somewhere between 8 and 12 weeks, but no one really knows when.  It wasn’t a dramatic departure, it was soft and silent, no bleeding, no cramping, no physical pain.  I can only imagine it was a gradual damping of a heartbeat, slowly fading, beating softer and softer, until it was gone, disappearing so delicately that I hadn’t a clue that anyone had left me.  But when I finally found out this fate of mine, fear softly and silently entered again.  This was the second time that I thought that life was growing and thriving inside me and instead it was dying inside me.  How could I have not known this?  How was it that I didn’t have a clue?  Why wasn’t there an indicator, a predictor, a red flag waving?  Why wasn’t I at least given a sign?  Where were the signs???

So, as Friday approached, I began anticipating that appointment, wondering what would be my fate this time.  I hadn’t let myself think about this upcoming visit too terribly much, I was living day by day and worrying about tomorrow would do me no good.  But tomorrow was now here and I was terrified.  What if she couldn’t find the heartbeat….again?  I’m not sure where the theory of signs or fate evolves from, but it seems that in many of our psychological ramblings, cultural influencings or spiritual speculating, we tend to attach ourselves to this phenomenon or obsession with looking for “signs”.  Signs that tell us that something is meant to be, something is not meant to be or that fate is looking out for us in one way or another.  I will have to say that I have always been one of these people.  Everything happens for a reason.  Nothing is coincidence.  It must be fate.  But sometimes my sign searching seems to come in times of desperation, in times when I am scared, in times when I have been scarred, in times when my mind lacks a certain sort of balance.  So throughout this day, this past Friday that I speak of, I find my mind searching for signs, but most of the signs surface as signs of doom and gloom and I can’t find a single one signaling good fortune.  My heart starts to race a little bit more.  I haven’t been feeling very nauseous today, and I’m worried that this is a sign that something is wrong.  I am running late to the appointment, I make a wrong turn, oh crap, is someone trying to tell me that this appointment is a bad idea, that maybe I shouldn’t be here after all?  I get to the office and wait almost an hour to see the doctor, ugh, maybe this is a sign, maybe I should leave, maybe I don’t want to know the outcome right now.  While I wait, I’m reading a novel for the first time in a year, it’s refreshing to read literature instead of research, it’s serving to being quite a distraction while waiting, but themes of death and dying are coming up too quickly and I find my mind wandering, worrying about the possible coincidence of it all.  Is this my sign?  Oh, my anxiety is escalating, peaking, climaxing.  Yearning for a sign to tell me all is well, looking for something, anything to reassure me and I can’t find it in this moment and I am scared for my baby’s newly formed life.

Ugh, this is really irritating.  I had let go of this sign seeking obsession years ago.  When I was pregnant with Wyatt, before I knew of our horrible fate, I was the queen of signage.  I was a nervous wreck during that pregnancy.  I had just lost my dad less than a year before and I was so scared of another loss of any kind.  I’m sure I was also experiencing some very typical mom fears for the first time in my life.  Throughout my pregnancy, I remember thinking that anything and everything that happened in my world was a potential sign.  Something I made for the baby’s room got broken….was this a sign that something bad was going to happen?  Every time I saw a kid with a disability of any way, shape or form, I was certain this was a sign of my fate to come.  I came across an article on SIDS in a magazine.  Oh no, is this an indicator that this will happen to me?  I was wrought with these potential signs almost daily it seemed, and I also found myself engaging in ridiculous superstitions to avoid any further bad mojo from coming my way.  I even told my therapist after everything was all said and done, that I was sure I knew all along that something horrible was going to happen to my son.  I just had a feeling.  She disagreed with me.  She didn’t think that was possible.  But what I didn’t tell her or anyone else at the time, is that on the day that I went into the hospital, the day that would change my life forever, the day when all the madness began, a song kept popping into my head. No matter how hard I tried to push it out. A song that I had not listened to for many years, a song that was stored high on a shelf in our basement, a song that I probably would have forgotten about forever if it weren’t for that day.  The CD was Robbie Robertson and the Red Road Ensemble’s Music for The Native Americans.  The song:  It’s a Good Day to Die.  If there was ever a time in my life when there truly was a sign, this may have been the moment.  Here I had been: looking for signs, asking for signs, begging for signs….and here I finally got what I was asking for, a sign that my world was about to change forever. 

And I will never know if this was truly a sign or who had sent it to me, but what I now know for sure is:  It didn’t matter. The outcome remained the same.  There was nothing I could have done to change it.  These alleged signs did nothing to prepare me, give me adequate warning or provide me with any instructions on what I was supposed to do.  Even if there had been a flashing neon sign to tell me my fate was on its way, there was nothing I could do to stop it, change it or stand in its way.  I was vigilant.  I told the doctors anytime I felt something was wrong.  I was making phone calls and surprise visits on a regular basis.   I felt for kicks every time I woke up in the middle of the night.  I did everything I could have and then some.  And so I finally came to the realization that even if these signs meant something, which I’ve almost convinced myself that they didn’t, they most certainly did not give me magical powers to fix or change anything.  I finally came to the realization that these signs were really my fears trying to disguise themselves as something more.  And after it was all said and done, I realized that I no longer believed that everything happened for a reason.  I had to accept that sometimes there was a thing such as coincidence.  And I finally turned my back on this thing called fate.  Because if there was such a thing, it had not been kind to me, and this fate was no longer my friend who was looking out for my best interests. 

So, when I got pregnant with Abigail, I fought these fears with all my might.  The idea of signs continued to pop into my fear-laden, demon-tainted brain but I had to make the decision that I couldn’t let them stay.  Every time I try to mutate a happening in my life into a fateful sign of some sort, I took that sign, redefined it as fear and ordered it out.  Sometimes it tried to linger, but most days I was strong, I was persistent and I was demanding.  I no longer had room for this added unnecessary fear, I had enough justified fear staking claim in my brain.  I had to make room for some hope and peace, so these signs just had to get out.  It wasn’t an easy feat.  I still had the thoughts, they still made me crazy, but I knew I just had to let them go as soon as they entered, moment by moment, day by day, week by week.  I had to release them into the darkness from which they came.  It was time for some light, I was deserving of some light, I’m so thankful that light entered my world and entered my heart.  She is one amazing light. 

So on Friday, as I sit and ponder the implications of potential signs, I begin remembering all of this again.  I remember how signs and fears once ruled my past and how they didn’t help me secure my desired future.  So, I take a deep breath, attempt to release the hold that these fearful signs have on my mind and my heart, and I step into that cold, dark room as I wait for the doctor.  My heart is still racing, my anxiety still high, but I hold hope higher as I remember that this time is different too.  This is not my last pregnancy, I am not reliving the same experience, I can find hope again and bask in the light that it brings into my heart if I so desire.  And then I hear it, the knock on the door and my moment is here.  At least this moment in this time and space.  She tells me that she might not be able to find the heartbeat, I’m only 10 weeks, but she’ll do a scan if she can’t.  Don’t worry.  She has no idea.  She says my uterus feels great, I am growing, which indicates a nicely growing babe.  I breathe a little.  She says it might take a while to find the heartbeat, that’s normal at this stage.  Don’t worry if she doesn’t find it right away.  She knows me better than I think.  Oh, there, oh, no.  Oh, wait, nope.  She laughs a little.  What’s going on?  I’m holding my breath again.  She then starts calling my baby names.  Ornery, a little stinker, oh, he’s going to be a wild one.  He (she’s predicted a boy already) won’t stay still long enough for her to catch it.  A smile just hoping for its chance to be released emerges and I begin to relax.  And then I hear it.  Oh the sweet music of a little baby heartbeat.  There is nothing that sounds better to me than this sound in this moment.  And I begin to settle into this new state of being, knowing that right now all is well, realizing that I was right to turn my back on those signs after all, understanding that this doesn’t mean that I am in the clear for the remainder of this pregnancy, but reveling in the reality that a slice of peace and a sliver of hope have found their way back into my heart once again.