Saturday night, Charlie and I went to Zoo Rendezvous. It’s their biggest fundraiser every year and features food from 90 restaurants/bars from across Memphis. Ellie would live at the Zoo if we’d let her, so we appreciate all the creative ways they offer to provide support of one of our favorite places. Next up….Zoo Boo in October!
Charlie’s parents, brother, and sister-in-law also came to celebrate my father-in-law’s retirement. Finally! Grandpapa has been just about to retire pretty much since I met Charlie eight years ago. Charlie’s mom is beyond thrilled, and we all had a marvelous time watching the two of them boogie the night away. (Also, how long before we’re allowed to ask him to start helping with projects around the house? Not sure about the correct protocol here. Next week?)
Anyway, it was a wonderful night, but it was also bittersweet. It will always be bittersweet.
The last time I went to Zoo Rendezvous was in 2009. And I was pregnant. One single time, my reproductively-challenged body and my dysfunctional ovaries managed to get their act together and create a life. That night, I moved through the festive air, partaking of the bang-bang shrimp, chocolate-covered strawberries, and gourmet cupcakes, but passing the wine for water. And even though my little baby was no larger than a sesame seed, my joy was overflowing as I danced in the warm night and laughed with those I love.
The next morning, I got up for church, feeling perfectly normal. I wish I could go back now and tell myself to stay in bed just a little longer. To sink down into sheets and feel the joy for just one more minute. But I got up, went to the bathroom, and the streak of rose on the paper marked the beginning of the end.
I lost my baby that Sunday, and as I write this, I can still feel that emotional pain. It’s muted now….distant. But still there.
I wrote last month about my bad day at the doctor when some initial tests indicated that I may be looking at POF (Premature Ovarian Failure). Blood-test results aren’t completely conclusive yet, but coupled with the ultrasound, the doctor said it does appear that my ovaries “have issues” and are acting like they’re in their 40s. And he said I should expect things to further deteriorate within the next six months.
So, knowing that I will never experience pregnancy and having to say goodbye to that all over again makes the memories of when I was pregnant that much more complicated to process this year.
Saturday night was a good night, as are the memories of what it felt like to be pregnant….if only for a while. But yesterday were the Sunday memories of what it felt like to lose something precious.
And loss hurts.