Ruth Mallery_NPN_Contributor

I chose married life at the age of 40. I felt a bond with my future husband when we met. My first impression: I felt like I was meeting someone I already knew. Fast-forward a year and a few months when we decided to make our dreams of parenthood come true. A Thanksgiving positive pregnancy test! We shared our happy news. I attempted to schedule an appointment with my ob/gyn. Things became strange quickly. I was told that I could only see a nurse, until I was further into the first trimester. Huh? Two ultrasounds later, a feeling of dread increased. A nurse came and told us that the baby was known as a “missed abortion." This medical term refers to the situation when “the pregnancy stops developing, but the pregnancy tissue does not pass out of the uterus for at least four weeks”. The practice's administrator accompanied the doctor's delivery of the sad news by asking if we were satisfied with our experience at the practice. I greatly appreciated my husband's response: “Well, other than that, how did you like the play Mrs. Lincoln?” Our experience highlights the importance of speaking about pregnancy, pregnancy loss, and infertility very carefully and sensitively. The language used in the U.S. to discuss this experience regularly fails to encompass the complexities of pregnancy, and pregnancy loss. [Related: Three IVF myths you probably believe] So, how to have our miscarriage? The hospital was only willing to induce a miscarriage; they were uninterested in helping me have a natural miscarriage. Targeted medical research showed that surgical miscarriages could damage the cervix, making future pregnancies more difficult. A friend who had experienced a miscarriage for each of her successful births, told me that a miscarriage is comparable to a birth. The doctor's office told me to wait no longer than three weeks to miscarry. Within two-and-a half-weeks, I began experiencing lower back pain at work. We had the miscarriage at home, catching the “products of conception” in large plastic containers. At one point I felt extremely light headed and asked my husband to call the practice. By the time the doctor on call called back, the feeling had passed. I had felt lightheaded as the fetal sac passed from my body intact. I held my baby in my hands and thought about he or she. Then I spoke with the doctor, who told me under what circumstances I should come into the hospital. I never needed to, but it would have been nice for the medical professionals to have shared this information in advance. Some people have home births; I had a home miscarriage. We tried again and became pregnant. This time we had a heartbeat! My husband's expression of joy included a gift of a Beanie Baby kangaroo. My much younger sister was also pregnant, and we imagined raising our children together. Our mother was looking forward to her first grandchildren. But on a follow-up doctor's visit, we learned that the baby had died in utero. Since my pregnancy was more advanced, we opted for a surgical miscarriage. On the day my miscarriage was scheduled, I went for a final ultrasound, to insure that the baby had no heartbeat. Then I went to the hospital for the medical procedure known as a miscarriage. I visualized a miscarriage with no surgical damage. Later the doctor told me two things that I appreciate knowing: He told me that I must have been ready to miscarry, since he touched my body and the miscarriage began with minimal medical contribution to the process. I told him I had visualized my miscarriage happening this way. Next, he told me that I had asked to hold the baby. All I'd known is that I came out of the anesthetic with tears on my face. I appreciated the facts that the doctor shared with me. A final, extremely-early miscarriage, several years, and an adoption later, we have a beloved son. We chose adoption as our path to parenthood, and we enjoy our son every day. Given the fact that Roe v. Wade has been overturned, I feel it necessary to say that I support every woman's right to choose, and to make, with her doctor, the medical decisions necessary to preserve her physical and mental health. The ignorance resulting from the misinformation spread by those who fail to grasp the complexities of pregnancy, childbirth, and pregnancy loss threatens women, children, and society at large.

When faced with a challenge, I often think, “Let it be an adventure." Well, as 2020 began, my sister and I faced the adventure of preparing our parents' home for sale. We had lost our Mother in March 2019 to metastatic breast cancer. Then, March 2020 brought in an additional challenge: a pandemic. So my sister and I worked, masked, in different parts of the house. We practiced social distancing on breaks outdoors in lawn chairs, chatting and snacking. While the pandemic complicated the process of sorting through family heirlooms, it gave my sister and I time to reflect on our parents' lives, and strengthened our bond. [Related: COVID and PTSD: How to handle the whirlwind of emotions] The pandemic brought new words and phrases into our vocabulary, such as PPE and positivity rate. My husband, son, and I withdrew into our “pod” as the pandemic evolved. Our son finished up his lessons at a local art gallery; creating works of art now gives him solace when confined indoors. We had fun choosing patterns for our fabric masks, and wore them everywhere. We still use fabric masks outdoors, and KN95s indoors. My son has decided to wear his KN95 at school, despite the recent change in the school masking rules, “to be safe,” noting: ”I don't want to be sick.” As we adjusted to the pandemic lifestyle, we experienced an unexpected loss. Our guinea pig, Frankie, passed away. We grieved, missing her presence, and later adopted a guinea pig mother, Mimi, and daughter, Minnie, in need of a home. As someone classified as “immunocompromised,” I was eager to be vaccinated. A connection found me a vaccination appointment, and I was fully vaccinated by March 2021. My husband followed suit by April 2021, and our son prior to starting school that fall. As we adjusted to life as a pod, my son enthusiastically observed, “We're like pioneers." The basement, with standing desk and screen, became a workplace for my husband; my desk became part of a 7th grade online classroom. My son and I started school days outdoors, enjoying the exercise, the passing trains, and the chickens in a backyard facing a local park's walking path. I gladly shed the pounds that I had gained during my Mom's illness. [Related: Reflecting on COVID: Being with my family 24/7 has strengthened us in a way that I never could’ve imagined] As 8th grade started, I became my son's aide. He detested Zoom learning and required much encouragement and support. “I miss my friends, and seeing them at lunch!” he said often. When some students returned to school for the last quarter of 8th grade, he eagerly joined them. Our house wore many hats: serving as school, workplace, and our home, simultaneously. My husband, working in Information Technology, elected to work solely at home as the pandemic continued. His presence has been a blessing in many ways. I was diagnosed with a salivary gland infection in fall 2020, then rediagnosed as a cancerous tumor by summer 2021. Surgery — followed by seven weeks of daily radiation treatments and weekly chemotherapy — wrapped up in early December. My husband has been ”holding down the fort” during my treatment, and has been woven into the fabric of our daily life. I am thankful for the supportive texts, calls, and prayers across the U.S. which “hold me in the light," and for my doctor's recommendation that I prepare for surgery by exercising. I had been walking a 5K most days and eating well, which gave me the stamina to walk from Randolph and Michigan to the Northwestern hospital campus daily for treatment. My ability to exercise kept my morale up. Post-treatment, I was told I couldn't be indoors or eat with those outside my pod. How, then, to spend the holiday with my extended family members? The warm weather let us exchange gifts Christmas Day outdoors, and make Christmas memories despite the circumstances. As we move through 2022, I recuperate and regain energy. Our house still serves as our home base and a workplace, and the study's role alternates as I share the room part-time with my son. I'm realizing that my biggest challenge is finding a private spot in the house for both my daily tasks and quiet reflection. We are pioneers indeed. As my son says when our vacations end, “This has been an excellent family adventure”. The adventure continues…