One year ago, at this moment, I was waking up from the surgery to remove Cletus from my tube.
That pregnancy, and it's aftermath, was rock bottom for me, both emotionally and physically.
I'm not sure why that loss stands out as so traumatic amongst so many others, but I think the timing (right around Christmas, when I had had another miscarriage two years before on Christmas Day) combined with the fact that it was my only pregnancy to have appropriately rising betas - my only pregnancy to have hope. I was convinced that something was wrong, despite my doctor's assurances, and insisted on an early ultrasound.
I thought we wouldn't see anything at all, that my uterus would appear as that familiar empty blackness on the ultrasound screen.
I never thought we'd see a baby - okay, an embryo, but developing! as it should! - in the wrong place. I never thought I'd have to have a doctor cut my baby out of me, ending his doomed life.
All of my worst fears were confirmed - it seemed as if every. possible. thing. that could go wrong on our journey would. It seemed as if we would never see daylight again.
From that moment of darkness, over the past year, I have been climbing towards the light, trying to fix myself. Trying to live. I finally feel as if I'll be okay, no matter what.
But I am still crying a little today, remembering what could have been. Oh Cletus, you changed me, so deeply. I'll never forget you. I wish I had gotten to hold you, just once.