My Love Story {Love Story}
Written by Erin Yarbery of Bideawee.

This story begins six months after we married when we found out we were expecting. We weren’t trying to get pregnant, but I didn’t believe in using artificial birth control and we didn’t know exactly how natural family planning worked. We were nervous, but happy.

Less than two weeks later, we miscarried. It was hard and painful in many ways, but we were young and had been told that miscarriage is incredibly common. We had hope that the next pregnancy would be better.

A year later, we became pregnant again and, within a couple of weeks, miscarried again. This miscarriage was both easier and harder. Physically we knew what to expect. Mentally and emotionally, we couldn’t understand it. We wanted to know why it happened again, but, where we live, a specialist will not see a patient until she’s had at least three miscarriages. Although friends and family offered love and support, we felt fairly alone.

Nine months later, at Christmastime, we had our third pregnancy. Although it was also a surprise, we were more excited about this pregnancy than the others. We felt certain that we would finally have a baby. We prayed. We visited our parish priest and asked for special blessings. Hub remodeled every closet in the house trying to make space. I tried different remedies to have a healthier pregnancy and had been taking prenatal vitamins for a long time. We did everything we could possibly do to remain positive. My doctor did everything he could do to help us. It lasted two weeks longer than the previous pregnancies, and it was, by far, the hardest loss.

Believe it or not, we picked up the familiar pieces and resolved to be happy anyway. We knew we needed to focus on our health for a while. We needed time to breathe and time for Hub to finish college. Thus, putting aside my personal beliefs and attempting to do what was best, I chose to use “the pill” for a little while.

Nevertheless, only a few months later, I endured a fourth pregnancy. I knew from the beginning that this pregnancy was different; something wasn’t right. I had immediately stopped using the pill when I realized I was pregnant, but it was already too late. Almost as quickly as I realized I was pregnant, I also realized I was having another miscarriage. I made an appointment with my doctor, who confirmed with blood tests that my levels were definitely dropping, so I went home and prepared for the inevitable physical pain.

This time, however, I endured the most painful sensations I’d ever felt. For several days, the pain would come and go with increasing intensity. I paced the floors at work gritting my teeth and bearing it until it subsided. I was too stubborn to take sick leave. Having done this before, I knew I would only feel depressed at home, so I continued working. I had discussed with Hub my suspicions of a tubal pregnancy, but, because the pain would always subside, we assumed it was just a miscarriage.

Finally, one afternoon as I browsed the local craft store, I found myself alone in an aisle, hunched over in pain and nearly in tears. I didn’t want to make a scene, but I knew something was wrong. I straightened up as much as I could and walked, like a zombie, to the truck. Somehow I managed to drive, while sobbing, back to the university where Hub was volunteering at a plant sale with the agriculture department. By the time I arrived, I knew I couldn’t walk a step further and I was embarrassed to be seen in such a state, so I called his cell phone and asked him to meet me in the parking lot. He knew immediately that my condition was serious – I rarely ever felt pain I couldn’t handle – so we headed to the doctor’s office.

A vaginal ultrasound showed that I was indeed having a tubal (or ectopic) pregnancy. My doctor was extremely surprised that I had been able to endure the pain for so long; apparently, nearly too long. I was in serious condition and was sent to the hospital for emergency surgery. The tube was removed.

It was an outpatient surgery so I recovered at home. As soon as I we walked in the door, Hub took control. He held my hair and cleaned up after me while I threw up; helped me roll out of bed every morning as my stomach was sore; laid me on the couch and turned on my favorite TV shows and movies; answered the phone when I couldn’t or didn’t want to; made breakfast, lunch and dinner; took care of the dog and the laundry and bought groceries. He took care of everything so I could wallow as long as I needed. He was my hero; my knight in shining armor.

Eventually, the pain weakened, my hormones went back to normal, and I returned to work. I dove back into life and slowly felt like me again. It was during this time that Hub finally showed his emotions.

He had remained so strong and brave throughout the process, never complaining. He had spoken about it freely and answered everyone’s questions without hesitation. Thus, when I saw him break down, I was shocked. I had not expected it. When I asked why he had waited so long to embrace his emotions, he said, “I had to be strong for you… until you felt better.”

So we cried together and held each other for a long time. It was his turn to hurt. This was when I realized I would never, ever have another friend like him; another man who would put his feelings totally aside to care for me in my time of need. I realized I was living my love story, in all its imperfections, with the man of my dreams. It meant more to me than any fairy tale ever could.

I am Erin from the blog, Bideawee. I’ve lived in Arkansas all my life and always dreamed of traveling the world. I have a bachelors degree in journalism and I’m happily married. We don’t have children yet, but we truly love our furbaby, Lakota. This is our journey.