The most beautiful journey.

Elizabeth Kubler-Ross is most famously known in the nursing world for identifying the 5 stages of grief--denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. I can't imagine what possibly possessed this woman to embark on a journey to determine the different stages of grief, but for whatever reason she did. It couldn't have been easy, as anyone who has engaged in a research project knows the best way to obtain data is from the primary source. This means that in order to truly and accurately understand the grieving process, Ross sat and listened to detailed accounts of others insurmountable suffering, loss, and anguish. 

We all know what it's like to experience those raw human emotions. Suffering. Loss. Anguish. At times they engulf you. Make you feel like you're drowning. And permanently change you. 

I've considered sharing the journey of the last year of my life for awhile, but it's taken me this long to come to the final stage of grief and reach a place of acceptance. 

Junior year of nursing school was miserable. It was hard and long and I wasn't sure at times if I'd make it out alive. I relied on a core group of friends who laughed, cried, complained, and endured the journey right along with me--and thank God for them. We had all heard from upperclassmen that if we could just get through Junior year, there was light at the end of the tunnel. They said Senior year was mellow and that we could finally engage in 'normal' college student things. Normal. That was the world I clung to. Senior year was going to be normal. 

That was until I was diagnosed with Graves disease, which they thought might be cancerous. And I found out I was pregnant. And I suddenly lost my grandfather to kidney failure and cancer.

it was the week before my final year of college started. i wasn't feeling so hot. as someone who had always enjoyed being active, I suddenly became lethargic and weak. My heart began racing and I developed a sharp stabbing pain in my lower abdomen. I decided to go to the doctor. They drew blood, I peed in a cup, and they asked me a bunch of questions. They said they'd call me in a few days with the results.

Two days later and still no phone call. My symptoms got worse. Something was really wrong. I made another doctor's appointment hoping that if they didn't have my results they could at least do something to make me more comfortable. The doctor came in and ask how I was feeling. I told him it was worse. Severe fatigue, lethargy, lack of sleep, restlessness and a heart that never seemed to slow down.  He told me they had the results from my tests. I felt relieved.

"Your blood tests came back and we have some major concerns regarding your thyroid, and with your extensive family history of thyroid problems including cancer, we would like you to be seen by an endocrinologist as soon as possible". Don't panic, don't panic, I tried reasoning with myself.  All I heard was the word cancer. "You think I have cancer?" I asked, my mind racing. "We aren't exactly sure what's wrong just yet, but it is a possibility. Until you are seen by a specialist I can't tell you otherwise".

Panic set in. I'm sure my heart was beating so loudly that the patients sitting in the waiting room could hear it. I tried to focus on my breathing and calm myself down. It's ok, I can do this. Don't panic. Don't panic.

"I have other news", the doctor continued. "Your urine pregnancy came back positive. We're concerned that you've been having sharp lower abdominal pain. It could indicate that the pregnancy is ectopic, in which case you need to be seen by an OB today"

The two words bounced off the inside of my skull. Cancer. Ectopic pregnany. The room spun.

I had always imagined the moment I found out I was going to be a mom would be the happiest moment of my entire life. But this was far from the happiest moment of my life. This wasn't how I was supposed to find out.  Not sitting in a doctor's office, alone, petrified and feeling so uncertain about my future, or that of my unborn child's. 

I didn't cry that day. Not at all. I was too overwhelmed. Numb. Shocked. I would wait for more tests to be completed before deciding whether or not to break down. I had told myself I was not going to say anything to anyone until I had  more factual information, but all that went out the window when I came home and was greeted by the man, who is now my husband, and to whom I told everything. He hugged me and I withdrew immediately.

"What's wrong?" he asked me. "Do you love me?" I asked him back. "Of course I love you" he said reassuringly. "No, do you really love me? Like do you want to be by my side forever? Through the good and the bad?" I asked in an accusatory tone. "Yes, Danielle, I do. Why are you acting so weird?" I told him the news. He had to sit down. I'm sure some of the first words out of his mouth were words I would never want my child to repeat, but after a few moments of shock he looked at me and said, "I'm going to do everything I can to provide for you and this child. I want you to know I'm not going anywhere. I love you, both".

The days and weeks to follow are somewhat of a blur. All I know is that it felt like I went to a different doctor every other day. 

I had extensive blood work and scans done of my thyroid. I was told there were multiple nodules found that could potentially be cancerous, but that they would continue to monitor them to make sure they weren't multiplying or growing in size. In the meantime I was put on medication to control what they had termed Graves Disease--an autoimmune disease in which your body attacks your thyroid. The doctor told me the medication was so potent that the baby only had a 50% survival rate within the first three months. Anger. Shock. Numbness. They consumed me. 

The next day I had an ultrasound of my uterus to investigate the abdominal pain and confirm the pregnancy. I went to an OB who had been practicing for over 20 years and delivered too many babies to count. She was supposed to be one of the best. She flipped through some papers in my chart. "According to this ultrasound report there was nothing found." Her comment hit me like a mac-truck. Ry and I looked at each other as if we were both dreaming. "What do you mean nothing was found?" he asked her. "I mean she's not pregnant" she responded rather confidently. "How sure are you that she's not pregnant?" Ry asked. "Oh I'm 99% sure".  She walked out of the room. 

I couldn't hold it in any longer. The tears flooded down my cheeks. Sobs burst from deep within me. This is not happening, this is a joke--I kept telling myself. I couldn't pull myself together. I didn't know what to feel. A part of me was relieved, but the other part of me was broken. I had been told there was this life inside of me, and now days later I was being told such a thing never existed. 

The doctor walked back into the room. She looked confused as I sobbed uncontrollably in the arms of the man who was desperately trying to find the right words. "Is...everything...okay?" she asked. I stopped crying. I looked up at her with snot running down my face and shirt, and tears which had smeared my perfectly good eyeliner and mascara. "No, no everything is not okay. One week ago I was told I had this life inside of me. And now you, you just took it away from me!" I shouted at her. She handed me a box of tissues and left the room. She came back a few minutes later and said she wanted to take blood to see if my hCG (pregnancy hormone) levels were elevated. She said she'd call the next day to let me know the results, and again assured us she was confident I was in fact not pregnant.

I went home, crawled in bed and called my mom. I had every intention of holding myself together but there's something about a mom's voice that makes you feel so vulnerable. She answered and I just started to sob. "Honey what's wrong? Are you okay? Where are you?" the panicked voice blurted out on the other end. "I...need...you...to...come...home" I sputtered out. "I'll be there in 20 minutes" she said.

When I asked her later on what she was thinking on her drive home she told me she was sure I had received a diagnosis of cancer. So when I buried my head in her chest and told her I might be pregnant it was the last thing she ever expected. But she held me, and kept holding me. She just kept telling me it would all be okay. 

The next day I got a call from the OB. I was pregnant. That same day the endocrinologist  called with results on my thyroid. Not cancerous. 

denial. anger. bargaining. depression. i bounced back and forth through the first four stages of grief multiple times that day. and would continue to experience them over the next few months. 

I sit here now, cancer free, with a beautiful healthy baby girl who only had a 50% chance of survival kicking me in the ribs as if to say, "Mom, I'm a fighter, just like you". 

The struggles my husband and I have faced over the past 9 months are many. Too many to talk about. And some, too painful to bring up. Going to a Christian school, being un-wed, and being pregnant is not something I'd wish upon anyone. Some days the looks I got felt as if they'd kill the child inside of me. But God is good, and He has faithfully walked by my side.

When we found out we were having a little girl we were thrilled. We knew we wanted to name her something unique and special, after all at one time we thought we had lost her, then we got her back, were told she could still not make it, and is now just a few weeks away from making her debut. She has already endured so much and although she isn't quite here, I'm such a proud mom. 

The name Callie came to me and it just kind of clicked. I called Ry and asked him what he thought. "Callie, my little Cal girl. It's her."  She's never been anything different since. It wasn't until someone asked me what her name meant that I looked it up.  Callie: "the most beautiful". tears streamed down my face. i knew God placed that name in my heart. 

every night before i go to bed i tell Callie she is the most beautiful. when people stare at me as if i've made some horrible mistake i remind myself this precious little girl is the most beautiful. when i want to give up, i remind myself of the most beautiful gift i've ever been given. 

this journey has been filled with suffering, loss, and anguish. i have circled through the stages of denial, anger, bargaining, and depression over and over and over again. although i've come to a place of acceptance, i realize i could still experience those things. but that's okay. because on this road marked with suffering, i have been given the most beautiful ending, and yet another beginning, to my journey.

Elizabeth Kubler-Ross's research proved to be right after all. I experienced each and every stage of grief she described. But perhaps there was something more to what she was trying to discover. Perhaps her real interest wasn't in watching people suffer, but watching them grow and be changed by it. Perhaps she realized sometimes the most painful journeys, are the most beautiful. 

Dedicated to my daughter, Callie Ann-- you are the most beautiful. I'd endure all the pain in the world on your behalf. You are such a gift and I'd do it all over again. I cannot wait to hold you in my arms.  I love you.

“The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.” --Elizabeth Kubler-Ross