Two consecutive Miscarriages: One month apart / my story

I WENT HOME. I went home to face the fact that I was once again going to loose the chance of being a Mother on earth. Brandon dropped off the ambulance, clocked out, and came home to find me on the phone with my boss giving her the horrible news. My Father in law was down stairs and I was completely numb. To be honest part of me really wanted to be alone with Brandon and just hold each other. The other part wanted as many distractions as possible. I owe how I was able to hold myself together as I walked down the stairs and retold the details of the horrifying revelation to God and my father in law. I have only ever broken down in front of Brandon and I knew that now was not the time. I knew that it wasn’t over and that I needed to stay strong to get myself through this. So I tightened metaphorical fists around my heart and monotoned the conversation that left us (earthly) childless.

I stated the three options given to me and how I had obviously chosen to come home with a set phone appointment for Wednesday. This phone conversation was to determine how far along I had gotten in the miscarrying process. If I felt that I had not progressed we planned on taking another course of action, a D&C. The abortion pill was not an option for me. Miscarriages are excruciating enough without having to add intentional physical pain ten times over. I spoke on my next in person appointment set for October 25th where I would be given a Pregnancy test to determine if the HCG level is low enough to not be detected and a physical exam to make sure my cervix had fully closed after expelling what once was. If the Pregnancy test comes back positive blood will be drawn to pinpoint the exact amount of HCG left in my system and a possible third internal Ultrasound. (These want to be avoided because it can cause infections) If the pregnancy test is negative I will be starting around of tests to make sure/ see that my body is not the problem. To determine why my body can get pregnant (fairly easily at that) but cannot stay pregnant.

I felt comfort in knowing that most likely my body was not able to sustain a healthy pregnancy so soon after having a miscarriage. Conceiving less than a moth after my Chemical Pregnancy is very fast and not recommended by doctors. My OB offered me this small piece of nicety in one of the hardest moments in life. Hearing her say that she honestly thinks that my third pregnancy is going to be completely healthy and full term helped hold back the tears and my fear and guilt of being the cause. Of being the problem. Being the obstacle in the way of Brandon becoming a father and our parents having grandchildren. In my heart, my bones, my head I believe that I was not fully healed from the first loss and someday sooner rather than later I will have a healthy growing pregnancy. My instincts on this matter have been pretty spot on since the beginning so it is hard not to believe that they are true. Of course only time will tell.

That night was spent in bed watching mindless TV and discussing projects needing to be done. Brandon told me later that he was highly surprised at how Okay I seemed. How I was speaking normally without a lump in my throat. I am grateful to have the ability of Crisis mode. Especially when it comes to my personal self. I take control of what I can and do what needs to be done. Friday I went to my moms to celebrate my young cousins Birthday and enjoy Movie night with my parents and aunt. That’s when the light cramping started. This time I knew it wasn’t from constipation, but from my uterus contracting. It was hard to ignore what was definitely happening to my body and baby then.

“Where is Brandon?”

“He is on shift today. We had a long discussion last night about whether or not he should go in.”

He needed to be alone. We oporate different in that sense. I hate being alone when I am going through something. Not to necessarily speak on the situation, but to just not be alone. Brandon likes to work. It helps him process his feelings in a controlled manner. Our conversation left a feeling of maturity. I knew that we needed to communicate for us to get through this. At least in a healthy way. It was difficult but needed. We definitely should have taken our own advice in the days following.

It felt weird sleeping in my old bed in my childhood bedroom. I had forgotten how uncomfortable the mattress was. Saturday Morning I had breakfast with my in laws and spent the day on the couch while Brandon and his Brother played the game in the next room. When nightfall came and we all climbed on the couch together to watch movies the cramps became increasingly prominent.

I thought to myself, “This is it”

Eventually I couldn’t take it anymore. I went upstairs and sat on the toilet bent over holding my stomach as tears streamed down my face. Clot after clot after clot dropped into the water. I was told that it was going to be much different this time. I was going to see a tiny baby. A little human. While this was happening I thought they were wrong. Deep dark clots of blood seeped out and the amount of pain I was in made me think that this was definitely the bulk of what was going to take place. I was wrong.

I had never felt cramps quite this strong before. It was getting to the point where it was unbearable. I was weak. I was tired. I was balling from the excruciating pain more physical than emotional in that moment. Brandon found me hunched over my hands over my face and my hair tangled. He sat down in front of me and told me to look at him. I was scared and in pain. He looked at me and then held me. My head in his shoulder blade and his hands rubbing my back.

Whispering “it’s going to be okay”.

He sat on the bathroom floor with me for hours. The pain came in waves. Making small talk in between blows and him talking while I winced gave me something to focus on and something to pull my mind off of what was happening and on to him. He even tried making out with me! If that isn’t love, what is. That entire night he was my rock. My body was getting ready to remove what was once accepted and now being rejected. It felt like my organs were turning in on each other. Like they were twisting in turning in knots trying to break free of the major tangle it had gotten itself in. I felt like my body was eating itself from the inside. I clawed at my stomach and pushed down as hard as I possibly could just to get it to stop. Brandon said something about Aleve. This made me think of Excedrin. The thought left a bitter taste in my mouth, I can take Excedrin again. But it is a pain reliever and that is exactly what I needed. Some time had past and I could actually breathe again without feeling like I couldn’t catch my breath. The earlier miscarriage wasn’t nearly as painful as this. I was not prepared for what that night brought nor what would come a few days later. I was able to breathe thanks to the husband God graciously brought into my life. I know I would have made it through that night without him if I had to, but I am so glad that was not the case.

Football Sunday followed. The clotting had somewhat dissipated but the cramps were lingering. I remember scrunching up in a ball on Grammy’s couch underneath blankets that the family had placed over me. I hid my face as best I could so they couldn’t see the tears sliding down my cheeks. I was embarrassed, in pain, and still blaming myself for what was happening. I always knew this was never my fault. I have no control over what the inside of my body will and will not do. That does not change the fact that so many woman in that situation turn on themselves. I felt like I had the weight of our families pain on my shoulders. I felt like I was the one to blame for the loss that they also felt. I was the one carrying the baby. I was the one who was supposed to protect them, but I couldn’t. Without hesitation Brandon’s Dad left for the store and brought back the much needed pain reliever that worked so well the night before.

All weekend I had been telling family that I was contemplating calling the OB office Monday morning instead of waiting until Wednesday. In all honesty I was already set on this. Saturday night was the last straw. I was told the miscarriage process could take up to two weeks. In the moment I was not thinking much into that. I was in shock, trying to keep myself together. It was like I had cotton in my ears and I was trying to focus as hard and as much as I could in the given emotional state I was in. I didn’t believe that was a real possibility. Maybe because in July it was all over in one day. I had never experienced something like this before. I made sure I was informed as much as possible, but that still did not prepare me for what was to come. I knew emotionally I was not going to be able to handle this for two weeks. Saturday night almost broke me. I just wanted it to end. I wanted it to be over. I was ready to move forward with my life, to not have to stay strong anymore, to start my grieving process. I had intentions of calling to ask about a D&C. I had done research on the subject. Read about the risks and how the procedure was operated. In the end, for me, the advantages outweighed the risks. In my case it was a good decision and was reassured of that by my OB Monday afternoon. I knew that having a D&C would clean out my system. It would be speeding the process of my body going back to normal. Like it never happened. I was scared to have an incomplete miscarriage and not be able to have kids in the future. The more and more I thought about it the better the operation sounded. It was time for me not to be in limbo anymore. I could not do it anymore.

Monday morning shined through my bedroom window. It was 10am. Calling my doctors office I was told my OB was not in the office today. I thought to myself, “I knew this was going to happen” Around 12pm I looked at my caller ID on my vibrating phone, it was the OB office.

“Hello”

I was asked to come in at 1:15pm and see the PA. I was not expecting to come in that day. I was only hoping for a line of communication where I could get a few answers about the procedure I was leaning towards receiving as well as being checked out one more time as to not have an unnecessary procedure. I wasn’t sure what Saturday was. If it was just a few blood clots and my body was just preparing itself for the real thing by moving things down or if that was the bulk of it. At the time I was pretty sure all that was in me were clots and small amounts of tissue, what I saw a few hours later proved me completely wrong. I went in like I was asked and to my surprise had my OB walk into the patient room I was placed in.

"They told me you weren’t in today.”

“I am on call. What that means is I am over at the hospital preforming procedures that people may need done and checking on hospital items. When I got the message you were coming in I came right over.”

Hearing this I felt comforted. I was being made a priority which is something that I have had an issue with during my time at this particular OB office. (I will not be getting into that side of the story, I am not here to criticize publicly. I will say that in the beginning I was not given the care that I should have been given. I was not a priority even though I was considered high risk. I spoke with my Doctor about this and have felt inclusive and heard ever since.) We discussed my questions and concerns and I was given the answers that I needed. I was feeling better. I was almost relieved. I wasn’t on edge like I had been in the past. I was comfortable and had a clear head, I was able to make sure I would not (and I did not) leave with unanswered questions. The D&C conversation was informative and she was very proactive because when she found out I was coming in to discuss this option she went ahead and scheduled the procedure for 6pm that evening. I was grateful to be heard and my decisions taken seriously. I was finally given what I needed. After our discussion I was immediately taken back to have another internal ultrasound where I was told, “Yes there is definitely some tissue still in there.” One of my questions had been another form of research I had been conducting over the past few days.

“Is it enough to be genetically tested?”

She hesitated, “I can’t say for sure. I won’t know until I get in there. But since there definitely is contents a D&C is a really good option for you right now.”

I wanted to have the fetus that had started to grow and then stopped tested for Genetic abnormalities to cross that off of the list of possible reasons as to why he or she became nonviable. I wanted to cover all of my bases and to receive as many answers as possible. I am not able to start my testing process for a few weeks so knowing that I could get this done and narrow down the possible causes was a great comfort.

“What was the baby measuring at my last ultrasound on Thursday?” I had been wondering about this since staring at my white ceiling on September 23rd.

After a few clicks on the computer the tech and my doctor pulled a sheet and told me, “About 6 and a half weeks.”

Six and a half weeks. Meaning my 7 week bumpdate wasn’t even real. Hearing this made me sad, but I needed to hear it. My baby was growing for 6 and a half weeks. What if their heart had started beating? Their legs were about to start forming. They had eye sockets and a moth line. The reality of that would hit me by 4:30 pm that afternoon.

“My blood results from September 7th, did we ever find them?”

“Yes, your HCG did go up to about 9000, but that isn’t going to change what is happening.” I knew that and I said as much.

After my prior miscarriage I was checked in my nether region, but always with a tool. This time the OB put her entire hand / fingers inside of me to check my cervix. I have never had this done before.

“Ya, I definitely feel something there. At the base of your cervix, there is some tissue. Let’s go ahead with the procedure tonight at 6. You need to be at the Hospital by 4 pm so in about an hour. We will get you checked in and start the process. Are you okay? Do you have anymore questions or concerns you would like me to know?”

I am not going to lie I asked about intimacies. I mean that is obvious. I sat up on the Sonogram chair and I could feel the cramps starting back up. I guessed all the fidgeting around inside of me caused friction. I was given a copy of my paperwork after signing the consent forms and understanding what they meant. Brandon’s Grandparents were outside waiting for me. They had driven me because Brandon was at the Fire house and we weren’t sure if I was going straight into the surgery. On the way home small talk persisted and I started feeling really intense cramps. We let the dog out and I was looking through my paperwork in the kitchen when I was asked if I had an iPhone charger.

“I don’t know. Let me go look in Brandon’s nightstand, he might have an extra one.” (I have an android)

Walking up the stairs I felt heavy in my lower region. The cramps were really bad, but they felt different then Saturday nights. Those were more internal and twisted. The current ones were more surface level and burning. I approached the nightstand, opened the top drawer, and felt something come out of me. I immediately stop rummaging through the drawer. I pause and then shakily open the rim of my lower garments and look inside. My stomach knotted and my heart was in my throat. I saw what looked like a large pink head. It was skin or membranes or something. I didn’t have anytime to process because I heard my name coming from downstairs. You know those scenes in a movie where something traumatic happens to a character and everything around them is white noise. They slowly start to come out of it, breathing hard, about to cry or panic then a voice begins to echo and it snaps you back into reality, out of the fog. Well that is exactly what happened.

“Shayna your phone was ringing. don’t worry about the charger. I have enough juice.”

I felt like a Zombie. I swallowed the lump and said okay, grabbed my phone from the island, and almost waddled back up the stairs because I could feel what had left my body in my cotton protector in my underwear. I locked myself in the bathroom and pulled down my pants to find a forming baby. Eyes widened and disbelief clouding I slowly ripped the pad from my linen and set it on the counter.

I STARED.

I don’t know for how long, but I sat there on the edge of my toilet and stared at my baby. It had a head with eye sockets and a mouth line. It had a spine that led into a tail with a slit at the bottom where legs had began to form. Tears started, silently crying. I don't remember what came first, but I called my doctor and Brandon tried calling me back. I think Brandon called me first before I had time to even begin processing what I was looking at. He asked me how my appointment went. I summarized everything and then,

“I don’t think I am going to need the D&C anymore.”

“Why?”

“Because I am staring at our baby.”

I couldn’t tear my eyes away. You know those things that you don’t want to look at but you can’t take your eyes off of, that was this. I called my OB and told her what events had followed after leaving her office,

“Is it in the toilet or in a pad?”

“It is in my pad. It has a head and eye sockets and a mouth and a spine with a slit where legs were supposed to be.”

“Oh Shayna I am so sorry you are having to go through this. I know this is awful. Try not to look at it. You can do whatever you need to. Whatever makes you comfortable. Flush it down the toilet. Wrap it up and bring it in. I have the genetic test right here with me if you still want to do it, but if that isn’t something you want to do it is okay.”

“I want answers.”

I called Brandon back and told him what the doctor had said and that I was going to get myself together and take in our tiny human. After that I sat there for a minute again and continued to stare. It felt wrong just wrapping my baby up in the soiled bloody pad. I couldn’t do that. So I quickly went to my closet and looked in the bin that held old jewelry boxes and found one I thought was good for the horrific occasion. I set the box down and bent down close to the once forming baby. This may be grotesque to some, but for me it is what I needed to do. I looked over every inch trying to memorize every detail. I took out my phone and snapped photos at different angles and a 5 second video covering the length of the fetus. This was my process. To some this is gross and horrifying and something they would never in a million years think of doing. I take photos of everything, I write everything down because I want to hold on to every memory. I am a visual person. It’s what I have done for years. So please don’t judge me for doing this because

One it’s none of your business

Two it happened to me. My body, my emotions and I should be able to do whatever I want/need to get me through. This just happened to be apart of it.

I wanted to unsee what I had seen, but at the same time hold onto it forever. I didn’t have this moment with Tadpole. I never even got past 6 weeks then. This time I became attached. I had a month to fall in love and continue the excitement of my growing baby. It’s hard to let that go especially when you are staring your tiny baby in the face. I set my phone up on the toilet and tried to figure out away to get the baby in the box. I didn't want to dump it and I was scared to pick the inch size up. So I used the end of a floss stick but it wasn't working. The form kept flipping and I felt horrible because the face shape started to change and it horrified me. So I hesitated for a moment. A few times, then picked up my baby in my hand and placed them in the tiny white box. I had set a white bandage in the bottom for cushion and to hold all the contents that came with the baby. (I am not going to explain) I put my hand over the box closed my eyes and cried. I said a goodbye and made my way downstairs to waiting Grandparents. I felt awkward and uncomfortable because I know that they love me, but I don’t have that really personal relationship with them to this point. I stuttered trying to explain what was going on. I hated being in this situation. Absolutely hated it. We got in the car and drove back to the office. Baby and box in hand I stared out the window. My mind was blank and I was lost. Probably in shock, dazed and in a fog.

I walked into the office and immediately taken to the back where a table was set up for my doctor to start the genetic kit. I set the box on the counter and sat down. She gave me a few informative papers and explained what they were and how to contact about the testing if I have any questions.

“Did you have any cramps?”

“Yes, pretty much immedialty after you checked me.”

“The tissue that I felt was probably what came out. Your body probably realized and didn’t want surgery so it moved things along.”

“That is what I figured.”

We talked for awhile and moved my October 25th appointment to the 11th. Two weeks from the date. She decided against checking me again because we were both pretty sure what was left inside had come out and was now in the little white box. What was left turned out to be the real thing. My baby. Earlier my body was preparing itself, moving around for what was eventually going to happen. The D&C was canceled and now I needed to wait. There wasn’t really a point to another inspection, that would have opened up more of a chance for infection. It was over. Almost over.

I slept hard that night. My body had been through an ordeal and I was ready to see Brandon. In the morning I was expecting him to come home ASAP to check on me, but that didn’t happen. Something about a call within the next 20 minutes so they went to Big Lots next door instead. I sucked it up and went about my day. It was around 2 or 3 when I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to get out of the house. It was too quite and I needed a change of scenery. So I left. I went to Walmart in hopes they had a lantern for my front porch. No luck. I started walking to the shoes because my dog had eaten 3 different shoes from 3 different pairs and I really needed new ones. I was distracted by the book section and spent the next hour reading a sneak peak of a favorite series of mine. Brandon called me while I was there and asked where I went and if I wanted food.

“Sure.”

He called me back a few minutes later with the decided lunch spot and an ETA. I finished up the last chapter of the book preview, looked at the shoes for a split second, and headed toward the entrance. Part of me has dreaded going to the store for the past couple of weeks because I always think about the baby section. I find myself drawn to it, but can’t let myself even slightly near it. I’m scared I am going to bust out in tears or feel angry looking at all the cute baby things. It felt daunting when I first found out I was pregnant and really had to rap my mind around how much a baby needs, now I miss that overwhelming feeling. I yearn for that exciting and nerve racking moments. Ones that I hope will one day return with time.

I got home and started watching a show I was bingding. 4 O Clock and Brandon comes through the side door with my chicken fingers and fries.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay, I guess. As much as you can be.”

He gave me a kiss and said, “Okay baby. Well we gotta call so I gotta go. Just dropped by to bring you the food.”

He left and left me feeling odd. I started to become angry. Because I needed him! I needed him home. Not to baby me or caudle me, but to be there with me. So I wasn’t left alone. I had been alone for 30 hours and needed my Husband. (By alone I mean without Brandon, who is my main support system. The person I feel the most comfortable in front of.) What I had thought I had let go this morning was slowly seaping back. I hated the fact that he went to Big Lots instead of coming home even if it was for two seconds. A hug and a kiss. I needed him to want me first. To be by my side even if it meant he was late for work. I was mad that he asked me if I was okay because I felt like I couldn't tell him how I really felt. He was in a rush and looked flustered. If you know Brandon you know you don’t mess with his work. I wanted to be supportive, but I was dying and I didn’t know how to tell him that. I didn’t feel like I could.

That night I was grouchy. He didn't get off until 9pm, but is able to come home when there isn’t any calls in the queue. The three of us (me him and his partner) were on the couch when I snapped at Brandon. I don’t remember how the subject got brought up, but he said something sarcastic and I argued it. My aggression from earlier in the day started to leak through. I thought I had it under raps, I thought wrong. When the boys left to take the truck back I thought he was going to come home and we were going to finally talk. I was so ready and needed to let everything out. I needed him. When he came home he was still in a mood. I felt bad for barking at him and wanted to apologize. He seemed unapproachable so I was waiting for the right moment. He showered and we awkwardly fidgeted with Netflix. The show was playing. He was on his side of the bed. I was on mine. He didn’t touch me, didn’t talk to me. He layed there staring at the TV. I hated this. Normally I would be grabbed and pulled close and held tight. Nothing happened. Eventually I turned around to look at him and he was asleep. I clicked the TV off and tried to go to sleep. All of my feelings were starting to hit me at once. Emotions I had never felt before were making there debut and I was beyond done. Tears started down my face. I got up and locked myself in the bathroom, curled up in a ball on the floor and let go. I did not want to wake Brandon up. I was sobbing, I was breaking, and I was done. Eventually sleep took over and when I woke up it was 3am. My back was sore and in knots. I regretted choosing the bathroom for my first breakdown. I woke up to Brandon getting ready for yet another day at work. I pretended I was asleep like I do on so many mornings. I heard the door open downstairs, I grabbed my phone and pulled up my side camera and watched as he got into the ambulance his partner came to get him in.

He’s just gonna leave without saying anything? I thought

They just sat there on the side of the house. I don’t know how much time had passed, but he came in gave me a quick peck and left for a call. We hadn’t spoken in days. Like an actual conversation. Just awkward banter and I was over it.

“Are we good?” I got this text message from him in the evening. “Seems like you have been mad at me today.”

“LOL besides the obvious. We haven't really spoken to each other at all. Like you don't feel awkward?”

“You didn't seem like you were in a good mood so I didn’t say much cause I didn’t feel like arguing.”

The conversation continued and ended with his explanation of feeling drained. He had been constantly working and hadn’t stopped. He had a lot on his shoulders. This man does not show these kind of emotions. He never tells someone when something is bothering him. We are the complete opposite when it comes to the way we process our feelings. He buries everything and I reveal everything. I hadn’t realized that he was struggling too. When he come home that night we got into bed and I said let’s talk. It was extremely awkward at first because this man would not open up.

He kept deflecting, “What is there to talk about?”

I felt like I needed to help him through before I broke down because I knew that was about to happen. But he wouldn’t talk.

“I thought we were going to talk last night when you came home from work, but you just went to sleep. You didn't touch me or speak.”

I don’t remember his response but the effects of the weeks events were getting to me. Coming on fast and strong. I tried to contain it as best I could, but the more and more I opened up about how I had been feeling and what I had gone through the more I struggled to keep it together.

“I am traumatized. I held our baby, our tiny baby in my hand. Do you know what that’s like?” I continued through choked tears.

He layed there and he stared at me as my hysterics became more obvious. I retold everything from the bombarding emotions to the overwhelming feeling of aloneness. He started to argue with me about certain aspects I was bringing up.

“How was I supposed to know. I thought you were fine. When I brought you your food and I asked you if you were okay you apparently lied. You could have said No I am not and I need to talk. I would have said okay and taken the truck back clocked out and came home.”

“I wanted you to just know. How could you not! You should have been able to tell that I wasn't okay even if it seemed like it! I literally just passed our dead kid!” I screamed.

I continued to express through sobs and tear stained cheeks how I felt like I couldn't tell him what was going on with me because he seemed unapproachable when it came to his job. He has never called into work and I feel as if I will be blamed for it, he is going to complain about it. So when there were times where I really needed him I didn’t say anything. He never shows raw emotion and even though he says I can ask him for anything, even though he says I will do anything for me even when it comes to work, it’s really hard to believe. I feel guilty for asking him to stay home. That means there is one less person out there to help when someone is in need. I felt selfish. I was stuck in between a rock and a hard place.

“Are you going to be okay tomorrow? It’s past 7pm so I can’t call out of service. Sleep on it and in the morning if your not okay, I will go to work and then leave.”

“I already no I am not going to be okay. I don’t need to sleep on it. I am telling you right now I am not okay and won’t be 8 hours from now. I have never seriously asked you this, but your saying I am supposed to and you’ll do it without hesitation or malice, so do it.”

He called his supiror 10 times within that hour trying to get out on leave although he wasn’t supposed to.

“We need to communicate more. This whole thing was more than it needed to be. I shattered into peices because I couldn't talk to you because you do not make me feel that I can. We need to fix this.”

We were finally getting somewhere in the conversation. No more back and forth arguing. He moved from his spot on the bed to me and held me.

“Do you feel better now?”

“No. I am not okay. I am breaking!”

I turned into him and busted. Breathing heavy inbewtween sobs and sniffling.

“Let it out.”

I am really good in a crisis. I always have been. It’s when the crisis is over that I am no longer okay. I want to be there for everyone else, try and lesson others pain, and then when it seems like the bulk of the storm has past, my personal storm starts. I felt like I didn’t have that chance to express and breakdown slowly because I hadn’t communicated the situation. The details and the events of the traumatic event and I mean very traumatic. I had to hold it in which made it so much worse Wednesday night.

He held me until my tears stopped. Our relationship is far from perfect, and many things can be improved. Obviously.

He held me until my tears stopped. This journey had been long and hard and sometimes unbearable. But we are getting through it. Today I had my last appointment concerning my physical health during this Miscarriage. I was told my pregnancy test was negative and my cervix is fully closed. It’s a good thing, but under the circumstances we all wish it would have been different. The Genetic testing is being done as we speak on the little love and soon I will know if there was any chromasonal issues. Next month I will be doing rounds of testing to make sure that my body is healthy and fully capable of carrying a baby to full term. Maybe we will have some answers. I do beleive that God has given me a child barring body, but I also believe that he placed these challenges in my life to open my eyes. To prepare me for motherhood, to allow myself to feel hurt that I had never felt before as to learn and share. I don’t have all the answers or reasons, I do know that God has a plan for me. I just haven’t figured it out yet. Brandon wasn’t the only one holding me that night. He was too.