the knowing

as we settled into our seats on the plane, i turned to face alex.

i know that i haven’t tested positive yet but, i know that i’m pregnant. while it sounds strange to admit that because it makes no logical sense and i could be wrong, i can really, really feel it. something has shifted in me. this trip was supposed to be an opportunity for us to be present with one another to process the loss we went through earlier this year. can you imagine if, in addition to that, we could celebrate the gift of a new life and bring it along with us on this adventure to a country that means so much to me and my ancestors? 

before he could reply, the captain interrupted with an announcement. 

ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard air canada flight 474 to athens, greece…

he rested a hand on my knee as we exchanged excited smiles before takeoff. 

i only brought a few tests with me, so despite my eager anticipation, i knew that i needed to be patient and use them sparingly. a day after our arrival, i couldn’t hold off anymore, i found myself in the bathroom of what was once my yiayia and pappou’s apartment, anxiously pacing in circles while waiting for the results of the test.

i peered over at the ledge of the sink and i had to blink a few times to make sure i what i was seeing was real. in a quiet moment with my own thoughts, i looked up to the tiled ceiling as my eyes welled with tears of excitement. i ran out of the bathroom into the bedroom, where alex groggily awaited in the bed. 

i was right!!! this is insane. can you believe it? 

i slid beneath the sheet, beneath him and placed his hand on my low belly.

you know how the first baby felt like water? what do you think this energy feels like? 

his eyes closed and forehead creased in concentration.

fire. i just had this vision of a little girl running, she was really fast. 

yes! that’s exactly what I feel - about the fire, but i also feel like there is some water - too. 

he wrapped me in a massive hug and we stayed in bed a little while longer, giving ourselves permission to dream about the possibility of the future, despite the pain of our past.

the pregnancy

the next morning, i woke up with a pounding headache, sore throat and stuffy nose.

oh no, i think i’m coming down with something. we’ll need to take it slow, today.

we gathered our belongings and packed the car for our 4 hour drive to the first stop of our adventure: meteora, an area in northwest greece with sandstone peaks decorated with breathtaking monasteries. the drive was damp and dreary, which is not usual for greece at that time of year. yet, despite my worsening cold and the unusual weather, the gratitude i felt pulsing through my veins felt like a supernatural antidote.

i know that i should be anxious about being sick so early, given our previous loss but, somehow i feel this deep reassurance that everything will be ok. it sounds so contradictory to say given my ill condition but, i feel … strong. this pregnancy feels different than the first already. 

over the next couple of days, we were enraptured by the mountainous landscape. there aren’t enough words to describe the impact of the unique rock formations and perspective of the surreal views. every time that we would visit a monastery, my yiayia’s voice would fill my ears.

remember, whenever you visit a new church - step in with the right foot and make a wish. 

and so, we did, while also lighting a candle at each one, as a symbol of strength for the baby’s spirit. 

after our time in the mountains of meteora, we found our way back to the sea, on another lengthy car ride. our destination was lefkada - a greek island in the ionian sea, connected to the mainland by bridge, known for its beaches of turquoise waters.

in the days to follow, we visited the remote beaches of porto katsiki and egremni and bathed our bodies (and my belly) with sunlight, sand and salt. as i would lay beneath the umbrella to escape the heat, i would close my eyes and express my optimistic outlook for the future.

can you believe how beautiful it is here? i finally feel so at peace. don’t you? it’s surreal to think that one day, we will get to show the baby the photos of the first beaches they visited in greece, with us.

after a particularly grueling trek from one of the beaches, we enjoyed a late afternoon siesta at the hotel and decided to venture into the local town to satisfy our growling bellies. we found a restaurant that had been there for over 40 years, so we decided to eat there and savour the local cuisine. after sitting through a lengthy, satisfying meal, we were ready to make our way back to the hotel so we flagged one of the owners for the bill.

moments later, i looked up and saw her holding two shot glasses with clear liquid. before she could place mine down, i caught her eye, said no thank you and delicately placed my hand on my lower belly. her eyes widened as an expression of joy spread across her face and her arm jerked in surprise, spilling a few drops of liquid out of the glass.

oh my goodness, children, congratulations. what a blessing. i am so happy for you. enjoy these moments together.

as she walked away, i slowly turned towards alex in apology.

i hope it’s ok that i said something. i know it’s still so early but, i didn’t realize until now that my heart really needed to feel her reaction. Iithink that this baby deserves to be celebrated, even if it is early. i thought i’d feel more fearful this time but, i’m overwhelmed with gratitude.

don’t worry, i feel that way too. that was unexpectedly…really nice.

he slid his hand across the table, interlaced his fingers with mine, and we sat in contentment while watching the stray cats weave in and out of the legs of the table, on the hunt for delectable morsels that might have carelessly tumbled off of a plate.

the fear

the next morning, i woke up and went to the washroom - eager with anticipation for the adventure we had planned for the day. distracted by my thoughts, i looked down and lost my breath. there was bright red blood. 

oh no, no no no - not again. this time, we thought that everything would be ok. 

i opened the door and looked at alex in a panic, tears already streaming down my face.

what’s wrong!? 

there’s blood. why did i say something at the restaurant last night? why…

the skin surrounding his eyes creased with worry.

well, that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s bad - right? 

no, but, i’m really freaked out. we’re so far from home. what if it happens while we’re here? 

maybe we should take it easy today and stick around the hotel. you can call the midwife and i can call insurance just so that we know our options.

yeah, true. i don’t know how I’m going to wait 7 hours but, i guess i’ll have to.

the disappointment

the moment it was 9am back home, i picked up the phone and called my midwife’s office.

hello - you’ve reached the midwife’s office. how can i help you?

hi, i’ve recently been accepted under your care. i’m in greece and i think that i may be miscarrying. i was hoping to speak to my midwife and ask some questions. 

while you have been accepted into our care, you haven’t seen your midwife for your intake yet, so unfortunately that’s not possible. 

my throat closed to the point that i could not speak and another wave of tears streamed down my face.

i…i…sorry, i need a moment.

i lost my voice again, and she interrupted the silence.

beyond that, you’re out of the country and we cannot provide medical advice under these circumstances. 

i’m sorry, i’m just really taken aback by this response. i was under the same midwife’s care for my first pregnancy just a few months ago. i just have some general questions about what to do if i am indeed miscarrying and if it’s safe to fly because I am not in the country. are you really saying that you can’t offer non-specific, medical advice? 

no, sorry. if you send an email, we may be able to answer your questions. otherwise, you will have to wait until you are back home.

as i tried to suppress a sob, i hung up - unable to say anything more. alex looked at me, wide-eyed.

wow. 

i know. she didn’t even have the empathy to acknowledge the situation.

why don’t you try your family doctor?

i picked my phone back up and was surprised that they picked up, after the first ring. 

hi, I’m calling because I’m an existing patient. i’m currently in Greece, pregnant and think i might be miscarrying. is there any way i could book a virtual appointment with my doctor?

the line went quiet for a few moments.

oh honey, i am so, so sorry. that is terrible. and you’re so far away from home! oh my goodness. ok, let me think.

her empathy wrapped me in a much needed, warm embrace.

yeah. i called my midwife’s office but, wasn’t able to answer any of my questions - something about not being able to provide virtual care outside of the province.

yes, unfortunately we’re limited in that way, too. that’s why i’m not sure what to do, but wow - this is a tough situation. i really want to help.

thank you. you have no idea how much your empathy alone means to me. you have a kind heart, and that alone is of help.

oh honey, thank you for saying that - you made my day. now, in terms of what you can do - the best i can say is that you should go to a local hospital and see a doctor there to ensure that you receive appropriate medical attention. can you do that?

yes, there is one nearby. i was really hoping to speak with a doctor to avoid dealing with a foreign medical system but, it doesn’t sound like i have any other options. thank you.

another wave of tears took my breath away as i silently hung up the phone. 

well, that was better than the midwife’s office. 

i know…even though the outcome is the same, at least she felt like a human. 

so, what do you want to do? do you want to go to the hospital? 

no, not yet. let’s continue to monitor the bleeding. it seems to have slowed down, so i don’t want to jump the gun. we leave tomorrow and have over 4 hours to drive to nafplio, so we may want to think about what hospital makes most sense for us to go to.

the next morning, i was woken up by discomfort in my low belly. i stumbled to the bathroom to validate what I knew would likely be waiting for me, signaling that something was not right.

alex, i think we may need to check out and go to the hospital. i know that if i am miscarrying, there’s nothing that i can do, but hopefully they can run some tests so that we know what’s going on.

yes, let’s do that. 

the shame

as we pulled into the local hospital, the guard stopped us to ask for the reason for our visit. before i could speak, tears started to well in my eyes - again.

i am pregnant and think that i may be losing the baby.

his eyes widened in concern and he quickly stepped aside to let us through.

as we entered into the lobby, i quickly spotted the receptionist's desk and briskly walked up to it. 

i am pregnant and think that i may be losing the baby. can i see a doctor? 

again, i was met with concerned eyes and with a sharp inhale, she promptly grabbed the phone.

one moment, please.

as we waited for someone to arrive, she looked at me, then alex.

when is the last time you went swimming?

i don’t know, a few days ago? 

oh no, that’s not good.

before we could continue the conversation, a nurse appeared.

there is a couple here on vacation. she is pregnant and bleeding. she doesn’t speak greek well.

a pang of annoyance suppressed my tears as I looked at the receptionist, then the nurse in the eyes.

actually, i do speak greek well. but as you can probably imagine, i am incredibly anxious and emotional and cannot express myself clearly as a result of that.

the nurse quietly nodded in acknowledgement of what i said and led us through a maze of hallways. when we reached the intended room, she led me inside and asked alex to wait. when i asked if he could sit with me, she said no. 

after asking several questions, she filled out some paperwork, drew my blood and once we exited the room, asked alex to deliver it to the lab - upstairs. she then led me across the hall to another room without explanation.

an older man lazily looked up from his desk as we opened the door. my stomach curled in discomfort. something about his energy didn’t feel right. the nurse handed him some paperwork and he scanned the notes.

habib, that doesn’t sound too greek to me.

it’s a long story. my father is greek egyptian. i have greek ancestry on both sides. i was born overseas and live in canada.

and you speak greek? that’s surprising. where are your roots from?

yes, it was important to my grandparents that we maintain the language. i have family from leros and patra.

he then proceeded to ask me several questions. 

when was the last time you went swimming?

i’m not sure, a few days ago. 

he looked up at me with an expression of disapproval.

have you had sex recently? 

yes, a few days ago.

he let out a chastising sigh.

ok, please undress over there for the ultrasound.

i looked around the room, momentarily confused over where exactly ‘there’ was - only to realize that this was not a private act. he proceeded to shuffle papers on his desk, while the nurse turned her back to seemingly offer me some privacy.

is there a…

then i stopped myself, before i could finish. Of course there wasn’t a gown. and all i could focus on was the ultrasound wand, already dressed with a condom, as i fumbled to remove the clothing on my bottom half and hastily sat on the exam table, feeling extremely exposed. 

is that a new condom? i mean, i would hope so but why the hell is it already on it?

he came to the table and before i could realize what was happening, slid his hands under my hips and pulled me towards the edge of the table. i had to suppress the tears which painfully stung the perimeter of my eyes and hope that my heart would not beat out of my chest. 

he picked up the transvaginal wand and without warning, he inserted it and proceeded to sing song during the procedure.

ok, let’s see what stellitsa has done here.

aha, well so far, i’m not seeing much of anything. how far along did you say you were?

are you sure that you are even pregnant? 

ket me show you something and explain something to you. this is the uterus. now, when you have sex - do you know what happens to the uterus? it contracts. then - PAP. the contraction forces the egg out, just like that. bye bye. no more pregnancy. that’s why it’s a problem that you had sex. 

i sat there, speechless, horrified and questioning whether i could have possibly misunderstood him, while suppressing a deeply rooted rage. as he finished the exam and removed the wand, he gestured it towards the nurse.

oh, look - she was right, there is blood.

no, i was not misunderstanding a thing. i sat up and quickly found my clothing as he returned to his desk.

unfortunately, the baby is too small to see on the ultrasound. now, you will wait for the bloodwork. that might take some time as the lab usually goes for their break right now. 

i opened the door and immediately found comfort in alex’s eyes - his concern visible. i slid into the seat next to him, noticing that we were the only ones in the hallway.

what happened? 

as i told him, my tears turned to fire and I felt a deep hatred churn in my stomach. i spotted a nearby bathroom and stood to go wash my hands, face and blow my nose - but there was no soap, toilet paper or paper towels. 

of course. why am i surprised at this point. 

fortunately, i had tissues and hand sanitizer in my purse. i returned to the wobbly chair and we sat, side by side, holding hands in silence, for what felt like forever, until the lab results were ready.

the nurse walked over and handed me the paper. as i looked over the number, i realized they were units that i was unfamiliar with. 

so, what exactly does this mean? 

i cannot say. you will need to repeat the bloodwork in 48 hours so we can see if the HCG values rise.

but, we won’t be here. today we are driving to nafplio. can i go to a hospital there? 

she raised her eyebrows and shook her head.

no. results can vary between hospitals so it’s best to test at the same hospital. in that case, see if you can wait until you’re home.

but, can you at least tell me if the numbers are within where they should be? 

no, i cannot say. i do not know.

by the expression on her face, i knew that she was omitting the truth. 

remember, avoid swimming and please, no more…

i looked at her in confusion, as i didn’t understand the last word.

what is the last thing that you said? i didn’t understand.

she let out a chuckle and switched to english.

sex.

i took a step back and was caught off guard at the laugh that snuck out of my mouth.

how the hell did i not know how to say sex in greek?

alex and I left the hospital and made it back to the car, baking in the intense sunlight.

well, that was useless and traumatic. all i wanted was to know whether i am miscarrying and if we can safely travel home on monday.

i slumped back in my seat, dizzy with frustration and battling the sting of shame, as we continued our lengthy drive from lefkada to nafplio, an old coastal city in the peloponnese.

the miscarriage

we made it to the boutique hotel we had booked and were thankful for the self check-in that the owner arranged for due to our late arrival. Upon opening the front door, we were immediately struck by the intimate energy and contemporary style of the hotel.

before we settled in, i went to the pharmacy and purchased some progesterone - even though my gut told me not to but, my brain argued that pharmacies would be closed tomorrow and that it would be worth a try - just in case. we ordered delivery for dinner, settled into the new space and eased into a much needed, deep sleep.

i woke up the next morning, hopeful that perhaps my gut was wrong. but another reluctant visit to the bathroom finally answered what others could not - i was indeed miscarrying, and i relayed the news to alex.

it’s kind of crazy that we specifically opted to spend a little more than we usually do because we felt so drawn to this hotel. now, i understand why. this is the best possible environment for this to happen within, being so far away from home.

i stepped outside to catch my breath by our private pool, and was caught off guard by a soft cry. i turned to my left and realized that there was a new mother, father and what was likely no more than a 6 month old baby, occupying the outdoor space next door to us. i immediately retreated back into the safety of our room, grappling with the guilt that i could feel just as joyful for as i did crushed by their presence.

as the hours progressed, the increasingly familiar cramps in my lower belly warned me of what was to come. despite the extreme anxiety that gripped my mind, i also felt relieved that my body wasn’t as resistant to letting go so that i could safely find my way back home to get the physical and emotional support that i desperately needed. 

in the late hours of the night, while i transitioned between the bed, toilet and cold floor, consumed by an endless flow of tears, i could hear the soft cries of the restless baby in the room next door. with each visit to the bathroom, i kept searching for a confirmation of what we had lost but - there was nothing discernable to be found.

why, why did it need to happen this way? are you crying for our loss, too? 

the honouring

the next day, it was time to return to athens. while the worst of the process happened overnight, it was still not over. on our drive back, i felt the strong nudge to ask alex to pull over by the water.

i think we need to have a moment to honour the baby’s spirit, before we leave. 

a few minutes later, we found an unassuming beach to stop at. we walked to the water’s edge, staring at the waves with swollen eyes in silence, for several minutes.

for the first time in a while, i don’t know what to say. i keep trying to find my words but, i have none. can you say something? 

and so, with his arm around my shoulder, he did - and once he finished, i felt myself slump even more heavily into his body. i looked up at the clouds.

universe, can you send me a message - any message - to keep me connected to my hope?

after several minutes, there was nothing discernible.

see, this is all pointless. of course there isn’t a message when i need it.

suddenly, alex lifted his arm.

look! There’s a little crab moving through the churned up sand. 

i followed the direction of his point and surely enough, there was a crab in the sand. After it had disappeared into the waters’ depths, i admitted my dark internal dialogue. As i did, i was interrupted by a realization.

alex, do you know what the zodiac is right now? Cancer. Cancer is a crab…can I see your phone for a second? 

i quickly typed in ‘crab symbolism’ and found the following:

‘the crab symbolizes rebirth’
‘a symbol of self protection, boundaries and teaching others how to treat you’
‘a fighting spirit’ 
‘reminds you that not all paths lead directly to your goal’

wow, you can’t make this stuff up. 

yeah, that is really…weird. 

i took a moment to myself, closed my eyes and took several deep breaths.

what was…or i guess, is…your name? 

the response was immediate and clear.

fotia (ie. fire)

i winced as i shared the information with alex. 

that’s a word in greek but, not the word used for the related name. It’s traditionally foti, or fotini, which is weird because that’s my pappou’s name. but, this makes sense to me. because our first pregnancy ignited a fire within me. and this soul came quickly and took that fire with them, when they left. it’s going to be a long road to reignite it.

little one, you came to increase our capacity to hold grief.

 

cover image captured captured by amber ellis of creating light studio.