Our first year of marriage was really hard, and I hadn't expected that after dating for seven years. We moved to a new, far-away place where we knew no one besides each other. I had never felt so alone. In December I saw a new gyno, and after hearing me describe my lady problems, he was convinced that I had severe endometriosis and would probably never have my own kids. Bomb. When we came home for Christmas, we spent a lot of time with some family who had recently adopted and after that trip we both felt such a sense of peace over that possibility for our lives.
Less than two months later, I had just started a semester at a new school when I woke up very nauseous, very tired, and very nervous. After leaving class with morning sickness, I bought a pregnancy test. It was positive. We'd been married less than a year, we were struggling, and now we were going to be parents after being told we wouldn't. We were scared. A couple weeks later we saw that same OB that told me I likely wouldn't have kids, and there was no heartbeat in the ultrasound. He told us I was still very early and not to worry. A few days later, I started cramping a bit during class. Then I started bleeding. My nurse didn't take my concern seriously, so I went home and laid on the couch for two days until the pain was overwhelming and coming in strong waves. We went to the hospital.
The nurses were so positive and encouraging, but we were both cold and in shock and sure that this was it. The ultrasound tech didn't speak. We didn't speak either as we waited for the results. Finally a far too cheerful nurse came in and told us that it was still too early to see a heartbeat, but that our "baby" was still just fine. Her tone and positivity were so drastically different from my doctor the week before. He’d called it a "fetus," and asked twice if this pregnancy was "something we wanted." But that sweet nurse gave me hope even though the due date she wrote on my file was a month later than the one my doctor gave me. But I stayed positive. We took announcement pictures with friends the next day and by the next week I had stopped bleeding and felt great. But I will never forget the dread of going back to the doctor. Ignorance is bliss, truly.
The last day of February, I sat impatiently in rush hour traffic praying desperately to see a flutter on the monitor. I begged God to see a heartbeat, to see growth, for good news. I was a half hour late to my appointment, but I had to drag myself off that elevator, wishing for just another moment to myself in my ignorant bliss. I laid vulnerably on the table still praying. “The good news,” he said, “is that you’ve passed everything completely and won’t need surgery.” Who confirms the loss of a baby with ”good news?” I was filled with so much anger; at the stupid doctor, at Bobby for being so quiet, at God for giving me hope and stripping it, at myself for believing in any hope in the first place. I felt so alone, and so devastated. Only five people new and they didn’t know to comfort me. I didn’t know how to be comforted. So I went to a very dark place of hopelessness and tried to numb myself of feeling anything. I knew I wasn’t myself, so I told my parents before we visited next. My mom encouraged me to stay angry at God. So I redirected all of my pain into anger, questioning everything from who He was to who I was.
Over the next six months I spent more time in the Word and
in prayer as I questioned my faith than I had at any other time in my life. I
was very frustrated, very lost, but I was no longer alone. I dearly treasure my
prayer journal from that time. My story has no light-bulb-moment, but the more
I clung to Christ, the more I could feel him clinging to me. He loved me, He
desired me, and He chose me. I still can’t wrap my mind around any of that. He
was my lamp, illuminating my darkness (Psalm 18:28), and I am forever grateful
of the hope and grace he poured into me over that time. I came to truly believe
that God would make everything beautiful in its time. “He has planted eternity
in the human heart, but even so, people cannot see the whole scope of His work
from beginning to end” (Ecclesiastes 3:11). I will never understand why God
works in the ways he does. I believe that He is sovereign and that we are
cursed, and maybe that curse (Genesis 3:16) is why 1 in 4 women will suffer a
miscarriage. But here is what I have come to know:
- God is good. He loves us even though we could never deserve such a great love. He chose to lose His child (He knows this pain!) so that we could be with Him (John 3:16)!
- He is with me, and He is for me. He uses periods of waiting to strengthen us and bond our relationship with him. He was with David in Psalm 27, and He was and is with me.
- He is our comforter. When anxiety was great within me, His comfort brought me joy (Psalm 94:19).
- His Joy and Hope outweigh all of my fears and anxieties. There
is simply no room to be afraid, not of death, and not of living, because in His
presence there is fullness of joy (Psalm 16:11). In John 14:27 Jesus says, “My
peace I give to you, not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your
heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
In the past it’s felt like a cruel joke, my angel baby’s due
date coinciding with Baby Loss Awareness day. This year, however, I feel so
much peace knowing my story doesn’t stand alone. This broken little “club” has
been so supportive and encouraging over the years. Today I’m relating to
Jenna’s words from a few weeks ago, “Grief is a lot like waves crashing on the shore.
Some days you can stand in awe as they strike, watching their power from afar
and some days it sucks you in and pulls you under…As the due date of our baby
comes up again, I'm reminded of the waves but this time, I find myself not
fighting them but swaying with them, peacefully letting them take me.”
Happy Unbirthday, sweet babe.
