This whole pregnancy had been strange. From the beginning being such a surprise, and intuitively saying to close family as we announced at 4 weeks, that I felt something ominous about the pregnancy...either a loss occurring or a disability, I didn't know.
As time went on, I began to adjust, fall in love with the little life growing inside me, and experience morning sickness as my belly began quickly showing, just like with the girls. One strange thing I knew, was that my nausea was extremely mild, compared to all my 5 other pregnancies. Around 8 weeks, I knew something was amiss, and began to secretly expect to see blood every time I used the bathroom. At length, nothing happened, and at 11 weeks I began to speak to Jonathan and other family about my fears and how from this point I wouldn't keep fearing, but just enjoy the pregnancy. After all, if I was experiencing anxiety, that wouldn't accompany an intuition from The Lord...right? "I should have peace if it was intuition".
I will admit, having said this with serious resolve, just 2 days before my bleeding began, I have not quite reconciled that timing. Did Abba need to bring me to that place of peace and trusting before allowing my body to realize my darling was gone? Why was I so full of anxiety? Or was the anxiety I felt not anxiety but intuition muddled with a lack of faith that no matter what happened, I would be carried? Processing and pondering are heavy on me these days, long past the physical healing. Maybe those specific answers will never come.
As the night wore on, my sorrow was so deep all I could do was weep and say I was so sorry to my baby. I contacted my care providers and counsellors with questions on what to expect. We decided bedrest was the best thing until something more intense happened, or we could get an ultrasound. This was Sunday night, the 17th. All day Monday things stayed the same. Pain, light contractions, and light bleeding. By Monday evening I had gotten financial coverage for our ultrasound figured out, and waited for an appointment phone call. All night, no change. Tuesday morning we woke and quickly ran to Durham for an ultrasound at 10am. I knew bleeding had picked up a little, and I kept repeating in my head, "don't hope...you know. Baby is gone. Say goodbye, get answers." I knew down to my deepest core that my baby was already gone.
When I was on the table and had answered questions, I knew God had given us such a sweet doctor and nurse. Their one flaw being that they assumed I was wrong on my dates and anticipated that my natural loss at home would be like an early loss. Later I would cry, as the contractions came hard and wretchedly painful, "they LIED!". I don't blame them, nor do I blame every acquaintance that has miscarried and not told me what they felt and experienced. The truth is, most choose a D&C procedure. Many doctors don't know that a miscarriage at 12 weeks is a labor and birth in every way...whether the baby was lost the day before or 6 weeks earlier. Therefore, what I was told, was "There would be nothing more than a heavy menstrual cycle."
I didn't cry. I just stared at that tiny little empty sac on the screen. My baby was gone. Had there even been a baby? "Yes...but before the bones were formed, something went wrong."
We don't know what, but my body had just hung on to life that was still growing inside, falsely, long after the spirit had left the baby's tiny form.
We left, glad we knew, and I ached inside as large tears rolled down my cheeks, blurring my vision as I texted family, care providers, and friends, what the results were. Jonny took me to lunch at a delicious restaurant, where I tried not to cry as I drank my creamy sweet coffee, and ate my chicken burger. We talked and stared at each other, and tried to brush away the tears that kept coming and going. As we drove home, I just knew I wanted to climb in bed and stop being brave...and then my severe pains began full-force, just as we pulled into the back of the farm. They were every 2 minutes and so intense! How could this be?? As soon as the car hit "park", I ran inside to then spend the next 2 hours in labor on the toilet. Crying and sobbing through the contractions that would never result in a baby for my arms...only death and blood, and a mess to clean up when the wretched business was done. I lost so much blood and felt weak and faint. At a certain point the contractions decreased in intensity and spaced out. I assumed all traces had been passed, and then flushed down the toilet, so I retreated to my bed. All evening I soaked pad after pad. Kept up with care providers and knew this was normal. The next morning, I just needed a shower. I was still exhausted from the contractions that woke me all night long and gushes of blood that soaked my bed pads. I climbed in and instantly felt the urge to push...and I delivered the placenta, there in the shower, in one horrible long push. Immediately my bleeding decreased, the pains stopped, and I just stared at it. The thing that was supposed to support and nourish my baby, curled up into a cylinder to exit my body. In fascination, I curled it open and saw the perfect intact amniotic sac...empty..and I felt empty. Fearing I would face my undeveloped baby, I now experienced the flood of emotions from the ultrasound all over again...
"Had this even happened? Where was my baby? Why wouldn't God let me say goodbye? Why can't I at least bury my dead? Was I ever even pregnant?"
Horrible things to think. Thank God for good friends, for precious family. Nobody let me continue in those thoughts. I HAD been pregnant, there WAS a life, and I couldn't bury my baby's body but I could bury the place she was held her whole life. Where she lived. Her home. I could call her "her" because I knew my baby was a girl. I knew her, I knew her name, and I knew she was sleeping now, in a better place than I could ever give her here in this world.
We cleaned up.
I deleted pregnancy apps.
I packed up baby stuff.
I made a last "goodbye" journal entry to my baby.
I messaged everyone.
I refused phone calls.
I left all 3 pregnancy support boards after announcing my loss and receiving condolences from every woman who would carry their babies to term and deliver the day I would have. SHOULD have.
But then there came the slow precious trickle of messages from dear friends and family...it sounds horrible to say I was welcomed into "the club", but this secret place of trust and mutual sorrow and comfort...they knew exactly how I was feeling. What my days would be like. What to say. What didn't need to be said. It was a precious balm to my soul, and I'll never forget those mothers reaching out to me.
As the tears, and prayers, and more tears would come like waves, I had so much peace and trust, and comfort...but those tears DID still fall and I had to work through the sorrow. This, even though I had so much to bless me, and bring me joy in the midst of it. My sisters-in-law who helped the whole time, my 5 darling children who were still with me and voluntarily would come give me hugs throughout the day, my precious husband who would let me curl into his arm and sob for 5 minutes straight while stroking my hair, and then even more friends that began reaching out to me at church and synagogue, to tell me I was not alone in my loss.
So many arms were holding me, lifting me up, and bringing affection and comfort, as well as allowing me to have a heart towards those who had lost, like me. I never could understand their pain...Until now.
In my grief, many thoughts came. So many ponderings about myself, my Father, and this life...
One time a few years ago, I knew Jonathan and Jason were going to die on their Washington trip. I had such intuitive resolve, that I was literally ready for the phone call. I never got the call, simply a text saying "our flight was just canceled, we will be delayed a few hours".
Was that flight's fate the one I had been prepared for, and God had mercifully cancelled it? Perhaps sometimes the answer to our prayers is "yes", sometimes "no"...but I had prayed long and hard for his mercy towards our family..to spare their lives.
How can we know what to do with future intuitions? Walk through them fearfully? Pray out our guts out against them being fulfilled? What about my intuition about this loss...could I even look hindsight and say that if I had prayed fervently against this, he wouldn't have taken my tiny baby?
What about the flip side...did he know the whole time I wouldn't pray fervently for mercy, and thus "things just happened" naturally, but I can know I had been given the merciful chance to change it through prayer? If so, how do I treat future intuitions...do I have a chance to pray in faith for mercy, or is it simply His way of preparing us for what IS to come?? So SO many questions.
Finishing this post, this I CAN say...my faith is strengthened. My relationship with Him has deepened in trust through His comfort. One of my babies, has every need met, every comfort, and will be waiting for me and her daddy to meet her that day...call out her name...hold her hand...and see her sweet smile.
He has used her death to bring new life, and new opportunities for ministry.
He has walked us through the valley of the shadow of death, and ever so gently, has allowed us to experience love, joy, and peace. We are blessed.
