August and September were very emotional months for our family. On the evening of August 10, I found out that I was pregnant. At 41 years old, it came as a shock to Chris and me. Once again, we thought our child-bearing years were over. I felt that at my age, I was too weak to go through this again, but over and over, God reminded me that He was my strength. That very night, God gave me a beautiful pink hydrangea. It was growing on a bush in our yard that has never before bore blooms, and I haven't seen any since. I knew it was a gift from Him, and felt that we were going to have a little girl.
We started to plan and imagine what this was going to look like for our family. Just 3 days before, I had booked non-refundable airline tickets for Chris, Shana, and I to go to Puerto Rico over spring break for Shana's senior trip/cruise. We knew this was no longer going to work, so we began to look at other dates. Since I had gotten rid of most of Quintin's baby gear and clothing, we ordered more. I purchased new maternity clothes since I had given mine away. I started taking prenatal vitamins, and made an appointment with my doctor. Through it all, an excitement began to build. I had a new life growing inside of me, and we all love babies!
On the Saturday of Labor Day weekend, Shana and I spent the morning getting some of her senior pictures taken. We met Chris and the boys for lunch in Defiance, and then he headed home while we drove downtown to take more pictures. All of a sudden, I knew something wasn't right. Shana pulled into a gas station, and as I exited the car, it was very obvious that something was very wrong. What took place was like something from a nightmare. I'll spare you most of the details, but think trails of blood through the store, Shana and I panicking in the restroom while people outside banged on the door, setting off the store's alarm when we tried to leave, an angry cashier, people staring, and overwhelmed calls home - an ordeal for sure. I had just had a miscarriage...my first, and I was devastated. Chris drove to meet us and took me home, where we shared with the kids that mommy was going to have a baby, but it didn't make it. We all grieved, in different ways, and decided that we now had more to go to heaven for. We had a sweet little baby waiting for us.
Since it was a holiday weekend, our hospital suggested that we contact our doctor on Tuesday when she was back in the office. On Sunday after church, Chris whisked me away to a hotel, where the two of us spent the evening grieving and trusting in God to get us through this difficult time. The next day, the kids met us at the zoo, and we spent the day together. I continued on with life, readjusting my brain while grieving, being constantly reminded that even though I felt all kinds of guilt and sadness, God was my strength. Satan definitely tried to discourage me by telling me that it was my fault...that I had done something to harm the baby or that I hadn't been as excited as I should have been when I found out I was pregnant. But I could feel God there, right beside me, through it all. I sent back my maternity clothes, and gave away or returned the baby items I had bought. I had special-ordered a little t-shirt for Quintin that he was going to wear to announce the pregnancy to our families. It was emblazoned with, "I'm being promoted to big brother in April, 2019" on the front. This sat in my closet, now unusable.
On Tuesday, I went to Fort Wayne to have some blood work done. On Thursday, we were at the airport waiting to fly to Florida, when I got a call from the nurse. She said my blood results had come back, and the numbers were way too high. It appeared as if I was still pregnant. What?!?! How could this be? I wondered if I had been expecting twins...had I miscarried one, and the other was still alive? I made an appointment to have an ultrasound the following Tuesday, and spent a very emotional weekend in Florida. I had no idea what was going on with my body. Was I pregnant or wasn't I? My brain tried to grasp this new change, but it was hard to remember things like telling the TSA agent at the airport that I might be pregnant and should not go through the X-ray machine.
Tuesday found Chris and I in the ultrasound room, waiting with bated breath. Then, we saw our baby on the screen. Our baby! I was 8 weeks along, but the stoic-faced technician told us that there was no heartbeat. We were completely numb. My poor brain couldn't keep up. I had been pregnant, then I hadn't, then I was again, now I wasn't?! We talked to the doctor and scheduled a D&C, which took place that Friday, September 14. It was over, but the emotional roller coaster was still going up and down, turning me in too many directions, too quickly. At times, I felt I was going to fly off the edge and plummet to the ground. But....God never let me down. He was there, continually reminding me that He was my strength. It was the recurring theme throughout all of August and September.
I have learned that most miscarriages are kept quiet. This can make someone experiencing it feel lonely. I felt, at times, that I was suffering in silence and no one understood what I was going through. The fact is, one in five pregnancies ends in miscarriage. One in five! There are many women out there who have experienced it, and understood exactly what I was going through. It was so helpful to me when we decided to share with our families and some close friends what we were dealing with, and they could offer their prayers and support. Some informed me that I was not alone...that they had been through it, too. I was thankful when others reached out, and I want others to know that they can reach out to me, too, if they find themselves in this situation. There will be hard days...the date on which I was supposed to have my first doctor appointment came and went, along with the date on which we had planned to announce the pregnancy. Those were emotional for me. I was due on Easter weekend, so the holiday might seem a little different next year. But time will ease the pain, and God will continue to be faithful.
My child slipped away without a cry, and I find myself missing him/her desperately even though we didn't get to meet. But I imagine my baby sitting on Jesus's lap or playing with other children who have gone on before. I'm encouraged by the thought that my child got to skip this fallen world altogether and go straight to heaven. It makes it seem a little easier to strive for that goal daily, now.
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