the story

i knew this would be a hard story to tell.  and most of all…i didn’t want it to ever be my story.  but it is.  and there is absolutely nothing i can do about it…other than accept it as such.

so many of you already know what has happened.  but so many of you don’t.  and i’ve never been one to hide.  i can’t walk around in life half way.  i can’t always wonder…

did they know??

about 5 weeks ago…chad and i found ourselves pregnant.

i say it that way…because that’s really what it was like.  we weren’t expecting it…or trying for it…or waiting for it.

that’s what made it so different from the previous 4 times we had been in that situation.

it brought shock, first.  and for me…that shock faded quickly…and turned into excitement.  and the excitement gave way to pure happiness.  and the happiness paved the way for dreams.  and within a week…it was impossible to think of life before there were 5.

5 children.

i was going to have 5 children.

at my first appointment…as well as i could guess…i was around 7 weeks pregnant.  and i was going to see my baby’s heartbeat.

she said…here’s the yolk sac.  here’s the baby.  it’s measuring 5 weeks and 5 days…which is too early to see a heartbeat.  she finished up and helped me sit up.  i had been through this 4 times before…and every time…i smiled through this whole event.  and i realized…i hadn’t smiled.  at all.  something was wrong.

she said, “please don’t worry.  i can see it on your face.  don’t worry.  come back next week…and we will do another ultrasound.  hopefully the baby will have grown and we will see a heartbeat.  everything looks like it should.  your numbers are great.  don’t worry…you don’t know your dates…so chances are…you caught the pregnancy really early.”

and no matter what i did…no matter how hard i tried…i could not make those dates add up.

that’s when we started praying and calling on family and friends to pray.  that’s when i started having to trust God for the outcome of this baby.  and truly…i did.  i trusted Him like nobody’s business.  i believed that He could breath life into this baby.  i believed that He was going to do just that.   i believed that at the next ultrasound appointment…it was going to be the beginning of a happy day.  i waited.  i prayed.  i begged.  i believed.

when the next appointment came…nothing had changed.  and that was devastating.  i’ll never forget putting my face in my hands and silently sobbing.  i’ll never forget the frozen image of our baby on the screen.  i’ll never forget the technician saying, “i’m sorry.”  i’ll never forget looking at chad…with his head in his hands.  i’ll never forget him saying, 

“ah.  that’s not what i was expecting to hear.”

and he wasn’t saying it to me.

he was saying it to God.

he was grieving.

it seemed like an eternity…waiting for my doctor.

i remember chad saying…

“do you want me to go get someone in here?”

no.  she’ll come when she can.

after all…this was the same woman who had dropped everything and come to me when she wasn’t even on call to deliver annslee.  she would come when she could.

and she did.  and she shared her own story.  and she offered comfort.  and she offered hope.  she said our stories were similar.  and that made all the difference.

she also said…i really think we should wait until monday.  i will squeeze you in.  i want to scan you again.  i want to be 100%.

that’s when i decided that i would wait.  even thought i didn’t want to.  i would wait.  but i wouldn’t hope.  as excruciating as the waiting would be…the hoping would be worse.

those 5 days were the hardest.  my baby was inside of me.  lifeless.  and there was absolutely nothing i could do about it.  i’m convinced that those 5 days will become lost somewhere in my memory eventually.  except for one night.  one night…i realized what my friends and family were praying for without telling me.

a miracle.

and i wondered…would i ever forgive myself if i didn’t ask the creator God to perform a miracle on this baby?  and i knew the answer.  i had to become vulnerable before Him.  i had to open myself up to hope one last time.  and that prayer was the hardest of all.

it was then that i bowed before Him and asked for a miracle.  i opened myself up to hope.  and after that…i told him that if He didn’t see fit to it…that i was willing to give over my child.  i gave up my child to Him.  and i cried.

the next ultrasound showed the same and this time…i didn’t cry when i saw the screen.  i knew that that baby was gone.  that baby was with Jesus.  and that baby was ok.

the doctor called it a “missed miscarriage.”  somehow…my body had missed it.

i had had a miscarriage.

that sentence held so much more weight than it ever had before.  you don’t fully understand the weight of that sentence until it has to be uttered out of your own mouth.  you can mourn with friends after it has happen to them.  you can feel sad.  you can feel sorry.  but you don’t feel the weight.  you just don’t

i had two choices.  i could have surgery to remove it…or i could take medicine to make it happen at home.  one would be quick.  one would be excruciatingly painful…both emotionally and physically.  we choice the latter.  surgery has risks and is expensive.  if possible…i felt that, for the first time in my life, i had the smallest understanding of Jesus in the garden.

“please Father…i can’t do this.  please…let this cup pass from me.  this is going to hurt…so bad.  this is going to hurt me.  please.”

chad said, “i won’t leave you.”

and he didn’t.

i took the pills alone.  knowing what those pills were going to do…i willingly swallowed them.  and i lie down and waited.  i waited for the storm to come.  i waited for the pain to come.

and it did.

throughout that night…as our 4 children peacefully slept…i walked through hell.  i experienced pouring death from my body.  chad would feel me writhe with pain and walk beside me to the place where it would pour out.  there were baseball sized clots of tissue coming one after the other followed by gushing blood and fluid.  my hands would shake as i tried to clean myself up.  and i would sob.

my body was going through it…and as a mother…i was going through it.  and as i watched, what should have been life, drain from my body…chad had his hand on my back.  he was steady as a rock.  the look on his face was not one of disgust.  it was one of compassion and strength.  i would remove the tissue and he would take it from me.  he never made me have to decide what to do with it.  he never made me throw it away.  he knew…without me ever having to say a word…that i could not be the one to physically let it go.  he cleaned the floors on his hands and knees…over and over again.  he was with me.  i wasn’t alone.

the next day…i couldn’t even stand up because of how much blood i had lost.  i slept.  i slept all day.

and slowly…as the days have passed…my body and spirit has begun to recover.  i keep telling myself,

“you are strong.  you can do this.  you will be okay.”

and i will be.