Have I been fooling myself? Have I been in denial?
I lost my baby 10 days ago. I honestly believed, just this afternoon, that I was on the road to recovery, stability, and healing. Well, I suppose that I am, but maybe not as far along that road as previously assumed.
Tonight, the sadness returns, and the tears along with it...thinking about life's struggles, burdens, and inequalities. I just don't understand...it seems (and is) that many people have so few problems and burdens, and others have so much. I know that there are multitudes of people who suffer more greatly than I ever have, but tonight I feel hurt...I feel like I'm suffering.
How long will this last? When will I know that I'm done grieving like this? When will the pain no longer be like a raw, stinging, open wound?
There are many things to think about right now, and some important choices to be made, in the near future. For now, I'm choosing to keep those specifics to myself. Perhaps I'll share them another day...perhaps. We'll see.
God, give me some direction here, please.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Feeling Encouraged
I have given rest to the weary and joy to the sorrowing.
Jeremiah 31:25
Friends and family...thank-you so much for your continued support. I feel encouarged and am beginning to look towards the future again with renewed hope and peace...my faith in Christ is my hope and strength in hardship.
Let all who take refuge in you rejoice; let them sing joyful praises
forever. Spread your protection over them, that all who love your
name may be filled with joy.
Psalm 5:11
My ultrasound was clean and clear yesterday...no complications, no concerns. I am thankful for that. I thought it would be difficult to be there and have it done, but I left feeling renewed hope for future attempts. My doctor was a great encouragement.
DH and I also visited my mom yesterday. It didn't exactly go as expected...but she is aware of what has occurred, and seemed fine when we left her.
Thank-you, Lord for your loving-kindness through this time...keep me growing strong.
Christ was make his home in your hearts as you trust him. Your roots
will grow down into God's love and keep you strong.
Ephesians 3:17
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Conquering Fear
Fear is the easier path to take right now, but I do not wish to do what would be easy. Isn't that what the enemy is hoping for? My mind is set against it, speaking truth to my heart. Lord, let it deeply sink in.
This fear came on suddenly, when my DS boarded a bus for a youth convention. DH was at work, and I was alone at the edge of Highway 16...watching the yellow bus shrinking in the distance, and disappearing over the horizon. Fear. What if I lost my other child? Why did I let him go? Fear. What if I lost everyone near to me? Fear. What if all of my worst fears came true? What if...
Banishing those fears, demanding they depart, I meet DH for lunch and we venture together to purchase a round paving stone that I've chosen to use in the memorial in lieu of a field stone. I'm anxious to get started. This will likely take several days, but I will post a picture of the completed stone in the near future.
I am trying my best to have courage and really feel the love of God...but no matter my struggle, I was recently reminded that "God is a big boy. He can handle my fears, sadness, and frustration."
Ultimately, I do believe that my children belong to God, not to me. And whether they are here with me on the earth, or in God's presence in heaven...they are in God's hands. He loves them. He loves me...I do wish that Hope could have been here with me for quite a while longer though.
This fear came on suddenly, when my DS boarded a bus for a youth convention. DH was at work, and I was alone at the edge of Highway 16...watching the yellow bus shrinking in the distance, and disappearing over the horizon. Fear. What if I lost my other child? Why did I let him go? Fear. What if I lost everyone near to me? Fear. What if all of my worst fears came true? What if...
"Don't be afraid, for I am with you. Don't be discouraged, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will hold you up with my victorious right hand." Isaiah 41:10
Banishing those fears, demanding they depart, I meet DH for lunch and we venture together to purchase a round paving stone that I've chosen to use in the memorial in lieu of a field stone. I'm anxious to get started. This will likely take several days, but I will post a picture of the completed stone in the near future.
I am trying my best to have courage and really feel the love of God...but no matter my struggle, I was recently reminded that "God is a big boy. He can handle my fears, sadness, and frustration."
Ultimately, I do believe that my children belong to God, not to me. And whether they are here with me on the earth, or in God's presence in heaven...they are in God's hands. He loves them. He loves me...I do wish that Hope could have been here with me for quite a while longer though.
I am convinced that nothing can ever seperate us from God's love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow - not even the powers of hell can seperate us from God's love." Romans 8:38
Let the Waters Rise by Mikeschair
God, You know where I've been
You were there with me then
You were faithful before
You'll be faithful again
I'm holding Your hand
There's a raging sea
Right in front of me
Wants to pull me in
Bring me to my knees
So let the waters rise
If You want them to
I will follow You
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Tired
Exhausted is how I felt this morning, even after waking from a long sleep.
Numbness once again visits me.
Exactly one week ago, we found out that our baby's heart stopped beating. We miscarried that same day at around 10:30pm.
I was recently informed that, although I did not experience a full-term pregnancy, I would experience a post-natal hormone crash, like the kind that follows the delivery of a child. Perhaps that is why I am up and down in some unpredictable manner.
The bleeding is there, but still tapering. The cramps are there, but lessened. The numbness is there. The shock. Disbelief.
Right or wrong...I pity myself right now.
Numbness once again visits me.
Exactly one week ago, we found out that our baby's heart stopped beating. We miscarried that same day at around 10:30pm.
I was recently informed that, although I did not experience a full-term pregnancy, I would experience a post-natal hormone crash, like the kind that follows the delivery of a child. Perhaps that is why I am up and down in some unpredictable manner.
The bleeding is there, but still tapering. The cramps are there, but lessened. The numbness is there. The shock. Disbelief.
Right or wrong...I pity myself right now.
Then Jesus said, "Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you. Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle at heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy to bear, and the burden I give you is light."
Matthew 11:28-30
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Zoomed In - Part II
Sleep will hopefully be mine within the hour. I'm exhausted, but want to finish up this day's post...I'm sure to be less wordy, as my mind feels a bit mushy at the moment.
This afternoon, after my incident in the lab, I chose to visit a friend of many years who is, sadly, all too familiar with miscarriage, firsthand. I chose to have this visit, instead of seeing my mother...who remains unaware that this grandbaby of hers is now gone. My mom has been very ill lately...and so happy about this pregnancy. I do not look forward to sharing this news, but it must happen. Friday.
DH will go to the city with me on Friday...for two sad reasons. We will share our news with my mom, and I am scheduled to have an ultrasound, to make certain that "all the tissues have passed". I'm already quite certain that Friday will be a challenging day for me.
The visit with my friend was so needed. She spoke openly of her personal experience with miscarriage, and how that has affected her these many years. It was soothing to know that she never forgets, but that she has healed.
Upon my return home, a co-worker and friend dropped over to present a gift from the staff at the school where I work. Thank-you, all, for your thoughtfulness. I love my work at the school, and I love doing that work alongside each of you.
Later this evening, another co-worker and friend phoned to let me know that she cares. She is so genuine and empathetic...thank-you. I am going to choose my Hope rocks (for my memorial) from her farm. Perhaps later this week when the field is somewhat drier.
Thank-you, also, to those who have supported me (and continue to do so) in this walk...and for those who are reading my blog and commenting with positive and encouraging remarks. I really need to do this. I want you each to know that it means so much to me that you care...what can I say, except "thank-you".
This afternoon, after my incident in the lab, I chose to visit a friend of many years who is, sadly, all too familiar with miscarriage, firsthand. I chose to have this visit, instead of seeing my mother...who remains unaware that this grandbaby of hers is now gone. My mom has been very ill lately...and so happy about this pregnancy. I do not look forward to sharing this news, but it must happen. Friday.
DH will go to the city with me on Friday...for two sad reasons. We will share our news with my mom, and I am scheduled to have an ultrasound, to make certain that "all the tissues have passed". I'm already quite certain that Friday will be a challenging day for me.
The visit with my friend was so needed. She spoke openly of her personal experience with miscarriage, and how that has affected her these many years. It was soothing to know that she never forgets, but that she has healed.
Upon my return home, a co-worker and friend dropped over to present a gift from the staff at the school where I work. Thank-you, all, for your thoughtfulness. I love my work at the school, and I love doing that work alongside each of you.
Later this evening, another co-worker and friend phoned to let me know that she cares. She is so genuine and empathetic...thank-you. I am going to choose my Hope rocks (for my memorial) from her farm. Perhaps later this week when the field is somewhat drier.
Thank-you, also, to those who have supported me (and continue to do so) in this walk...and for those who are reading my blog and commenting with positive and encouraging remarks. I really need to do this. I want you each to know that it means so much to me that you care...what can I say, except "thank-you".
Zoomed In
Gray clouds hover and weep heavily today, the ground saturated with their tears. The day matches my emotions at the moment. It's as though yesterday's distance from my miscarriage experience has suddenly been zoomed in, as through a high-power lens.
My radio alarm woke me from a fitful sleep that was lacking. Even with closed curtains, I immediately knew that the day was dreary and cool...matching my heart. Through thick walls of unceasing rainfall, I made my way to the school where I work, and where my dear son (DS) takes classes. Turning into the parking lot, just after the first tone, I was greatly relieved to not have to enter the building.
...why would that be? My friends and co-workers have been supportive and kind throughout this week.
Upon reflection, I am afraid of that first real encounter.
I might cry a little, or a lot. I might not cry at all. I might have to answer their questions, or perhaps it will be awkward and no questions will be asked. I am afraid to be confronted with eyes and hearts that care, yet pity me. I am afraid to just go on, as if nothing has changed...as if I am the same, and as if this baby never existed. I am afraid to talk about my hopes for another pregnancy soon. I am afraid that my friends will eventually grow bored and weary of my lingering sadness. I am afraid that if I don't cry or show sadness, that I'll be seen as having completed my mourning, or that I am simply callous.
I am afraid.
Once DS entered the building, I continued towards the city where I would get bloodwork done and then stop in at my mom's place to tell her my sad news. The XM radio has been a wonderful thing, but most of the songs caused my eyes to moisten on this dreary morning.
Upon arrival at the hospital lab, where I get my blood drawn, I felt as though I might have been "done" mourning for the day. Sitting in the waiting area, I was proved wrong. All it took was one magazine on a side table to catch my eye. A parenting-type magazine. The kind with a picture of an adorable and healthy baby on the cover.
My baby is gone. My hope for this pregnancy is gone. I will not have a healthy baby...a baby at all, this December. That dream is gone. It's gone.
Tears begin to well up.
Keep yourself together, J. Don't lose it here. Don't lose it now.
I bite the tip of my tongue, so that the pain of it will distract me from the pain in my heart, and the thoughts developing in my mind. Deep breath. Concentrate on the pattern on the ceiling. Anything but the pain in my heart.
Okay. Safe...for the moment.
My name is called. A woman in dark blue patterned scrubs, and who appears to be in her twenties, looks at me expectantly. I follow her into a cubicle, sitting in the foamy yellow chair while she prepares the needle.
Uh-oh...please, no.
All those feelings from the waiting area manage to pry their way into this small room with me. Tears come. Lots of tears. Contorted face, runny nose, gasps and sniffles and sobs. Little sobs, then full-blown can't-stop-this-from-happening-now sobs.
Poor, poor twenty-something woman with the needle. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." I repeat this over and over between gasps and breaths. I find myself telling her, between snuffles, all about what's going on in my life right now. I tell her about my mother who is ill, I tell her about going through years and years of heart-wrenching infertility, and I tell her about losing this baby a day before my tenth week of pregnancy was starting.
Grabbing my shoulders, she pulls close, hugging me...telling me it's okay to cry. She tells me that it's a hard time. She says that sometimes we just need to let it out. She tells me that yesterday she found herself crying uncontrollably in the grocery store, because her own mother is dying from cancer. Her tight embrace comforts me. My tears wet her shoulder, but she doesn't pull back...she just holds on. Thank-you, lady with the needle.
Why didn't I let DH go with me today, for this bloodwork? The answer is that I thought I was strong...that I was okay. Even though this is a sad time, I've been through many sad times.
...I thought I was okay.
He wanted to come, but I told him not to. Truth be told, I needed him there with me, but just didn't realize it until it was too late.
...okay, enough for now. I'm taking a break from this blogging session. I'll finish today's blog at a later time.
My radio alarm woke me from a fitful sleep that was lacking. Even with closed curtains, I immediately knew that the day was dreary and cool...matching my heart. Through thick walls of unceasing rainfall, I made my way to the school where I work, and where my dear son (DS) takes classes. Turning into the parking lot, just after the first tone, I was greatly relieved to not have to enter the building.
...why would that be? My friends and co-workers have been supportive and kind throughout this week.
Upon reflection, I am afraid of that first real encounter.
I might cry a little, or a lot. I might not cry at all. I might have to answer their questions, or perhaps it will be awkward and no questions will be asked. I am afraid to be confronted with eyes and hearts that care, yet pity me. I am afraid to just go on, as if nothing has changed...as if I am the same, and as if this baby never existed. I am afraid to talk about my hopes for another pregnancy soon. I am afraid that my friends will eventually grow bored and weary of my lingering sadness. I am afraid that if I don't cry or show sadness, that I'll be seen as having completed my mourning, or that I am simply callous.
I am afraid.
Once DS entered the building, I continued towards the city where I would get bloodwork done and then stop in at my mom's place to tell her my sad news. The XM radio has been a wonderful thing, but most of the songs caused my eyes to moisten on this dreary morning.
Upon arrival at the hospital lab, where I get my blood drawn, I felt as though I might have been "done" mourning for the day. Sitting in the waiting area, I was proved wrong. All it took was one magazine on a side table to catch my eye. A parenting-type magazine. The kind with a picture of an adorable and healthy baby on the cover.
My baby is gone. My hope for this pregnancy is gone. I will not have a healthy baby...a baby at all, this December. That dream is gone. It's gone.
Tears begin to well up.
Keep yourself together, J. Don't lose it here. Don't lose it now.
I bite the tip of my tongue, so that the pain of it will distract me from the pain in my heart, and the thoughts developing in my mind. Deep breath. Concentrate on the pattern on the ceiling. Anything but the pain in my heart.
Okay. Safe...for the moment.
My name is called. A woman in dark blue patterned scrubs, and who appears to be in her twenties, looks at me expectantly. I follow her into a cubicle, sitting in the foamy yellow chair while she prepares the needle.
Uh-oh...please, no.
All those feelings from the waiting area manage to pry their way into this small room with me. Tears come. Lots of tears. Contorted face, runny nose, gasps and sniffles and sobs. Little sobs, then full-blown can't-stop-this-from-happening-now sobs.
Poor, poor twenty-something woman with the needle. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." I repeat this over and over between gasps and breaths. I find myself telling her, between snuffles, all about what's going on in my life right now. I tell her about my mother who is ill, I tell her about going through years and years of heart-wrenching infertility, and I tell her about losing this baby a day before my tenth week of pregnancy was starting.
Grabbing my shoulders, she pulls close, hugging me...telling me it's okay to cry. She tells me that it's a hard time. She says that sometimes we just need to let it out. She tells me that yesterday she found herself crying uncontrollably in the grocery store, because her own mother is dying from cancer. Her tight embrace comforts me. My tears wet her shoulder, but she doesn't pull back...she just holds on. Thank-you, lady with the needle.
Why didn't I let DH go with me today, for this bloodwork? The answer is that I thought I was strong...that I was okay. Even though this is a sad time, I've been through many sad times.
...I thought I was okay.
He wanted to come, but I told him not to. Truth be told, I needed him there with me, but just didn't realize it until it was too late.
...okay, enough for now. I'm taking a break from this blogging session. I'll finish today's blog at a later time.
Yesterday
May 24, 2010 at 1:30pm
Traveling home from Manitoba, I feel a mild distance between the present and the experience of losing my baby only five days ago. What does this mean? Am I healing? In denial? Am I strong? Am I weak? Heartless? I know that I miscarried a child I desperately desired with all of my heart, yet my heart is not in that place at this present moment. I feel somewhat empty of emotion. A mere cast or shadow of humanity. How can that be? The guilt creeps in, whispering, what kind of person are you, that you are not crying for your lost baby?
...to be continued.
May 24, 2010 at 5:30pm
The journey continues. As we pass the exit for Aylesbury, Saskatchewan, I sign out from my Yahoo! Mail with a grateful and glowing heart. Support is flooding into my life and heart from the lives and hearts of those close to me. This outpouring of kindness and compassion has eased the ache in my heart today...a balm of love to soothe the pain. Thank-you, everyone.
Traveling home from Manitoba, I feel a mild distance between the present and the experience of losing my baby only five days ago. What does this mean? Am I healing? In denial? Am I strong? Am I weak? Heartless? I know that I miscarried a child I desperately desired with all of my heart, yet my heart is not in that place at this present moment. I feel somewhat empty of emotion. A mere cast or shadow of humanity. How can that be? The guilt creeps in, whispering, what kind of person are you, that you are not crying for your lost baby?
...to be continued.
May 24, 2010 at 5:30pm
The journey continues. As we pass the exit for Aylesbury, Saskatchewan, I sign out from my Yahoo! Mail with a grateful and glowing heart. Support is flooding into my life and heart from the lives and hearts of those close to me. This outpouring of kindness and compassion has eased the ache in my heart today...a balm of love to soothe the pain. Thank-you, everyone.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
The Past, Present, and Future
My mind is currently in all three of these places.
Over and over, I replay moments in this brief pregnancy, remembering the sheer joy I felt when things were going well, reflecting on those things that I know I did right, and wondering about the ways in which I may have failed or been neglectful. Many of these thoughts are futile...I cannot change the past.
The present is a whole new reality...I'm treading in new territory. So unfamiliar. The joys of the day are overshadowed by the clouds of this new past that has become a part of my life story. My body continues to cramp and bleed. The cramping is quite strong still, but the bleeding seems to be tapering a bit. I'm told that these two symptoms can linger for up to three weeks. I hope it won't be quite that long.
My thoughts are tempted to land on places that I would rather they avoid. I am tempted to think, entertain, and possibly believe several upsetting ideas...ideas that would not glorify Christ, nor allow me to respect myself for them if I were to accept these as true.
Below, are some of the thoughts that have flittered into my consciousness, but that I'm trying desperately not to entertain...I don't want to give them a foothold, allowing them to incapacitate me...chaining me to the pain of this experience:
1. I do not 'deserve' more children.
2. I may not be able to carry another child to term.
3. As an act of self-preservation, I should avoid other people, even those I care about, who are pregnant or who have young children, or large families...because my situation seems so unfair to me, and seeing their blessing feels a bit like a slap in the face.
4. It's my fault this baby died.
5. I'm not good enough.
6. What was I thinking? Having a child at my age...so foolish of me. I should have known better.
7. How long can we afford fertility treatments for...how long until my age demands we stop trying? It's not fair that so many others can just have children whenever they want.
8. It's just not fair.
In the midst of past and present dealings, my thoughts are already looking ahead to what the future will have in store. I long to try again soon. I am sincerely hopeful that my DH and I will be able to conceive quickly, and that I will be able to carry a healthy child to term. I will not forget nor replace Hope, but seek God's blessing for a third pregnancy and third child...one I will nurse in my arms. A child to pray for and sing over. A child with a future here with me on earth, for mutual enjoyment and love under the blessing of the Lord's hand and light.
My hope and prayer is also that God would use this tragedy so that my DH and I may have more compassion for others, and minister to their hurting hearts with a true understanding and depth of love that we would never otherwise have had.
I pray that I may find complete peace and healing in this sorrowful journey. I hope that I will be able to sincerely share in the joy of others who are blessed with pregnancies and children...and that I will realize that each person walks their own path and has their own struggles and sorrows to deal with...that I will not judge based on assumptions and exteriors. I hope that soon I will have joyful news of my own to share, and that I will feel those first kicks, hear that first cry, smell that sweet breath, and see those first steps with our third child. I seek courage, faith, and hope in the face our next pregnancy attempt.
Over and over, I replay moments in this brief pregnancy, remembering the sheer joy I felt when things were going well, reflecting on those things that I know I did right, and wondering about the ways in which I may have failed or been neglectful. Many of these thoughts are futile...I cannot change the past.
Even though the fig trees have no blossoms,and there are no grapes on the vines; even though the olive crop fails, and the fields lie empty and barren; even though the flocks die in the fields, and the cattle barns are empty, yet I will rejoice in the Lord! I will be joyful in the God of my salvation!
Habakkuk 3:17,18
The present is a whole new reality...I'm treading in new territory. So unfamiliar. The joys of the day are overshadowed by the clouds of this new past that has become a part of my life story. My body continues to cramp and bleed. The cramping is quite strong still, but the bleeding seems to be tapering a bit. I'm told that these two symptoms can linger for up to three weeks. I hope it won't be quite that long.
My thoughts are tempted to land on places that I would rather they avoid. I am tempted to think, entertain, and possibly believe several upsetting ideas...ideas that would not glorify Christ, nor allow me to respect myself for them if I were to accept these as true.
I have told you all this so that you may have peace in me. Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows. But take heart, because I have overcome the world.
John 16:33
Below, are some of the thoughts that have flittered into my consciousness, but that I'm trying desperately not to entertain...I don't want to give them a foothold, allowing them to incapacitate me...chaining me to the pain of this experience:
1. I do not 'deserve' more children.
2. I may not be able to carry another child to term.
3. As an act of self-preservation, I should avoid other people, even those I care about, who are pregnant or who have young children, or large families...because my situation seems so unfair to me, and seeing their blessing feels a bit like a slap in the face.
4. It's my fault this baby died.
5. I'm not good enough.
6. What was I thinking? Having a child at my age...so foolish of me. I should have known better.
7. How long can we afford fertility treatments for...how long until my age demands we stop trying? It's not fair that so many others can just have children whenever they want.
8. It's just not fair.
"When doubts filled my mind, your comfort gave me renewed hope and cheer."
Psalm 94:19
In the midst of past and present dealings, my thoughts are already looking ahead to what the future will have in store. I long to try again soon. I am sincerely hopeful that my DH and I will be able to conceive quickly, and that I will be able to carry a healthy child to term. I will not forget nor replace Hope, but seek God's blessing for a third pregnancy and third child...one I will nurse in my arms. A child to pray for and sing over. A child with a future here with me on earth, for mutual enjoyment and love under the blessing of the Lord's hand and light.
"I know the plans I have for you," says the Lord.
They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope."
Jeremiah 29:11
My hope and prayer is also that God would use this tragedy so that my DH and I may have more compassion for others, and minister to their hurting hearts with a true understanding and depth of love that we would never otherwise have had.
All praise to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. God is our merciful Father and the source of all comfort. He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us.
2 Corinthians 1:3,4
I pray that I may find complete peace and healing in this sorrowful journey. I hope that I will be able to sincerely share in the joy of others who are blessed with pregnancies and children...and that I will realize that each person walks their own path and has their own struggles and sorrows to deal with...that I will not judge based on assumptions and exteriors. I hope that soon I will have joyful news of my own to share, and that I will feel those first kicks, hear that first cry, smell that sweet breath, and see those first steps with our third child. I seek courage, faith, and hope in the face our next pregnancy attempt.
I am leaving you with a gift - peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give is a gift the world cannot give. So don't be troubled or afraid.
John 14:27
A Sad Day
My dear husband (DH) and I lost our little baby on Wednesday, May 18th, 2010 at 10:30pm. I felt that "she" was a girl, so we named her "Hope". Initially, I did feel that our Hope was lost...but now, I am convinced that my Hope is with Jesus Christ.
Two days previously...on Monday, May 16, 2010, I began to bleed in the late evening. I think it was around 11pm, but now that night is a blur. I phoned my supervisor at work, and shakily informed her that I thought I might be miscarrying. She was so compassionate, and even offered to come be with me. Although I didn't take her up on it, I was so grateful. She informed me that a sub would be found, and that I was not to worry about work.
I phoned a neighbour and friend, who dropped everything in order to drive me the 70km or so to the hospital where my DH could meet us at...as he was out of town, but the hospital was half way between us. This was not the hospital that my specialist works out of...that was an hour's drive from my home in the opposite direction.
My DH was there when I arrived. The nurse in the ER was so compassionate and full of hope...informing us that bleeding was common in pregnancy, and that it didn't always mean something negative. I was so nervous...I had such a forboding feeling.
A gynecologist was paged, as the doctor in the ER felt it was best to call in a specialist to do an ultrasound. The new doctor, a friendly and compassionate man, eased our fears as he performed the scan and showed me what I desperately longed to see...our little baby's beating heart. "Everything looks good and normal," came out of his mouth. He said that it was a threatened misscarriage, but it doesn't mean that it will end up in miscarriage. Placing me on at least one week of bedrest, he discharged me to go home.
I tried so hard to do everything "right"...but it didn't matter.
When my body rejected and expelled her, we were genuinely blessed to have been able to see and hold her tiny figure. She appeared perfect in every way. Hope's tiny, cream-coloured body was clearly visible inside her in-tact yolk sac. Her dark eyes, round head, and well-formed arms and legs were amazing, and heart-breaking, to see.
We placed her in an earring box...she was just over 2cm long, and fit perfectly. So small. Gently, we wrapped her in a favourite bandana of mine and when the T3 that my fertility specialist gave me began to kick in, and the edge was taken off of the cramps...and when my DH and I were too tired to keep our eyes opened, we went to bed...the first hard night...such a surreal night...the memories of it will never leave me.
On Thursday, May 19th, after my teen son left for school, DH and I drove to the nearby river, precious cargo in hand. We stopped and found a spot at Gnarly Crowe, a tree of great character and appeal, that my son and I named months previously. It is under Gnarly Crowe that my dead baby has been put to rest. DH grieved so purely as our little one's remains were placed in the earth. It felt so wrong. It is so wrong. I was in a fog...barely conscious of what it was that we were actually doing with the life that was certainly alive in me just a few short days previously.
I will write more later...and include a picture of Gnarly Crowe.
Hope is not gone. Hope is alive with Jesus.
Two days previously...on Monday, May 16, 2010, I began to bleed in the late evening. I think it was around 11pm, but now that night is a blur. I phoned my supervisor at work, and shakily informed her that I thought I might be miscarrying. She was so compassionate, and even offered to come be with me. Although I didn't take her up on it, I was so grateful. She informed me that a sub would be found, and that I was not to worry about work.
I phoned a neighbour and friend, who dropped everything in order to drive me the 70km or so to the hospital where my DH could meet us at...as he was out of town, but the hospital was half way between us. This was not the hospital that my specialist works out of...that was an hour's drive from my home in the opposite direction.
My DH was there when I arrived. The nurse in the ER was so compassionate and full of hope...informing us that bleeding was common in pregnancy, and that it didn't always mean something negative. I was so nervous...I had such a forboding feeling.
A gynecologist was paged, as the doctor in the ER felt it was best to call in a specialist to do an ultrasound. The new doctor, a friendly and compassionate man, eased our fears as he performed the scan and showed me what I desperately longed to see...our little baby's beating heart. "Everything looks good and normal," came out of his mouth. He said that it was a threatened misscarriage, but it doesn't mean that it will end up in miscarriage. Placing me on at least one week of bedrest, he discharged me to go home.
I tried so hard to do everything "right"...but it didn't matter.
When my body rejected and expelled her, we were genuinely blessed to have been able to see and hold her tiny figure. She appeared perfect in every way. Hope's tiny, cream-coloured body was clearly visible inside her in-tact yolk sac. Her dark eyes, round head, and well-formed arms and legs were amazing, and heart-breaking, to see.
We placed her in an earring box...she was just over 2cm long, and fit perfectly. So small. Gently, we wrapped her in a favourite bandana of mine and when the T3 that my fertility specialist gave me began to kick in, and the edge was taken off of the cramps...and when my DH and I were too tired to keep our eyes opened, we went to bed...the first hard night...such a surreal night...the memories of it will never leave me.
On Thursday, May 19th, after my teen son left for school, DH and I drove to the nearby river, precious cargo in hand. We stopped and found a spot at Gnarly Crowe, a tree of great character and appeal, that my son and I named months previously. It is under Gnarly Crowe that my dead baby has been put to rest. DH grieved so purely as our little one's remains were placed in the earth. It felt so wrong. It is so wrong. I was in a fog...barely conscious of what it was that we were actually doing with the life that was certainly alive in me just a few short days previously.
I will write more later...and include a picture of Gnarly Crowe.
Hope is not gone. Hope is alive with Jesus.
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