It was a Wednesday morning (about 3 months ago), and all I needed to hear was “this is normal” one.more.time. from my doctor. After all, I had been told the past two days that everything was fine. I heard the heartbeat both days, and everything was fine.
I left work a little early, and my husband met me at the doctor’s office. I was 95% sure that the doctor was going to tell me that everything was fine (again – for the third day in a row) and send me home (again – for the third day in a row). After all, the previous day, the doctor told us that once you pass 6 weeks and hear the heartbeat, the survival rate was already up to 80%. And I was told to focus on that. So I did. I focused on that while sitting the chair, waiting for my sonogram.
I lay down on the bed for my sonogram, and was asked “Have you been having a lot of bleeding?” I said “Yes, that’s why I’m here.” And she proceeded say one of the hardest things I’ve ever heard.
“There is no sac…
…and there is no heartbeat.”
So we sat in the doctor’s office, myself in tears (as I am now writing this) to hear the doctor say that she’s extremely sorry for our loss. She said that miscarriages are very common (it’s actually 1 in 4), but that I would never know it because woman rarely talk about it.
And I get it. I don’t talk about it. Even writing this is gut-wrenching.
But. I am going to talk about it.
So. To the 1 in 4 woman – I am one too. My heart hurts, and it hurts for you too. I had (still have) so many questions. Questions that test and push and strengthen my faith, questions that have forced me to be closer to my husband and family, and questions that I will never have the answers to.
One thing I do know is that You are not alone. Grieve, and mourn. It’s a loss. A loss of a life. A life, people! A life! I never agreed with abortion, but I guess was never put in a situation where I had a cold-hard stance on it. Until the day that we lost our own. How in the world do women actually choose to end their baby’s life? I will never know.
And just as a side note, if you know someone who has experienced this loss, be sad with them. Don’t tell them how to fix the problem. Don’t try to push them to recover. Don’t send them a PowerPoint, or a video, or anything. Just.Be.Sad. Don’t say anything. Cry with them. Say that you can’t imagine what it feels like. Just mourn with them. One of the most powerful things that was said to me was (paraphrased), “Although I have never experienced this, I do know what it is like to love that child with everything you have the minute you find out you’re pregnant.” It was written in a note to me, and I will never forget that.
-stepping off my soap box-
That’s a peak into what I’ve been dealing with since the beginning of May. And that is part of the reason why I haven’t blogged in so long.
I believe that there are some things that should be kept private, that don’t belong on social media. Between a husband a wife. Between a family. Between friends. But Sunday at church the pastor was talking about how we need each other for spiritual encouragement. And just last night I was telling my husband that I love hearing people’s testimonies. It encourages my faith, and it encourages others’ faith. I love stories of broken marriages that the Lord restores. I love the stories of addicts – of any kind – and how the Lord delivers. I love the stories of everyday “things” and hearing how the Lord is moving in their life.
I don’t want to keep my story a secret, in fear of being sad and emotions being raised to the surface again, if that is going to hinder someone else from healing. So I hope, and I pray, that my story and my life do nothing but encourage others in their faith. And that I lead a life of faith regardless of the circumstances as a witness to God’s goodness, and glory. But how am I going to lead that life if I don’t share my circumstances?
A week after our miscarriage, we found out we were possibly moving to Mansfield.
Needless to say, the past three months have been fast and furious.