Processing a miscarriage

Matt and I were thrilled to find out I was pregnant right after my 32nd birthday.  Baby due November 28th.

Having no symptoms for a few weeks, I thought I dodged the morning sickness bullet, like my mom did (she never felt sick).  But then the nausea came on in full force, right around the time I flew to Orlando for a job interview in April.

The first ultrasound didn't go as expected at my 10 week appointment.

Excited to see little "Lentil" (as we'd been calling it for weeks), I stared at the monitor in anticipation.

A black sac appeared on the screen.  An empty black sac.  I didn't quite realize that it was empty at first, because as a newbie, I didn't exactly know what I was supposed to be looking for.  But I could tell the ultrasound technician was perplexed and moving her little wand all around my tummy trying to see something more.  There was no talking between us. Then:

Me:  "Is it supposed to look like that?" 

Her:  "Well, that is your gestational sac.  But I'm not seeing the baby or hearing any fetal heart sounds."

Me:  "Would I have the sac if I wasn't pregnant?"

Her:  "No.  You're pregnant."

Me:  "Huh."

After a long time of her rubbing that little thing around and typing all sorts of measurements into her computer:

Me:  (tentatively) "What are some of the reasons, even the bad reasons, why we may not be seeing anything?"

Her:  (with a very kind and gentle tone) "Oh, honey, I'm going to let the doctors talk to you about that. They know more about that than I do."

Me:  "Okay"  (a little bit of concern settling in)

The doctor told me I could just be earlier along in my pregnancy than they originally thought. Orrrr it could be a sign of an impending miscarriage. She scheduled me to come back the following week for another ultrasound.

I left the office.  It was raining outside.  Sat in my car and called Matt.  Went to Panera across the street.  Ate lunch in thoughtful silence. Stopped to get a a large dark chocolate bar on the way home.

Once home and curled on the couch, I cried a little at the unexpected news and the possibility of something being wrong but found great comfort in the Psalms of trust (and that chocolate bar).

With a week to process the possible bad news, we felt somewhat prepared for the outcome.

The Lord buoyed me with hope and sustained me with his Word leading up to the next appointment.  The day before I was schedule to go back, I was meditating on Psalm 142:5 - 

I pray to you, O Lord, I say, You are my place of refuge. 
You are all I really want in life.

Psalm 142:5

I knew I would either experience Him as the Creator of a new little life in me or I would experience Him as Comforter.  Either way, I get to have Him.  And knowing His presence wouldn't leave me is what I clung to and found hope in going into my next appointment.

When the empty sac showed up on the screen again, I knew.  I didn't cry until the technician showed me sympathy and hugged me.  Then the tears flowed.  I felt sad.  Hope deferred really does make the heart sick.  We had wanted a baby so badly.

The ultrasound technician asked if I was alone, and I could tell she felt sad for me when I told her my husband couldn't be with me because he was taking his last med school exam.

But I knew I wasn't alone and sensed Jesus right there in that room with me.  Crying with me as I cried. His presence means everything to me.

I was grateful that Matt finished his exam in time to join me later at the doctor's office.  I told him the news and felt glad he was there with me.

Specifically, I have what is called a "blighted ovum" (empty gestational sac) measuring 7 weeks 5 days at my 11 week appointment.

Blighted Ovum (my layman's terms):  Something wrong happens during conception.  The gestational sac forms, but the embryo doesn't form properly.  The body thinks it's growing a baby though and makes pregnancy hormones, so you still get all the lovely symptoms of pregnancy though no baby is growing. Someone once described it as a cruel joke.

As odd as it may seem, Matt and I went to get sushi afterwards because I could have it now, and I wanted to celebrate him finishing his last final of med school.  I didn't want that accomplishment to get lost in the day.

It was a bizarre mix of joy and sadness that day, acknowledging both happy relief for Matt and sadness for the baby that never grew.

I felt for Matt, knowing the lightness he must be feeling after just taking his LAST FINAL of med school, while at the same time wanting to support his wife in her disappointment.  That's a tricky position to be in.

So we just talked openly about both realities, jumping back and forth in conversation.  We shared in each other's joy and grief the best we could, but (I think by God's good grace) understood it was unfair to expect the other to equally feel our own feelings.

It was what it was.

Matt is a wonderful support.  He sits by me and asks good questions and just offers his presence which I love.  I love being married to him.

My friends here have been wonderful too, some of them bringing meals this past week. When they offered, my first thought was "oh, that's not necessary", but then I felt urged to just let them be the Body of Christ for me.  If they want to do this, let them.  And it's been such a blessing and tangible way to receive God's comfort.  I'm so grateful to these sweet friends.

A coworker gave me flowers and a hug the next morning.  We took a moment and quietly cried as she hugged me.  Some people are just naturally good at entering into people's pain. Jean is one of them.

My heart stung a bit that next day when I helped my students write Mother's Day poems and make cards for their moms.  But my sadness ebbs and flows and coexists with hope.  The rest of the day marched on, and I felt pretty even-keeled for most of it.

Honestly, the busyness of ending the school year with my 2nd graders was a blessed distraction and even, at one point, allowed room for a little sarcastic humor - When I took my class to see the chicks that had hatched in the neighboring first grade classroom, my immediate thought was, "Well, I'm glad somethin's hatching." ;)

I know miscarriages are not uncommon.  It just feels so odd when it happens to you.  My heart aches with a new empathy for dear friends who have experienced loss in this area, some of their stories much more dramatic and heart wrenching than mine.

While I hope for children and have heard many post-miscarriage success stories, I know I'm not guaranteed or entitled to anything from God's hand and want to be careful not to put my hope in anything other than Himself.  I'm glad to be in His care, and I trust His plan.

Overall, I feel okay and am not in despair.  Just processing what was not and asking for a heart like David's, copying his prayer in hopes that it will take deeper root in me:

One thing I ask from the Lord, this only do I seek: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to gaze on the beauty of the Lord and to seek him in his temple.

Psalm 27:4

He cares for the sparrow. He cares for me.

The other day when I was leaving church, I was talking to a new friend on our way to our cars.  Her name is Sally.  She's old enough to be my mother, but we connected as friends immediately.  Sally is one of the most edifying people to be around.  Her words are careful, and she exudes the joy of the Lord.

While we were talking, she discovered that me and Matt are moving to Orlando.

I had been wondering that week what our future there would look like, home-wise and job-wise for me.  It was a little early for details to come together, and I was growing curious.

Perhaps due to personality-type or birth order (youngest), I'm typically not one to wring my hands in worry about the future.  I've always figured, "Things will work out" and "I'll be taken care of." Loose plans are fine with me. Adventurous even.

However, this particular week I was wondering what those plans would actually look like and was feeling a little weary of home searches online and was already starting to miss our church in Kansas City where I have benefitted so much from the teaching and equipping.

It's amazing how wonder and curiosity can dip in and out of the realm of worry.

I was telling Sally, with a twinge of wonder and questioning in my voice, how I hoped we would find a Gospel-centered church quickly, that the Lord would lead us...

She listened and encouraged me of His goodness.  At that very moment, we looked down and saw, laying right there in the parking lot, a perfectly formed, dead little sparrow. 

I didn't take a picture, because I was in the moment and wasn't thinking about taking a picture.  But take my word for it.  It was the sweetest looking little sparrow laying on its side.

She said, "Aw, look! A sparrow!"

As soon as I saw it, I knew what the Lord was saying to me.  I felt such assurance, and my eyes watered a little.

The same verse came to both of our minds.

What is the price of two sparrows—one copper coin?

But not a single sparrow can fall to the ground without your Father knowing it.

And the very hairs on your head are all numbered.

So don’t be afraid; you are more valuable to God than a whole flock of sparrows.  ~Matthew 10:29-31

She gently said with a kind smile and a hand on my hand, "See, He cares for the sparrow. How much more does He care for you?  He will take care of you."

As she was talking, I heard Jesus's voice, "I knew when that sparrow fell.  I noticed it.  I notice you now in the parking lot talking to Sally.  I know your thoughts and concerns.  I'm making a way.  You can trust me."

And I drove home thinking about that sparrow and my all-seeing, caring Father.

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