Child-like faith for a mourning mom

My husband and I has been trying for almost a year and just when I was about to schedule an appointment with my OB-GYN to start ruling out fertility issues, I took a test and it said I was pregnant! Our prayers had been answered!! I didn’t initially believe it, so I took another test just to be certain.  Becoming a mom, for me, is one of the most rewarding things ever. It made me feel like I had a sense of purpose and made me realize how much one person can mean to another. So when I found out that I was pregnant for a second time I was beyond ecstatic! This was my husband’s first child, so you can imagine how much more excited he was, especially since we had been trying for so long. We quickly rallied up our parents and shared the good news, which spread like wild-fire!

However, the excitement was short-lived and soon turned to worry.  I started cramping and spotting, and immediately thought the worst. How could I not? Every website I checked and every story I had ever heard indicated that I was more than likely in the beginning stages of a miscarriage. I was afraid to tell my husband because some part of me thought that maybe I was just overreacting.

By the next morning, the suituation had gotten progressively worse and I knew that my pregnancy was ending. I called out of work and had my husband take me to the OB-GYN. Since they couldn’t see me right away, I decided to go to the ER instead. As if what I was going through wasn’t bad enough, the nurse had to poke me multiple times on each arm before she was able to draw some blood for testing. (In her defense I have very thick blood, and it’s happened before to me.)  I was finally seen by the doctor who said she’d do a sonagram (standard procedure) and offered me pain killers. I refused the medication because I didn’t want to harm my baby any further.  The doctor assured us that it was common in early pregnancy to feel what I was feeling but she ordered the sonogram. So we waited. And waited. Finally, I was wheeled over so we could take a look at our baby.  The technician was silent the entire time. That is a clear indicator that there is something wrong!  My anxiety grew more with each passing moment.  I was taken back to my room and of course we waited for a while before the doctor came in and reviews the results. Her diagnosis: A threaten miscarriage. Her recommendation: Take it easy for a few days. So I called my job and took the rest of the week off.  When my son got home from school that day, he noticed that mommy wasn’t feel well. We decided to protect and shield him from the heartache that we were enduring and I just played it off as if I had gotten a common cold. He accepted that answer and I felt like I succeeded as a parent.

Unfortunately that night I miscarried… Right here in our home. If you’ve never experienced a misscarriage, I will spare you the details.  I cried and screamed for hours that night until I didn’t have the energy to continue.  My husband tried consoling me but I felt like I had failed, as a mother and as a woman. According to the experts, miscarriages that occur in the first trimester are an indicator that there was something wrong with the fetus.  That fact meant nothing to me at that moment. I wasn’t mad, I was furious!  I was mad at myself for feeling like I failed and I was mad at God. How could He allow this to happen!? I felt abandoned but I knew I needed to pull myself together for the sake of my 10-year old.  I created a scenario and strongly convinced myself that maybe I had been pregnant with twins and only one of them didn’t survive (I’d read that it was possible, so I convinced myself.)

The next morning I sent my son off to school and had my husband drive me to the OB-GYN. I still wanted to believe my theory and I was secretly praying for a miracle. The doctor performed an ultrasound and confirmed that I was no longer pregnant. WHAT?! I looked at the doctor as if he was speaking another language. That was not the news I came in to hear! He must have read my mind because all he said was, “I’m sorry. Sometimes life can be a *****”.  He looked at my husband, told him to hug me and told us to take all the time we needed.  We both cried for a while before exiting the exam room and meeting the Doctor in his office. The Doctor assured us this was common (not what I wanted to hear, but probably what I needed to hear) and advised us to just wait several months to allow my body to heal before trying again.

I waited a few days before breaking the news to my son.  I spent hours searching online for ways to tell a child about a miscarriage and finally, I worked up to courage to tell him without completely breaking down.  I did not want my son to be traumatized and so I had to be careful on how I executed the news.  I must have practiced my speech 20 times before I sat my son down and explained to him that God had decided it was not time for us to have a baby in the house and my son replied, “Okay”. That was that. I was heartbroken, surprised and relieved.  I was expecting a multitude of questions in which, I was sure I wouldn’t be able to answer but at that moment my son showed me what having faith was all about: To trust that God’s timing is perfect even when it doesn’t line up with our timing.

I returned to work the next day because I needed some normality in my life and honestly there’s only so much crying one can do before you just completely lose your mind. The next several weeks were painful- emotionally and physically.  Everyone I knew tried to comfort me.  Some knew what I went though first hand and others only knew what they had read about online or in a book. Honestly, I tried to not be rude but everything everyone said was somehow the wrong thing to say.  (I’m pretty sure I failed at hiding my rudeness and for that I am so sincerely sorry.). The truth is… There is NOTHING anyone can say to ease the pain or even get you to see the silver lining. I just wanted to be left alone.

It’s been almost nine months and I still don’t feel ready to start trying again. I’m honestly scared to have another miscarriage dispite my deep desire for a child with my husband. It might sound selfish. Maybe it is selfish but I know there is no perfect time to declare healing from that kind of a traumatic expirience. My husband has been understanding and supportive, and we have just decided to leave it up to God to decide when the timing is right, because if my 10 year-old son can trust God’s will without any question, then so can I.

Proverbs 3:5

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