versus what God has in store for us are often very different.
In my early 20s, I was told by a Harvard-educated fertility doctor that I could not have children without the use of significantly invasive procedures (Google "I.C.S.I.")
When my husband and I met and made a covenant that we would be together forever and subsequently produced a child (with no medical intervention whatsoever), we were honestly shocked and thrilled. I remember so vividly nearly passing out in the bathroom when the pregnancy test read positive. This was NEVER supposed to happen; it couldn't be happening. I had put all my stock in a MAN (that fertility doctor)!
And it wasn't a faint line - it was blaringly obvious that we were going to have a child. As if screaming to us (me, mostly) that we don't always know "the plan". Actually, I'm learning that we never know "the plan". Even though we can see what's right in front of our faces, we are blind to the bigger, more important aspects of life.
From that moment forward, that blessed babe was known to us as "Junior". We had no idea whether it was a boy or a girl. We just knew, with a mix of exhiliration and terror (like the kind you get when you're on a roller coaster and you're throwing your arms up in the air, unsure if it's fun to be terrified or because everyone else is doing it), that we were about to become parents. I had no idea, at the time, how far along I was, because, again, I had so foolishly and whole-heartedly believed doctor.
That was early December of 2004. We told my folks. We told Chris' folks - even presented them with a tiny baby-sized stocking to hang for Christmas. Everyone was super excited, including me (despite waning morning sickness and that general "pregnancy fog").
Fast-forward to January 6, 2005. We went in for an ultra-sound of Junior. I had had some very minor spotting that morning, which is often very normal, but the OB thought it might be best to have it looked at, especially since they couldn't exactly gauge how far along I was.
Chris and I will never forget that day. When we arrived in the ultra-sound lab, we were both excited and nervous. At first, the tech was friendly; she soon became stoic. She said not a word as she passed the wand over my pelvis and squinted at the screen. This happened over and over again.
We weren't sure what to expect, but we at least expected a little picture of the fetus or to hear the healthful drumming of a heartbeat. When asked the tech about this, the tech said "Ohhhh, you wouldn't get a pic at this exam." I thought that meant that I was too early for them to give me something suitable for a scrapbook. I would've taken anything - even a little dot on a black ultra-sound print-out. Chris and I know so much better now why we didn't get the pic or hear more than a few words from the tech.
After being told to wait in the waiting room for the radiologist to review the results of our ultra-sound, we were then told to go home -- the OB would call us instead. Well, in my mind, if something was wrong, they would have kept us and told us right then.
Naively we went home, without a word of what the ultra-sound showed; we thought we just had to wait for the MD to tell us how he/she was doing. I'm not sure what we thought on the drive home, but for me, it was a mixture of confusion and excitement.
Huddled on the couch, promised a call from the OB, we waited. And the minutes ticked. We chattered endlessly, nervous chatter, not sure what was going on and not sure we wanted to know.
And, when the phone finally rang, a female doctor that I did not know told me, in the most casual manner, "Well, you lost the baby. Don't worry, this happens all the time, except you were a little further along. You were measuring at 10 weeks, although the fetus has been gone for some time. See your regular OB tomorrow, and we'll go from there."
Go from there?
To where?
Well, we crumbled into each other's arms. This baby, for whom we had already bought two white ducky sleepers and started the baby name debate, was gone. POOF... Without a trace, and without a reason. And so suddenly.
Here I had been assured by a doctor that I was infertile. God had made it otherwise.
And then, God took the baby away.
Of course, then I thought it was me. Did I do this or not do that? I was in nursing school, and I thought maybe the pressure took its toll. Did I drink alcohol before I knew I was pregnant, since it had snuck up on us? Should I have eaten kiwi fruit instead of apples? The list goes on and on as mothers blame themselves over and over...
Then there were very brief phone calls to excited grandparents just to break their hearts - Chris had to do this, as I remember, as I was too devastated to speak. He was also awash with tears and terrible sorrow, and no one had a dry eye.
The next morning, on January 7th, we met Dr. Josupait, the OB who I had planned my original first prenatal visit with. I remember his big blue eyes that wrinkled pleasingly when he smiled. He was tall and lanky and exuded kindness - nothing like the horrible doctor who had to deliver the news to us the day before.
He sat next to us and, without ever having met me before, put a gentle, reassuring hand on my knee.
"You did the hard part....you conceived! And it was a viable fetus!! Something just wasn't right, and your body helped you and the baby. It's believed that 50% of women miscarry at some point, and early pregnancy tests are upping that number daily."
"Did I do something, doctor? Did I not do something??"
"NO! There is nothing you could have done to stop this from happening. And I have no doubt that you two will go on to have a healthy baby."
"How long do we have to wait?"
"Well, there's debate about that - and my side of the debate says 'whenever you are ready'." Gosh, I loved this doctor!! What was an awful situation was being managed with kindness, humor and compassion.
Thru further education with Dr. J, we learned that the spotting was not related to the miscarriage. He called it a "missed miscarriage". The baby had died, my body had not yet reacted (which was why I still felt oddly pregnant) and that he strongly suggested a d & c (dilatage and curettage) to remove the fetus, as he felt the fetus was too developed to deliver at home safely.
My mind swam with confusion. But, with Chris by my side, we agreed to the operation.
We were then sent home to get through the weekend, as the surgery was planned for Monday.
When I asked Chris how he felt that weekend just now, he said, "Miserable. It was the worst weekend of my life." We drove around and looked at houses and day-dreamed to pass the time. I felt like an alien lifeform with Junior in a womb that was now like a tomb. I felt completely not of myself.
And on Monday, January 10th, Dr. Josupait took Junior from me and that was that. Physically. We never saw him or her. We didn't ask for any testing. We were too numb to think of such things, and, quite honestly, we wanted to move on.
When I woke from anesthesia and propped myself up on my elbow, I immediately burst into tears. What had been such a huge dream had turned into a nightmare, and the dream of Junior was really over. There were no flowers or balloons or cards. Chris and I did this completely alone.
The nurse handed me juice and graham crackers - yeah, that makes up for the loss of my child. God love them, they all did their best, and they had no control. God only knows - maybe Junior would have been born with a defective heart or lung. I'll never know. Neither will Chris.
What few people in my family knew, save poor Christopher, was that, when this happened, I was two weeks away from starting my OB rotation for nursing school. And for those two weeks, I silently agonized about how I was going to make it through. I already resented every pregnant woman who passed me. Now I had to write care plans and provide for the medical needs of countless pregnant women and their newborns for eight long weeks.
I watched babies being delivered, helped new moms learn to nurse their babies, viewed photo albums of deceased infants who had been born stillborn. All while my body, mind and soul grappled silently with our loss. I felt it a sign of weakness to even flinch about such things. It was done.
Agonizing months passed by with no more positive tests, with Dr. Josupait's words ringing in my ears.... I was sure that another human doctor had lied to me, had let me down.
And, on Mother's Day, I spontaneously broke down into a mess of tears and grief in the card section at Wal-Mart as I chose a card for Chris' mom, all because my eyes somehow trained on a Mother's Day card for an expectant mom. That should have been ME.
Until June. I took two tests - one had a faint line, but Chris (who admits he was probably protecting himself) believed it was a false test.
So I took one of those new-fangled "Pregnant" or "Not Pregnant" digital tests, which had just come on the market. And me, being melodramatic and also loving a good surprise, told Chris that I couldn't figure it out. So I handed it to him and the word "Pregnant" was blinking on the screen.
I'd like to say that we were both over-joyed. Yes, we were happy. Dr. J was right - we'd been able to accomplish the "hard part". But now would we go thru another loss?
Dr. J was awesome - he had me in for an ultra-sound at eight weeks, and the tech from his office spoke joyfully to us the whole time (after we quickly recanted our previous trauma and how, if there was something wrong, we needed her to give us a sign). Her first words upon finding the fetus were spoken as quickly as she could get them out -- "and there's the HEART BEAT!!!!!!!!"
Every parent who has ever witnessed an ultra-sound knows that hearing that heartbeat is the first of many miracles. And we left the office with not only our first ever ultra-sound picture, but also a print-out of the cardiac strip.
Life moved on slowly - creeping so very painfully slowly to the three-month mark, where we believed we might be in the clear. And wouldn't you know it? At exactly 12 weeks while sitting in orientation for my new nursing position, I started to spot. It was Junior all over again. I was a terrible mess.
I called Dr. J who tried to sound upbeat and to reassure me that this was common but scheduled me anyway for an emergency ultra-sound that same day.
I cannot begin to express the terror I felt going there.
Despite our terror, it turned out to be a super special day! Not only was the baby fine and the placenta placed appropriately, but we got the best ultra-sound picture ever - where little Lucy's head looks like Charlie Brown's! And that's where she got her nickname for the rest of the pregnancy - "Charlie".
For the next six months, Lucy kept us on our toes (a true sign of times to come). I would randomly gush massive amounts of blood, for some unknown reason, and Chris and I made many trips to the ER. I remember we celebrated New Year's Day there - hooked up to a fetal monitor and getting an IV full of terbutaline (to stop contractions).
Despite these trials, Lucy is a living, loving, adorable, God-given miracle -- they really do happen. And if you read her birth story, you'll be even more convinced that "Coincidence is just God's way of being anonymous."
How thankful we are for her. Her quirks and all. She is precious to us in every way possible. Yes, I've been over-protective. Who wouldn't be, after what we went through?? But watching her grow, I have so many dreams for her - and all of those dreams are that she gets to live her dreams, whatever they may be.
And now we have our Henry, whose "larger than life personality" and infectious laugh and hysterical "kid-ecdotes" keep us smiling every day. I will be writing his birth story very soon, too, as part of my plan to de-clutter and organize. And keeping these memories fresh instead of stored away in a mental filing cabinet is part of this process. Though there are great pics of his birth experience at my other site: www.dropshots.com/kimmberli. Just go to May/June of 2007.
God is good - He gave and entrusted to us what we thought we didn't deserve to have. May we teach them and guide them in His glory.
For Lucy's incredible but totatally true birth story, visit:
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