It was only for a moment...

I learned I was pregnant when I was only half expecting it. We had been talking about having  a baby but it never seemed like the right time. Then I turned 40 and we knew we'd better get a little more serious about it. Still, we approached the whole thing very casually.

But then, on December 22, 2010, I saw those two lines on the test. The day was surreal.  In shock, we were thrilled,  and we couldn't take it all in. It was the ultimate Christmas gift and we enjoyed every moment of it. We shared the news with the innocence of a couple who forgot that not every pregnancy has a happy ending.

I'm a planner and I like things organized. The kitchen needed to be renovated so we got on that immediately.  Within a few weeks the room was gutted.  Everything was on track so that we'd have a nice new space in plenty of time for the new family member's arrivals.

We started to playfully argue about names and each of us felt we knew what the sex of the child would be. We didn't agree. A sonogram at 6 weeks revealed a beautiful beating heart. Our doctor assured us that the chance of miscarriage was reduced to less than 5% now that the heartbeat had been detected.

I took my vitamins, read up on the food I shouldn't be eating, and forced myself to eat more vegetables.  Plans for a nursery were underway and I started to purchase maternity clothes from a few online sites.

Then I started to spot.  Everyone came to screeching halt for a moment. Panic, confusion, and fear quickly became the dominate emotions.  I could barely remember how to operate my cell phone when I tried to call my doctor.  They asked me to return for a sonogram the next morning.  I think they knew it was over but they tried to sound optimistic on the phone.

My husband refused to believe that it was bad news.  He had no plans to go to the sonogram with me and told me I was worrying for nothing.  Deep inside, I knew.  I pushed him to come with me and finally sent him a text message that he received as he was driving to work: "If I have to hear bad news alone, I will have a very difficult time forgiving you."   He turned around and came home.

The sonogram tech was somber and noticeably different than the last time we'd seen her. She knew.  A few minutes later she said, "I'm sorry, there's no cardiac activity."   Our baby had died.

It's been months and yet I am still crying as I type this.  My baby was due to arrive into my arms just two days from now.  We have tried, in vain, to get pregnant again and I'd hoped that it would soften the arrival of what should have been my baby's birthday.  I doubt it would have made much difference.  I'll never know.

I question a lot of things.  Why did this happen?  Why did I get pregnant in the first place?  Was there a point to any of this?  Right now, I am remembering the time when I was pregnant and we were so happy.  It was just for a moment, but it was an important moment.  I only had that brief time with my baby and I was not yet blessed to see my child's face, not yet.

My faith tells me that the time on this earth is like a blink of an eye.  Our baby brought us joy. The loss brought us pain.  However, we WILL see our baby one day and that pain will be long forgotten.  Therefore, it's joy that will endure.

Miscarriage...

Miscarriage.  It's not a great topic and most of us like to skip past it when it comes up. I always did.  I remember when a friend told me she had lost her second pregnancy, I actually thought "What is wrong with her?"  but of course, I offered the standard-- So sorry-- and changed the topic.  That's what we do.  Right?

Until the day that you are the one hearing the news.  When the sonogram technician tells you--"I'm sorry. I don't see any cardiac activity."  Suddenly, that baby you were just getting excited about, that nursery that you were planning, the names you were bickering with your spouse about...it's all gone.  The dream is over and the nightmare begins.  Why didn't anyone tell me it would hurt this bad.  Wait...maybe my friend would have told me if I hadn't so rudely changed the topic.

Then I became the one that had to tell people that we lost our baby.  I was now on the receiving end of the topic changes and blank stares.  What is wrong with these people?  But wait-- I used to be one of them.  Back when I was on the far side of miscarriage.  The naive place were all pregnancies end in healthy babies.  Way back then.

I like to learn something from everything that happens in my life.  What was the lesson here?  I don't know, I am still learning.  Rather than be upset with the reactions, I try to relate to their innocence.  I try to remember being in their place.   I also called my girlfriend and brought up her miscarriages.  I told her how sorry I was that I had not offered her support when she needed it.  I cried.  She cried.  Yeah, this crap hurts.

While surfing the net I found a bunch of articles telling people what they should say/do when someone they know has a miscarriage.  I couldn't find one to tell me what to do when I am the one facing the loss of my baby.  As soon as I figure it out, I will write that article.  For now, my only advice is to be gentle with yourself and with the people around you.  Don't let responses bother you- even the ones that say "This must have been God's plan"-- they don't realize how stupid they are.  They mean well.  Go easy on them and focus on you.  Part two of this post will be coming when my heart is in a better place to be reflective.