Monday, April 7, 2008


I must have sat in the waiting room for close to an hour before being called in for the ultrasound that would eventually confirm the death of my baby. The techs doing the ultrasound were both sympathetic and understanding, handing me tissues while the tears rolled down my cheeks and with a bravado I didn't much feel, I did my best to reassure them I was okay. I had to beautiful, healthy children, we could always try again. . . right?

I will never know exactly when my baby died, but with medical technology in its advanced stages the ultrasound showed that there was no change past 8 weeks. The baby lived approximately two days past the first ultrasound, and for nearly 5 weeks I had no clue. As I sit here and write, I have often wondered many times would it have been better to have not seen or heard the heartbeat like I did! I know that God has a plan for all of us and this was part of His plan for me and though I may time to time question this part of the plan, I do realize months later that seeing the heartbeat when I did was a rare occurrence and I know a miracle in and of itself. Just how rare will be explained in time.

Walking out of the ultrasound room, I was able to staunch my tears long enough for me to get to the car and not draw too much attention to myself. But once again, knowing my husband was and is my rock, I let myself go when I saw him. A torrent of tears that I couldn't have stopped even if I tried. My heart was broken as tears ran down my face and sobs tore from my chest for the baby I had longed for, for nearly 4 years. Pulling myself together to tell my children that the baby they were also looking forward to was now in heaven, another angel for God, and someone for their Nana to play on the swings with. With my tears dried for the moment I was able to call my mom and let her know the news before we left the hospital parking lot, the first of many calls I would make that day. Aside from family, the most important call I would make would be to my pastor. I can't recall the exact words of our conversation, but I remember the most important, coming to the understanding that God allowed the baby, which was His baby first, to come back home because He knew it wouldn't be what was best for our family. And he was right. I knew that from the moment the words came from my pastors mouth. With two healthy, energetic children would I be able to be the extraordinary mother I see from time to time taking care of a mental or physically retarded child, or would I have been strong enough to go through an entire pregnancy and heaven forbid give birth to a baby that would never draw it's first breath or only live for a matter of months. I don't think I would have and I believe that God didn't either. What I do believe is that God knew exactly how strong I could be and how strong I would become when faced with the mind blowing reality that this pregnancy and miscarriage would be anything but normal in the coming weeks.