9 weeks, 2 days.
This pregnancy, just like several of our other ones, only lasted 9 weeks and 2 days.
It’s weird. With every one of our miscarriages, God has somehow prepared me for what lay ahead. This time was no different. I started feeling “less than optimistic” on Wednesday morning last week.
I still had a little bit of pregnancy symptoms, but something felt off. I wanted to believe everything was okay and that I was just being negative, but I couldn’t shake the uneasiness that was falling over me.
Our first ob/gyn appointment was Thursday morning. For most women, this would be their first pregnancy appointment. But we had been working with a fertility specialist in Oklahoma since week 4, so it was our fourth appointment.
The week before we had seen (and heard) a great heartbeat. 159 to be exact. Strong enough that I thought maybe, just maybe, this time was going to be different.
It wasn’t.
Our doctor was quiet when he started the ultrasound. He looked around for what felt like hours and still didn’t say a word. “Is there a heartbeat?” I finally broke the silence.
But instead of a response, he just sniffled. As I think back on it now, I don’t think he ever really answered my question. He just looked at me with kindness in his eyes and said, “I’m so sorry.”
I started taking medicine to induce “labor,” or whatever you want to call it, on Friday morning. Having a miscarriage at home, for any of you who have not had to go through it, is pure torture. I won’t disgust you with the specifics, but I will tell you this. Flushing what you know is your child down the toilet is heart-wrenching. (I know, this is probably TMI, but the pregnancy hormones are still raging through my body. That’s a good excuse, right?)
It was mostly over last night. Quick and painful at least.
Now we grieve again.
I didn’t want to go through this again. I wanted this time to be different. I wanted to bring home a baby from the hospital this time. Not just another ultrasound picture. Rylan wanted a little sister. I wanted a daughter. As it looks now, neither one of us will ever get our wish.
Last Sunday at church, we sang “Desert Song” by Hillsong. This song was hard for me with our other miscarriages, so it was an emotional song already. As we sang it on Sunday (well, as everyone else sang and I cried), I told God that I would trust him regardless of what happened with this pregnancy. Regardless of the results of this appointment.
I stand by that promise. I will choose to say, blessed be the name of the Lord. Even when it hurts.
I had my third miscarriage last month and my support system sucks. I cannot even go out to breathe because of covid-19. and I never had another baby. My life is a long sequence of failures. Breast cancer destroyed my body and my mind, I fought hard and I won, But I was devastated, and when, with my first pregnancy, I thought that finally something good was in store for me, that God finally was blessing me… then, you know, “there is no more heartbeat”. I don’t expect anything good by my present and by my future.
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I, too, understand that pain, Lindsey, and thank you for being so honest and vulnerable about what happened to you. It seems that God is already bringing some good from your situation b/c of the numbers of us who are touched by your words.
I'm so sorry Lindsey. You and your family are in my prayers.
Thanks so much for the prayers and encouraging words. So appreciate it!!
Praying for you.
praying for you…
Oh, Lindsey. I know some of this pain. (I can't know all of your pain since it's yours, uniquely.) I do understand about flushing… I couldn't. My husband had to.I'm so sorry. I would give you a hug if I could.Praise Him for surrounding you with comfort and your loving family. John 16:33 is one of only things that comforts me in these situations.(I keep debating over this entire comment… I hope it helps rather than hurts more. I'm praying for you. Right now.)