Real lifeish. That’s what we named this blog. When we did it, I intended to share the real parts of our life. You know, dirty dishes, funny kid anecdotes, even home renovation mistakes. The really real stuff. I thought, “We won’t filter our life and make it seem like Pinterest.” We’ll be authentic and honest. Never did I think that it might mean sharing tragedy and really hard things. I struggled with whether to even write this. But, it didn’t feel right to have a blog about real life and then leave out one of the most impacting experiences of our life. So, here it is.
Life after a Miscarriage – Part 1
Well, at least I can go eat sushi.
That was one of my first thoughts when it finally sunk in that we had lost our 18 week old baby.
I’m not sure why this popped in my head. I guess its because I’m so ridiculously practical that my brain had to come up with some sort of silver lining to this unbearably dark cloud that had wrecked my plans.
I couldn’t let my thoughts go where they really wanted to go.
I couldn’t think about the lost possibilities. The “have a baby every two years” plan. The little person who was going to complete our perfect family of six. The little boy or girl who had so much potential. I couldn’t let myself go there. I had to hold it together.
So instead, I thought of sushi. It made me laugh that uncomfortable sarcastic laugh. The one that isn’t really a laugh, but is actually a wall holding back the flood of tears.
And in the blink of an eye, I went from being pregnant to not.
When you’re pregnant, you constantly think of the things you can and can’t do. It’s this filter through which you see everything.
I have to remember to take my vitamins.
I need to drink more water.
I should be careful climbing on the counter top to reach that shelf.
And then, suddenly, you’re not pregnant. No longer part of that club.
The shock of it hit me like a smack in the face.
My pregnancy was going perfectly. Just like my last three pregnancies. Picture perfect. Good blood pressure. Good blood sugar. Heart beat on point. Every visit was more like a formality. So much so, that I told my husband he could skip this one.
“It’s just an 18 week check up- we won’t find out the gender for 2 more weeks. You don’t even need to come.”
Until they couldn’t find the heart beat. I tried to keep calm. The nurses said that everything was probably fine.
“It’s because your stomach is growling so loudly – that’s why we can’t find the heart beat. Let’s get you into the ultrasound room just to double check. Who knows – maybe we’ll see the gender today!”
The anticipation of finding out whether we would be adding a 4th boy to our family or getting to experience life with a baby girl, was almost too much for me. I laid in the ultrasound room waiting to hear the tech give me the good news.
But there was no good news.
No heart beat. Just a curled up baby measuring only 15 weeks. I was carrying a dead baby. I had been carrying a dead baby for 3 weeks and I had no idea. My body apparently had no idea either because it wasn’t showing any signs of distress.
My husband hurried to the office a few minutes later and we attempted to process the information they were giving us. The options for what to do next. The logistics. You have to find the mental capacity to talk logistics. I never realized how impossible it is to deal logistics when you’re in shock. But, unfortunately, you have to take care of getting the baby out. It was too much for me to even take in. Learning the news is hard enough, but then you have to make decisions. Hard decisions. Thankfully, they told us to take the night and think and pray before we made any final choices.
The next morning was even harder for me. I woke up secretly hoping that the day before had been just a really bad dream. But it wasn’t. And I had to get up. And I had to see people. And talk to people. And be a mom to my 3 sweet boys.
We chose to be induced and deliver our baby so we could see him (we found out upon delivery that we had another son!). I know that every person has to make the right choice for them, but for us, this was the best choice. As excruciating as it was to labor through contractions knowing that you don’t get to take home a baby with you, it was right. Our room was filled with such a sense of God’s peace. I’ll never know how – because logic tells you that it shouldn’t be. But, somehow, with worship music playing, we were able to say good-bye to our son, Tobias, with a deep sense of God’s goodness and blessing.
I’m still processing so much of this journey. I’ll probably write even more about it all, but for now, we stand on the promise that God is good and that he works all things together for good.