We were to be a family of 4 for eight quick, sweet weeks. It was surreal and beautiful all at the same time. I pinched myself as we began discussing baby names for a second time, wondering if Layla would have a sister or brother. I looked at all of her outgrown clothes wondering if there would be a new tiny baby girl to pass them along to. My food aversions and nausea felt like de ja vu and I wondered how quickly I would start to 'show' with my second. My biggest joy was that I was able to get pregnant without the help of medicine. It was something I had prayed for and I felt like God had given us the biggest gift.
The next thing we knew, we were sitting in the waiting room after our first ultrasound. I held a print out of our ultrasound with the word "Baby!!" typed out by the ultrasound tech. Two exclamation points, I should have felt joy-- instead I felt panic. "Did it say the heartbeat was 55?" I asked Dylan. He agreed but said we should wait and see what our midwife had to say. "Yeah but I mean, 55....thats like hardly anything...". My mind was reeling. Dylan tried distracting me with small talk but I just needed him to be quiet. My thoughts were loud and I couldn't focus on anything until we knew more. During the ultrasound we saw our baby and it's heart flickering. The tech was upbeat as she took measurements and my heart leaped when I saw the baby was measuring a few days head of schedule. We waited for the heartbeat to come pounding through the speakers but instead the room went silent. The tech quickly clicked away on the machine and I guess out of awkward discomfort just typed out "Baby!!" instead, and that was it.
As I sat in the waiting room, I wondered what kind of person would do that. To see a failing life and still use TWO exclamation points. It's little details like that that will always stick out in my mind. Dylan told me to slow down and wait. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe we read something differently, but in my heart I knew we saw everything.
Looking back, I'm glad the tech left us with a happy picture of our baby. It was the last time we would see their heart beating. It was the last time I would feel the hope of what would be of our life with them. We came back a week later only to see stillness on the screen. The week of waiting was torturous as I bounced back and forth from total lack of hope, to praying "well maybe things turned around...". At our next appointment I pictured myself crying in the small dark room. As our little baby popped up on the screen I just turned to Dylan and calmly said, "...it didn't grow". The tech was silent, and I guess for that I'm grateful. There really aren't words and I didn't need any explanation of what we were all seeing. I imagined myself crumbling but instead as we waited to talk to a doctor, I felt relief. The anxiety I had felt the week leading up to this ultrasound was crippling. At least now we knew. It wasn't at all what we wanted but at least my mind could rest, at least for a little while.
We left the doctor and went for a glass of wine. I rambled about how I was 'okay'. At least I knew. At least now we could start to move on. I was fine. Except I wasn't. The moment I was alone I broke. I cried, I couldn't stop crying. All I could do was tell this little lost life, "I love you...I love you...I hope you know that I love you."
I've sat to write out this post several times. I have stopped every time, my thoughts messy and raw and disorganized. I've spent the past few weeks healing, both mentally and physically. I've spent the last few weeks searching for something, the one thing that makes all of this hurt less. I have come far but yet feel like I'm still swimming in the sadness. The biggest thing I have taken from this is that there isn't something to make it hurt less. There isnt a revelation that we can see right now that makes it less sad.
Miscarriage sucks. Period. It's taken me weeks to figure out something as simple as that. I can talk myself in circles, I can remind myself of promises of the future, of God's plan for us. I can lean into Jesus and know that he is painting beauty with the ashes of this loss. The hope of the future is my greatest comfort, but for now, it just sucks. And that's OKAY. It's okay to hurt, to mourn the loss of life.
I have exhausted myself by trying to seek the positive of this heartbreak. I know that God is merciful and He had His hand on our babies heart from the beginning. He saw that our baby was unwell and called them home. For that I am so grateful, but it still hurts.
The best way I can describe the hurt is this; from the moment you find out you are growing a new life, your heart grows a room for them. Room that is waiting to be filled and yet, it never will be. Not with the baby that it was built for. Now it's just an empty space where life should have been. It's an emptiness that fills your days. Some days it's really heavy and some days it's not, but it's still there.
I never wanted to be someone who could relate to losing a pregnancy, but yet here I am. This experience is something I pray I never experience again. It's been nothing like how I pictured a miscarriage to be. It's been long and drawn out, not fast and sudden like I imagined. Physically my body clung to this pregnancy well after there was no heartbeat. It fucked with my heart and my mind as both wanted to cling to this pregnancy too. As grateful as I was that my body didn't fail me, it started to make me angry. How can everything be going as normal and yet my baby didn't get to live. It felt unfair. I still had all of my symptoms and yet, for nothing. Waiting for my body to "pass" the miscarriage became psychologically draining. It's a dark, confusing place to know that little one was still inside of me. I was torn between finding comfort that I still carried them with me, and then also praying and pleading for this all to be over.
Spiritually this baby was with Jesus and as soon as I could convince myself of that, I opted for the surgery to have what was left taken out.
So now, we continue to heal. I cling to the promises that darkness doesn't last forever. I pray for the day we have our hope restored and good news to share. I find comfort that a sweet, new yet familiar little face will welcome me when I'm called home. It brings my heart peace knowing I will know this little life one day. I will see them in the glimmer of the eyes of the baby God blesses us with in the future.
Yup, I know I will.
xo-
Victoria
