This isn’t some “misery loves company” kind of story, but my attempt at offering solace to people who can’t seem to find a silver lining in the clouds above.
About five weeks ago, I found out I was pregnant, but it wasn’t confirmed until my doctor’s appointment about two weeks later. During that interim I was so anxious! I really wanted to know for sure, so when the doctor told me what I wanted and hoped I would hear, I was overjoyed.
I had already started reading up on what to eat, what cleaning products to avoid, what baby products you should consider buying — all that good stuff because I was just so excited and really wanted to make sure I was doing this whole pregnancy thing right.
I had heard about people waiting until their first trimester was over before telling anyone about their pregnancy for fear of a miscarriage, but I just couldn’t imagine that happening. So Jon and I began telling people, but we decided we’d wait to officially announce it on social media until my first prenatal appointment, which was scheduled in another two weeks.
Sadly, I didn’t make it that far.
During week 7, I started noticing something was off (I’ll spare you the details). I called my doctor and told her my symptoms, hoping I wouldn’t hear what I thought she would say.
“You need to go to the emergency room and make sure you know your blood type,” she told me.
Immediately I started crying because I didn’t think this would end well.
The next four hours were spent at the hospital undergoing a series of tests and telling numerous doctors why I was there.
“Well, I think I’m having a miscarriage,” I said at least 10 times that night to different people.
Saying it aloud made me cringe each time and I just kept thinking, “Can’t you just read my file? Do I really need to say it?”
But as the night wore on, I started to come to terms with that being a very likely reality.
The doctor was kind and I appreciated how he tried to share the test results in a not-so-callous way. Unfortunately, his answers were pretty vague (I think he was just trying to make me feel a little better), but it meant that I would need additional testing.
“Oh goody. Now we get to drag this out longer,” I thought to myself.
Puffy-eyed and exhausted, Jon and I went home and I tried to think about anything else.
I had the worst night’s sleep. I tossed and turned and thought about everything I shouldn’t.
“Maybe if I just did more research, was more prepared… this wouldn’t have happened.”
I know now that was the devil’s attempt to get inside my head. Even the doctor told us we didn’t do anything wrong — sometimes these things just happen because the chromosomes don’t align the way they should.
“If you think about, it really is amazing that we’re alive and we look the way we do,” he said.
I can’t argue with that statement, but I still had a hard time wrapping my head around everything that had happened.
I wasn’t particularly enthused about having to return to the doctor two days later to get more blood drawn in the morning only to hear later that day the news I dreaded in my heart.
The doctor tried to console me. “You’re the kind of person we root for,” he said.
As sat I there, all I could think about was, “This isn’t the appointment I signed up for.”
Originally, I was supposed to meet the doctor for my first prenatal appointment and hear how the baby was developing. Instead, I learned that about 10 to 20 percent of known pregnancies end in miscarriage.
Days later, I’m still processing everything. I know I wasn’t that far along and there are expectant mothers who go full-term only to have a stillborn (I’m so sorry if that’s any of you).
And I know some people might say, “Cheer up, there’s always next time,” — which is true, but just not very helpful, honestly.
To me, my pregnancy, albeit brief, was really exciting, and so to have that taken away was just… hard. Really hard.
But I’m determined to not let this come between me and God. He’s not a baby killer. He didn’t “do” this to me.
To protect myself from such thinking, I looked up different verses that describe God before going to bed one night. I came across Zeph 3:17 and kept repeating over and over, “The Lord your God is with you, the Mighty Warrior who saves.” I reminded myself that He is my “Rock” and my “Fortress,” (Psalm 31:3). I kept telling myself these truths to block out the lies.
I’m not perfect and I don’t have the answer for everything, but I know God is the only One who can help me endure whatever trial I’m going through — so why flee from His presence? It’s during this time that I need to draw as close as I can to Him and worship Him through the pain because no matter what, God is a good, good Father.
“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18).
I’m learning more about what James means when he says, “Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds…” (James 1:2).
Being joyful isn’t an emotional response. It doesn’t mean you need to slap a smile on your face and pretend to be “okay” when you’re not. Being joyful means trusting that the Lord has your back. It’s knowing that regardless of whatever you’re going through, you’re going through it with Him.
In Joshua 1:5, God says, “I will never leave you or forsake you.” What a sweet reminder to consider when the enemy tries to make us feel alone.
As we cling to Him with hopeful hearts and meditate on what His word says through times of despair, we grow in steadfastness.
“For you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing,” (James 1:3-4).
Like I said, I don’t have all the answers and I’m still learning and processing my way through all of this, but I wanted to write this as an encouragement to anyone who’s dealt with a similar situation. Know that if you ever want to talk or need prayer, I’m right here.