confessions of a broken heart

I’m not really even sure where to begin here. After all, where do you begin after you suffer a miscarriage, the loss of a child? Our doctor indicated Baby was likely around 6 ½ weeks in utero when development stopped, that the heart likely didn’t develop properly which inhibited overall development. We found out about the miscarriage two days ago at 9.2 weeks. Devastating. Looking at the sonogram monitor as our sweet nurse practitioner looked and looked at the picture. It just so happened that Abby had to go potty just as Crystal, our NP, started the internal sonogram. I could tell by the look on her face that there was something wrong. I could tell that she really didn’t want to deliver this bad news, especially since John had just stepped out with Abby. Her exact words, “Amy, I’m just not seeing what I should be seeing here.” In other words (and in her words later when John came back in the room), “it means there’s been a loss.” Words no parent wants to hear. That was our first sonogram to see our sweet babe number two. We were to hear the heartbeat for the first time in just a few weeks at our first scheduled sono.

John and I have talked about the fact that it’s amazing how your world can be completely turned upside down in a matter of minutes. John had come home for lunch on Tuesday as he does daily. I had lunch ready on the table a few minutes after he got here. He and Abby sat down and started while I ran to the bathroom as I normally have to do. That’s when I got the first physical indication that something might be wrong—light brown spotting. I immediately (and calmly) came back to the table and told John and then called Dr. Nord’s office. They didn’t seem overly concerned as I hadn’t had terrible cramping but offered me an appointment right away to come and have an internal sonogram done just to be sure. So we left the house within minutes for the hour-long drive to the office. That hour seemed like an eternity. I don’t think we even said five words to each other. I knew in my heart that something was definitely wrong and even sensed that it was likely miscarriage. But I wasn’t ready to face that reality or even mention what I sensed in my spirit. Honestly, more than 48 hours later, I still don’t think I’m ready to face that reality.

The fact of the matter is that it’s real. It happened. It’s done. Just over 48 hours ago, I was pregnant, anticipating the arrival of Baby in May. Forty-eight hours later, I’m not.

My doctor recommended having the dilation and evacuation (D&E) done the following day, yesterday, September 30. The hour-long drive back to Bloomington yesterday morning was probably the most difficult hour of my life, and probably John’s most difficult hour as well. Full of emotion. Full of tears. Full of hand-holding. Full of silence. Full of attempts to refocus through some good worship music and the Word.

So, less than 24 hours after we received the dreaded news that we had, in fact, lost our second sweet babe, we drove away from the hospital after my procedure. Again, we were a family of three. Just like that. Just a few days ago we were working diligently to begin transforming our guestroom into Abby’s new room so that we could make room for Baby in the nursery. Just a few days ago I bought my mom and dad onesies that said “I’m nuts about my grandma/grandpa” in anticipation of Baby’s arrival in May 2010. Just a few days ago John and I were having fun discussing names for Baby. Just a few days ago our sweet Abby was talking to her baby brother/sister in Mommy’s tummy, as she did almost daily. Just a few days ago I was enjoying sharing pregnancy stories and such with a friend who is due just a few months before I was. And now, a few days later, I am no longer pregnant. Just like that. We’re not discussing baby names. Abby isn’t saying sweet things to her baby brother/sister.

The outpouring of love and support from our families and friends has been amazing. We are so grateful for it. It has meant the world to us. Meals. Flowers. Phone calls. Text messages. Drop-ins. E-mails. Books. Kind words of support. Lots of prayer. All of this has certainly helped sustain us in these first couple days after our loss.

The hardest thing for me so far has been to talk about the situation and to see those we love and who know the situation face-to-face. In fact, I've only been able to see just a few people. I did have the opportunity to see our dear friends Nancy and Ken just after we received the news. Nancy was able to keep Abby for us while John and I grabbed some dinner, just spent some time together and also called to deliver the dreaded news to our parents and a couple of close friends. We’ve had John’s parents here since yesterday morning helping care for Abby and take care of things around the house as needed. My parents also offered to come at moment's notice if necessary. What a blessing they’ve all been.

Other than Ken and Nancy and John's parents, I’ve not been able to face anyone yet. Two of my dearest friends have stopped by with meals, flowers and cards, and I just haven’t been able to face them. It seems strange for me to even say it, honestly. And I don’t know that I can explain it. It’s just the reality of knowing that I was pregnant, and the fact that they were rejoicing with me in that, and now I’m not, and they’re grieving with me in that. I don’t know if facing them makes it more real or what. It’s really strange. I just know that I’m not quite ready for getting back to normal, whatever that is. I suppose we have a new “normal” now. We’ve joined those millions of parents who have suffered the loss of a child. A place no parents, or parents-to-be, ever picture themselves. A place I never want anyone else to be.

All of this seems so surreal to be honest. As I said, our lives were turned upside down a couple of days ago. We’ve cried a lot. We’ve held each other a lot. We’ve spoken little. There just isn’t much to say yet, I guess. I suppose there will be at some point. Our hearts’ desire is to have another child, for Abby to be a big sister, as she was so highly anticipating. And, I can honestly say that I believe God intends for us to have another child, just as I believe He intended us to get pregnant with Baby Two after 21 months of praying and trying.

I was just sharing with my a couple of my dear friends the evening we found out about our loss that from the very beginning of this pregnancy I believe God was preparing me for the loss. I know. Strange, right? But I honestly sensed in my spirit that there was something wrong. I just couldn’t put my finger on it. It wasn’t that I dwelled on the negative or even feared something terrible was going to happen. But I believe that God kept me from getting too attached to this child knowing that this was in His plan. Don’t get me wrong, I was ecstatic that we were expecting again. After all, we had been trying for 21 months. It'd been a long road for us, just as it was conceiving Abby. But from the very beginning, I sensed something wasn't right. I didn't fear what might happen or even dwell on it. I didn’t really know why or what would happen. I just knew something wasn’t quite right. But God was undoubtedly preparing me, my heart, for the loss. Amazing.

However, I went on with day-to-day life, trusting God with our sweet babe. We shared the news with family and close friends right away, just like we did with Abby. I was enjoying pregnancy, just like I did with Abby. We were preparing the house and such, just like we did with Abby. I was reading pregnancy websites, being reminded of Baby’s growth and development and even learning new things, just like I did with Abby. But something was different. And God knew. And He was gracious enough to keep me from getting too attached emotionally. And even with that sense in my spirit, I wasn’t prepared for the news that was delivered to me at 2:30 in the afternoon on September 29 … “this means there’s been a loss.” I wasn’t prepared for that reality. This has been harder than I could have ever imagined. And yet I know that Jesus has His arms wrapped around me. I know that my hope is in Him. I know that I God’s grace and mercy have gotten me through these past two days and will sustain me to the end.

So, eventually, over the next few days, we’ll get back to day-to-day life. Back to our new normal. My body will continue to heal. We will again trust God to provide another sweet addition to our family. The hardest part will be sharing the news with those who don’t yet know it and facing those of you who do. When we meet you--our family, our friends, our church family--face-to-face, don’t worry about saying the right thing. We don’t expect you to know what to say or how to say it. In fact, there really isn’t a right thing to say or way to say it. We appreciate whatever you do say or do. We appreciate you saying just that…that "there are no words." We appreciate your encouragement and prayer support. We just need time to heal. And we will.