Pregnancy After Miscarriage

For the long break I've taken with the blog, this seems like a rather heavy post to jump back into. But posting something about the miscarriage has been on my heart for a while and the need to write some things out has pressed long enough that here we are. Nobody may read this, and that's just as well.

I tried to hide the tears about to spill down my cheeks from the other patients in the waiting room. Seth would join me shortly but in the meantime the heaviness of the memory weighed hard. Have Thine own way, Lord, have Thine own way. I recited the lyrics to the comforting hymn in my head, remembering the encouragement we had just received the day before in church to meditate on songs of surrender. It was like the sermon had been for me. The song was not really me giving God permission, He didn't need my approval to do what He wanted with my life. It was a way to prepare my heart for the upcoming ultrasound. To remember He is the potter, I'm just clay.

A year prior I had bravely and pretty naively checked into my 12-week ultrasound appointment hoping for the best despite warning signs that something was likely wrong. This time, with the assurance of the baby's thump-thumping heartbeat heard on the doppler at home just hours before, I was still nervous to the point of tears. Seth sat down next to me and we made small talk until called back.

Thankfully it was a different sono room than a year ago and also a different tech. On the verge of tears I laid down on the table and almost held my breath as the warm jelly hit my stomach first and then the ultrasound wand. Within seconds she found the heartbeat and the tears flowed. I watched in both awe and grief as our little baby wiggled all around on the screen.

Of course we were so excited for this moment. We had been wanting another child for well over a year. Our second pregnancy was well planned, so we thought, even though it took two cycles of trying to conceive. After we lost that baby I knew I didn't want to try and replace that little life right away. For several months we--mostly I--groped with when and even how to move forward. And then we came to a peace but it took five months of trying, wondering and hoping that nothing had gotten "messed up" in the process of the miscarriage. Finally in the midst of a very emotional time, we had a positive pregnancy test and another roller coaster of emotions followed.

You would think that it would be all rejoicing. I imagine for some women whose experience is almost identical to mine, it is. Perhaps some are able to just completely embrace the hope in their womb and move forward with statistics as their assurance that all will be well. This time. But it was not that way for me all through those first twelve weeks, and it continues to be a journey of often reminding myself Whose child this is.

There are a lot of factors that play into emotions and l certainly don't understand it all. But as I move forward in this pregnancy, I have realized that one reason it's such a constant tension of joyful anticipation and heart wrenching pain is that I am grieving components of the miscarriage that I did not know how to grieve before. The loss had caught me off-guard, as I already mentioned that I had chosen optimism over realism when there were indications of something wrong. There were many tears those weeks, and I don't mean to gloss over the miscarriage as something that just happened. There was grief and pain, but there was also such a strong presence of prayer and support that most of the time I simply felt carried. It was hard, but I was able to see God's hand in it all.

Now, I still know God's hand is in our lives, and I still believe He is a good God. But I've had to ask myself the question: did He break my trust? If yes, then I have some work to do. If no, then I can trust the story He is writing without knowing the last page. This pregnancy has forced me to walk in faith because the health and life of our little miracle is largely out of my control. And I constantly have to choose hope, an expectation of what is not yet. As much as I want to be wildly excited and assume all will go well, I grieve the fact that my pregnancy experiences from now on will likely be tainted with apprehension and fear (which probably is reality for many women).

Amongst other things, I've also had to grieve the milestones that I've reached with this baby that I did not reach with the little one we lost. Don't get me wrong, I was overwhelmed with thankfulness for a good sono report. But I never had experienced a "normal" 12-week sono until the third pregnancy. We had skipped it with Lizah but decided to have one for our second because of a slight labor complication with L. As I waited to see what would come on the screen, I could hardly imagine what it was supposed to be like because the eerie stillness of our angel baby was all I could picture. We were so relieved to see movement and tiny little hands and feet, but I found myself sobbing in the days following the ultrasound at what we had missed a year ago. A year ago, I knew that ultrasound wasn't right, but I wasn't able to fully grieve what I didn't know. And now that I know it hurts so bad.

Grief is hard and weird and I'm still learning that it's not linear in any way. But I really like the way Jamie Anderson says it: Grief, I've learned, is really just love. It's all the love you want to give, but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go.

All of this is not to complain or diminish the amazing work God is doing inside me right now. Rather, it's an honest glimpse into the lasting effects of loss and the paradox that most of life is. Such pain and such beauty all on the same planet, all seen and cared for by the same God. I recognize there are women who have been through far more difficult stories of pregnancy loss and infertility. My respect for Sarah and Hannah, Rachel and Elizabeth has deepened this past year. And yet, in the midst of grief it's not about comparison.

Yes, I am so so thankful to be carrying our third child. Yes, I still struggle with the fact that all of this would've happened a year ago. I learned in a miscarriage devotional to not use the word "should" when coping with miscarriage, and replacing it with "would" does help. The word "hope" has taken on a deeper meaning these days as we anticipate a little one in our arms come early April. We have no promise of a healthy baby and safe delivery, but we do have a promise of His grace no matter what comes. He knows what we need more than we do, and although this may be more difficult to say these days, I do trust Him. Have Your way, Lord.