Hello all,
This blog post has been one that I have pondered and
considered writing for a very long time, and one that has not been an easy one
to write...
So, here goes: Ben and I had a miscarriage after being
married for a few months, and it was one of the hardest experiences I(we) have
ever gone through, and one that I will always look on as a personal Gethsemane
for me to live through. Not very many people knew, only very very close family,
and a handful of friends or people who needed a reason for why I was not in
school for a day or two, etc. We didn't share it because it was just too
painful for us, and something that still makes our hearts ache to think about,
so if you are close to us and are just finding out, it was not a trust issue by
any means, there just was never a reason to want to bring it up until now. I do
know though, that as I talk about it, I am able to understand and help those
who have pregnancy scares or miscarriages, and my heart is much bigger than it
ever would have been. I just read a blog that mentioned how pro-lifers should
still see miscarriage as a loss just as much as an abortion regardless of how
or when or why the baby was lost, and I knew I needed to share our story (I say
our story because it wasn't just me who lost a baby, it was Ben too).
Miscarriages are hard. No matter how early, and no matter
how late. Ours ended up being an early one. We wouldn't have told people we
were pregnant for another month and a half anyways, but it didn't matter
because suddenly we weren't pregnant anymore and nobody needed to know why I
was so sad, or why both Ben and I would hurt looking at other children and why
we still secretly go into a panic whenever a friend or loved one has something
happen during a pregnancy or to their child and seem to go overboard in making
sure they are okay. It changes you. Even if it happens early on, you still make
plans, you still dream, you still connect to that baby. I haven’t had a
miscarriage late in pregnancy ( I sincerely hope I never will because it is a
fear that has plagued me throughout this pregnancy to no end) so my experience
cannot even fully grasp the pain that must come to those who have already
announced their pregnancy and have had even more time to plan and connect and
dream of their baby, but I do know that it does hurt just as bad. A baby is a
child to a parent at 4 weeks, 6 weeks, 15 weeks, 20 weeks, 25 weeks, etc. A parent is a
parent from the moment that stick turns blue or a plus sign appears and the
pain is real throughout any point.
We lost our little one around 6-7 weeks. We named our baby
Eliza, because we felt that it was probably a girl when we prayed about it, and Eliza
fit very well. We were floored and so excited because we had wanted a baby from
the very beginning of our marriage and had talked about it. We couldn't help
but begin planning for what life would be like with a baby, the adventures and
joys we would find, and the sleepless nights that would be worth every moment
for this little gem in our lives. We kept it very private and I began to be
very very careful. I had to walk a lot to school because we didn't have a car
at the time and I dealt with being super tired, and unbelievably exhausted
whilst working, going to school, and trying to finish my degree. It was hard,
but again we were very excited. I started to get little cramps here and there,
and I would just rest and try to stay down in case it was from doing too much.
I did research and found that there were pains that came from growth and hoped
that perhaps the pain was just from a growing uterus, rather than anything
else.
Then, while we were on vacation for Thanksgiving visiting
family things changed. We were lifting and running after little kids. I was
tickling, kissing, hugging, and teasing, and I picked up my nephew and carried
him around the house on my back. We wanted to shout to the roof to everyone how
thrilled we were, and to apologize for my being so tired and why I wasn't
getting up as early, and why I could hardly function after a certain time, but
we felt we needed to wait. The night of Thanksgiving I was getting ready for
bed when I used the bathroom and found that light tinge of pink/red that I had
heard of being a problem and was already afraid of. I asked for a blessing from
my husband and my dad who was privy to the knowledge that we were pregnant
immediately and felt peace from the blessing. I took it easy the next couple of
days, and hoped and prayed the spotting would stop. When we got home, I missed
a couple of days from school because the spotting was now bleeding, and I was
sick with worry. After a few days, we finally went in to the doctor and found
out after two ultrasounds and a blood test that I had lost the baby, and that
my body was completely clean of any traces of our little hope and dream. The
doctor was great and told us that he and his wife had had a miscarriage before
and how sorry he was, and the ultrasound tech asked me why I waited so long to
come in (insurance issues, traveling, and just not wanting to give up hope were
what I thought, but I didn't have words to say at the time). Our friends who
had given us a ride to the clinic took us to get some lunch, and then took us
home, and Ben and I crawled into bed and cried, holding each other for I don't know how long. I would cry
many times, and I would hold back tears in church when a little baby would
smile at me, or reach out to touch me. Ben was more silent and didn't cry
around me, but he hurt too. We would talk about it, and made sure we didn't
avoid it with each other, that we would mourn together, and that we would
include the Lord in our pain because only He would be able to help us overcome
the pain we felt.
As we tried to move on and heal we asked what could have
happened, and were told that that early on the pregnancy may not have fully
taken, and implantation may not have completed and that some of the concerns I
had had from day one indicated that possibility. I had hormone imbalances that
were being treated with birth control and I had stopped taking it to try for
kids, and I wondered if perhaps my lack of certain hormones had prevented the
pregnancy from progressing. There were so many “what ifs” and possibilities,
and I worried about every single one of them. What if I had caused it when I
carried my nephew around? Had I waited too long to go in? Would anyone have believed
me if I had gone in when I told them my symptoms? I don’t know. And I learned
that we oftentimes never know. That many miscarriages happen because the body
of the baby wasn't strong enough to develop because of chromosomal
abnormalities that were not compatible with life outside the womb. Some were
caused by hormone imbalances, and then some just happened sporadically. I did
my research, and I learned all I could. The greatest lessons would come from
the Lord though.
I wish I could say I went through this experience without
any anger or resentment to the Lord, but that would be a lie. For the first
time in my life, I realized that I thought things would work out as I wanted
and that because I was faithful and that I had done everything I could that Eliza
would live. It took a lot of praying, a lot of studying, and pondering, and the
softening of my heart to learn a very hard and painful lesson I don’t wish to
put on anyone if I could help it: Sometimes, even after you have done
everything in your power even for the Lord, things still don’t work out.
Sometimes while the Lord has the power to give us everything, He doesn’t
because it isn’t what will teach us, or help us in the long run. Sometimes, His
greatest mercy comes from not giving us what we ask for, even when it is
righteous and good and holy, and in having us wait, sometimes in the dark, to
understand at another time, or to trust that He has a greater reason than even
we can understand we learn the most and are blessed the most.
I hated that lesson for a long time, and it took me months
to learn and to understand why He would do that to me. I couldn't understand
why I felt things would work out so well and then they didn't. Then I started
to just let go of the pain because holding onto it hurt too much, and as hurt
and as angry as I was with the Lord, I didn't know any other way to cope with
it than to come to Him for help still. (I’m very bad at being mad at people and
pulling away from them, it’s just not how I work). As I embraced the mystery of
the experience and said, “I don’t understand and I may not until I am on the
other side, but I can’t do this anymore on my own, please, Lord, please help me
to know how to move on and what I can do.” I found that I needed and wanted to
choose God over my pride, over my understanding, and over my justified pain,
and I let go of needing to know and just began to live life each day as I
could. And slowly, I found that while I was definitely depressed and was sad
and not quite myself anymore, I began to hope. I began to just accept that the
Lord knew better than I could and that someday I would understand, and that
even though I felt confused, He hurt with me and for me, and that that pain was
shared and that sorrow was shared by not just myself or Ben, but by our Savior,
Jesus Christ.
I learned of eternal hope, and I learned to appreciate the
healing effects of the Atonement. My heart grew and softened and I found that
there were angels on earth who helped me. Friends who suspected and shared
their experiences to help me, classmates who saw that I was hurting and even
though they didn't know why brought me notes of love, offers of service, and
hugs filled with love. I found that the Lord had surrounded me with people who
loved me. And even when people would ask me if I was pregnant because I looked
a little heavier and was more emotional, or when people asked me why I felt the
need to want kids so early and just to enjoy being married first, I would just
move on and forward. It wasn’t easy, but I learned after healing slowly and
taking it a day at a time, that after a while, I loved the Lord far more than I
had before. That I had the opportunity to hate Him and walked away from it
because I could never hate Him, that even when I was hurt and confused that I
STILL chose God over anything else, I learned that I had made my choice and
that choice would be a testimony on my heart for the rest of my life. I learned
that if this ever happened again (which I still sincerely hope never happens) I
would die inside but I would never doubt the love of a loving Heavenly Father,
or my Savior, Jesus Christ.
Because of my hormone issues (especially without birth
control helping to minimize symptoms or restoring lost levels) I would get
symptoms of pregnancy every month. Soon my periods were two months apart and I
would spend every month worrying about whether I was pregnant or not. I would
have false alarm after false alarm, and would take I don’t know how many tests
in hope that perhaps we could try again. Then we felt we were pregnant after
about six months of trying after the miscarriage and didn't get a positive
test. We still hoped. With my hormones being worse, I wondered if perhaps it
would take a few weeks to manifest and if I was just patient I would know. I
was in the midst of my internship for my degree and I had so many symptoms. I
was even gaining the weight that comes with pregnancy and we wondered if by
some strange stroke of luck we had a unique pregnancy. After another ultrasound
and a failed blood test though, we were sent back to the same conclusion as we
had been many times before: Not yet.
While I was heartbroken, I knew this time I could handle it,
and while I felt I would get pregnant soon because I had prayed and knew
something was close (how long that close would take to manifest I didn't know, a
few weeks, a few months? A year? I was accepting that the Lord’s time was not
my own) I moved on and just decided to stop trying for a while. That the Lord
still loved me, and even though I didn't understand completely why again this
was happening, I moved forward with love and Ben and I both just tried to let
go for a while. After going through the darkest time in my life and I can’t
speak for Ben, but definitely the darkest time in our time as a married couple,
we had found the torch that would take us through it and we knew that we could
handle it and wait, as much as it hurt and as much as we didn't want to.
Then we moved, and I started to feel sick all over again.
This time my symptoms were worse and I just accepted that once again it would
be a month of red herrings and dead ends. Two-three months passed without a
period and I felt like perhaps my body was unable to deal with pregnancy or
periods right now and just accepted it. That was when symptoms continued to get
weirder and weirder and finally, Ben and I decided to test, quite hesitantly,
to see if I was pregnant. And that was when I found out I was once again,
pregnant for real.
It has been a miracle, and Ben and I have tried to cherish
every moment. I still remember testing a couple of times to make sure, praying
with all of my heart when I had to confirm with a doctor that it would be
positive (and getting a result that was about as positive as could be), and us
both holding our breath when we had to do an ultrasound, praying we would see a
little bean moving around, and being so happy when we saw a baby growing rather
than an empty uterine cavity. I have worried every day of this pregnancy, and I
had prayed and prayed for this baby to stay and he has. The Lord has constantly
reassured me over and over that this baby was ours and here to stay. When we
passed the point of viability I let out a sigh of relief that if I did go into
labor early, that Finch still had a chance to live on his own outside of me,
and each day I thank God for my little son.
We still miss our Eliza. We still wonder why she had to
leave us too soon, but I look back on the year we had after losing her, and I
realize that the Lord gave us a gift we needed. Ben and I learned that the Lord
is always there and that He loves us more than we can ever even begin to
comprehend. I learned that if I lost everything I held dear that I would never
lose my testimony or lose the love of my Heavenly Father. I learned that Ben
and I grew to love each other at a deeper level than I could even imagine
possible, and our love has only deepened. I wouldn't trade the lessons we
learned for anything, and if I had to go through the miscarriage again to have
the marriage that I do, and to have the testimony that I do, I would do it over
and over again. I realize that the body my little one would have had would have
had many problems and that perhaps it had served its purpose and she was with
God again, or that perhaps maybe we will see her again in a body that will be
stronger and more able to handle the challenges of life in ways this little
body could not. I don’t know, I still don’t have all of the answers, but now, I
know that I don’t them to trust in God or to know that He loves me. I don’t
need them, and I instead need to always trust in Him. I look back on the
timeline before finding out we were pregnant with Finch, and there were
miracles forming and preparing us in ways I wouldn't have been ready for
before, and that the Lord had paved the way for this little boy to be with us.
With nine weeks left before his due date, I look back on 31
weeks of miracles, and mercy and love.
If you have suffered from losing a child, or dealing with a
miscarriage, it is okay to mourn. You DID lose a loved one, and you deserve the
right to be devastated by it. Anyone who tells you to let go and move on, it
was just a ball of tissue is fooling themselves, and doesn’t know, because a
person who has lost a loved one knows that it hurts. It is scary, and it is
painful and lasts a long time. We got Zola in the midst of our mourning because
we felt prompted to find something to help our hearts heal, and she has been a
tender mercy for us in ways I never knew possible. She filled my heart and is
probably all the more special to me because of the hole she filled. I am so deeply
sorry to any of you who have gone through this, and if I ever know, know that
while I may not know your experience the way you do, that I extend my arms of
love to you, and that I love you and will help in any way I can. If you don’t
want me to know, that is okay too. It’s taken me over a year to share this, I
will never ever force or expect you to share if it is too much.
Ben and I still miss Eliza. We still have anxiety attacks
when someone we know and love is dealing with a miscarriage or the possibility
of losing a baby. Our hearts go out to you, and we love you. It is always okay
to mourn and miss those lost loved ones and it is okay to consider them parts
of your family. I know we do. It takes time, and it takes the Savior to handle
the pain. I hope that you never forget that in whatever circumstance you find
yourself in and in any trial or tribulation, that God loves you. That you have
a Savior, who died for and suffered not only for your sins, but also
experienced every pain you have and will endure and that He is there to help
you through it. I know, because He helped me, and He helped Ben, and our hearts
while still tender, are healed. You are not alone. There is a silent club of us
who have lost loved little ones, and no matter how early on or how late you
lose them, you are always welcome, sadly of course, but always welcome. It
hurts no matter what, but I have found that I have loved more deeply and more
openly and freely as a result, and that when I needed it, many of those who had
lost babies and children were there and understood how to help. I know that Ben
and I will always be there to help those who deal with it. Please know you are
never alone, and that you are always loved.
Thanks for reading.
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