We got some sad news last week. On March 1 we found out we were expecting our 3rd baby, and last Friday we had our first appointment and found out we weren’t anymore.
From what they could see on the ultrasound it looked like the baby must have stopped growing really early on, there wasn’t any form or anything. I didn’t have any symptoms of miscarriage at all until this week, which would have been 13 weeks pregnant.
It’s been really sad for all of us. Now we know the baby wasn’t alive for long, but he or she was very alive in our hearts and dreams and plans. We would have been due in November and I had so many ideas about holding our newborn at Thanksgiving dinner and Christmas with the new baby. We’re all really disappointed. It’s hard, but we’re doing okay.
I know that baby is in heaven now, and there everything is perfect. I hope he or she is blissfully happy and perfectly content, utterly loved. I know they’re with Jesus and no love is better than that. I just hope they aren’t missing us. I don’t really know how it works. But for me it hurts to be apart.
I’ve heard so many new terms over the past week like blighted ovum, chemical pregnancy, missed miscarriage. It’s interesting to me learning all these new things, but I wish it was in the context of a fictional story, not a first-hand experience.
One thing that took me by a total surprise was the physical toll this takes on your body. I have always had sympathy for people who’ve gone through a miscarriage because of the way I imagined it would be so devastatingly disappointing. I had no idea of the physical pain involved. The only thing I can compare it to is labor, and not like the beginning joking-around stages of labor, more like almost-the-very-end part that feels like if this does not stop soon I am going to die. It really blew my mind, I had no idea. I have so much more sympathy for people now. And I’ve read it can last for weeks? I am really hoping that’s not the case right now. I’ve also read every miscarriage is different, so they can be unpredictable (not my favorite sort of thing.)
Landon was talking about the day we had our appointment/ultrasound and how we should just call it how it was, it just sucked. I told him if I were to describe it I might say it was utterly miserable and devoid of all happiness. He said that’s because I read a lot and he doesn’t.
We laughed, but really I can say that I was amazed at how even in the void of happiness, there was still peace. There were still moments of joy, even on that day. There is still hope. And I thank God for that.
I cling to the promise that He works all things together for good. That He does not cause bad things, but He will take them and use them for good, for me and for others. I look forward to that.
So in sharing this, I hope maybe someday it might help somebody else. I’ve been amazed at how nearly every friend I’ve talked to has told me their own story of a miscarriage. It’s like 1 out of 3 women I heard? Or maybe somehow sharing it will help me. I’m not looking for sympathy, just connection. We go through life, there’s good and bad, and I don’t want to only document the good. This is bad, I want to accept it for what it is. And one day I hope my kids can look back and see that there were hard seasons too, but we made it through them.