This Is What It Means To Be Held

I’m not completely sure why I’m sitting here writing this. I usually prefer to suffer in silence…wanting no one to feel the pain I’m in, or even know I’m suffering.
But…for some odd reason the need to write this won’t go away. My only explanation for this desire is that just maybe what I write can be of some comfort to someone who has lost their unborn child. I have come across so many blogs from women in my position. They've brought so much comfort and wisdom. I know when people are brave enough to reach out, they realize there are more people going through situations just like them.
Very few people knew that I was pregnant. We had tried for so long to no avail. On February 4 when that little pink plus sign popped up I was floored. I can’t even relay my excitement. I was shaking. I had daydreamed so many times of how I would tell Richard that he was finally a Daddy. All sane thoughts left me and I ended up plopping it on the office desk as he was playing a game online. Joy isn’t a good enough word, we were so excited and couldn’t stop talking about how we were going to tell family and friends, what we were going to name our girl…Richard was certain it was a girl, there was no way it could be anything but.
We made an appointment with a midwife and went through all the motions. I had ultrasounds and blood work and everything checked out. My numbers were right on track.
It was hard keeping that secret for 9 weeks. We had decided to wait until Easter to tell my family, as we would be with them. We were able to keep everything mum, even through all the morning “turned all day long” sickness. I don’t know how I managed to keep from hollering, “I’m pregnant” while I was on the phone with my Mom. I can promise you it was all I thought about while I talked to her.
It wasn’t until the 8th week when the bleeding started. I saw my midwife again and she assured me that my blood work had come back and my numbers were absolutely perfect. She was also quick to let me know there was nothing they could do if I did miscarry. It’s horrible being helpless. I clung to hope. I’m one of those people who deny what’s going on and refuse to think about it until I’m faced with absolutely no other alternative.
50% of bleeding during pregnancy ends in miscarriage. Unfortunately, I became part of that 50%.
March 18 I started cramping. Nothing alleviated the pain and I could not sleep. Around 3am on the 19th my long awaited “miracle” baby slipped away. The baby I honestly thought I would never be able to conceive was here and gone again. It was the absolute most traumatic and painful experience I have ever been through.
I am so thankful that Richard was there. I don’t know what I would have done if I had been alone.
The days that followed were full of grief. We traveled to my parents for Easter, which was actually a welcome relief as it kept my mind preoccupied. It was coming back home that was hard; being alone during the day while Richard was at work, and me not being able to get up and around until I was healed.
It’s in times like these, trials and tribulations when your faith is truly tested. I experienced every emotion known to man. I was stricken with uncontrollable tears, I got mad, I blamed myself, I got mad at my midwife…You name it I probably felt it. The simple sight of baby wipes brought on a flood of tears. Seeing babies in commercials made me ache with grief. Knowing that the vast majority of people in medicine referred to my loss as a spontaneous abortion made me so angry. To even be associated with women who did not desire their children made my blood boil. I wanted that child more than anything.
I know some people may think me utterly ridiculous for grieving over a child I only had for 9 weeks. I’ve encountered people who don’t understand, or think women like me should get over it. People like this don’t understand. I know I didn’t. A friend of mine had multiple miscarriages. I sympathized with her, but I didn’t understand it. Walking a mile in someone else’s shoes will do wonders.
If you’re in my position, don’t ever let anyone tell you to get over it. You’re entitled to grief just as much as the next person.
I don’t know why this happened to me. If it had been up to me I would have never chosen to go through this. I do, however, know this…everything happens for a reason. I was blessed to have that child the few short weeks I did. I’m not promised any more.
I don’t know why I lost my child, but I do know it’s made me stronger. It’s given me a healthy perspective on our bodies. We were fearfully and wonderfully created. It amazes me that our bodies can go through horrible things and still go on. God’s providence has taken on new meaning. I know I’m not in control, and this reminded me. No matter how much I prayed and begged God not take my child, He still did. I could get angry and bitter and say it’s not fair. Who am I to say that? He had His purpose in taking my child. As our pastor said, He wanted this one now. How can I be angry? I rejoice knowing that even though I miss that child I carried for 9 weeks, my baby never had to know the sufferings of this world. My baby is safe in the arms of Jesus. There is truly no better place to be.
It still hurts, I still cry, but not as much as I used to. I still wonder why I had to experience this, but I remind myself that out of suffering comes hope. His mercies are new every morning.
This is what it means to be held, how it feels when the sacred is torn from your life and you survive. This is what it is to be loved and to know the promise was when everything fell we would be held.