My Miscarriage Story {Part 1}

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Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break. ~William Shakespeare

It's been so long since I've entered this online space. I didn't intend to take a blogging hiatus, but sometimes life happens. And then, sometimes that life event melts into another event and before you know it over four months have gone by. While I find blogging a great way to blog through the ups and downs of life, sometimes you just can't put it all out there for all the world to see while it is happening. Sometimes you just need to sit with the sorrow before you invite others into the intimate spaces. It wasn't because I didn't want to write, quite the contrary, but more because I didn't know how to give my sorrow words. How does one write the words they can't even find in their heart?

In February, we found out that God was doing a new thing with us. After the initial shock of two pink lines, we were ecstatic. For us, fall and winter had been filled with lots of heartache as we walked away from broken community in search of a new church to call home.  Finding out I was pregnant for the second time during our adoption wait brought a giggle that I had a hard time containing within. It brought new joy to my days as I dreamed about another little one adding to the laughter and mischief in our home. It filled me with awe and wonder at God's plan for our life.

I enjoyed three weeks of pregnancy bliss, much different from my first two hyperemesis filled pregnancies. Besides a few nausea filled moments, I never got sick. To that, we were filled with hope that it might be a girl. We were thankful and I was still able to function through my days of caring for the boys. I napped every day. I ate like it was nobody's business...for once I enjoyed food during a pregnancy!

If I were to be honest, deep down I wondered if there could be something wrong. I've been told multiple times to expect hyperemesis with each pregnancy. By nature, I'm a worrier and grey clouds seem to follow me like a dust cloud follows Charlie Brown's friend, Pigpen. Worrying is just what I do.

And then, there was that night of looking on the Waiting Child list for our adoption agency. The night so filled with hope as we read about a little girl that needed somebody to wrap arms around her and never let go. We cried over her pictures and decided to inquire about her. Sure, it was crazy, but if she was ours, the timing of pregnancies and adoptions would work out. We prayed for her and told God we'd follow Him wherever He took us.

Just a few minutes later, hope gave birth to fear as I found myself staring at blood in the toilet and doubled over in pain.

And I knew.

The next morning as I sat in the waiting room filled with bellies and anticipation, I was filled with fear. I didn't want to walk into the ultrasound room. The memories of that room were happy; I wanted to keep it that way. As I paused in the doorway, Ray placed his hand in the small of my back to support me in the hardest thing we've had to do yet in our marriage. We held our breath while the ultrasound tech looked and measured on her hidden screen. Her question, "How sure are you about your dates?" gave away the answer to the news we already knew within. For once in my "mature" life, I knew the exact dates of my cycle. By our calculations, I was 8 weeks pregnant. By the ultrasound measurements, the baby was 5 weeks, 5 days.

It was over.

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