After my first miscarriage, I continued working a nine-to-five job at the corporate offices of an interior car part company. I had a great boss, co-workers, and working environment. My mind was somewhere else, though. I wanted to be at home taking care of our baby…I could see it in my mind’s eye. I was in the kitchen feeding our baby in the highchair. I would speak playfully to David or Abby, “want another bite?” I could imagine our baby’s gleeful grin and a set of Jeff’s blue eyes sparkling back at me. I knew I would be a stay-at-home mom, and I eagerly looked forward to that day.
Every month I would take a pregnancy test and every month it spoke to me, “Come on, crazy girl. You aren’t pregnant!” Well, maybe it didn’t speak to me literally, but it came to the point where I prepared my mind for the ‘minus‘ sign to appear on the test strip in three to five minutes. Others around me told me it sometimes takes 4 – 6 months of trying before you find out you are pregnant. Around month eight of hoping for a positive pregnancy test result, I began to have menstrual symptoms, but for several weeks too long. I didn’t know what it meant, but I went to the doctor to see if I should be concerned about anything. The doctor ordered a blood test, though I wasn’t sure why.
A few days later, I received a call from the doctor’s office. One of the nurses exclaimed, “Congratulations! You’re pregnant!” It took me a minute to realize someone had not told her my symptoms! Instantly, my heart rose and then fell as I assessed my symptoms in comparison to her good report. My response was, “Does this mean I am having another miscarriage?” She stuttered a professional response and said she would discuss this with the doctor and get back with me.
My thought was simple – “Why me?”
I went to the doctor’s office to have my blood drawn. I sat in the quiet waiting room by myself. It was a gorgeous doctor’s office. The furniture displayed a beautiful olive green and plum color palette with splashes of cherry wood trim. Everything looked so well put together. My insides did not match my surroundings. Not only did I feel out of place, I inwardly pained as I saw ladies enter the room with full term bellies, no doubt getting final ‘look-overs’ before heading to labor. It just was not fair. How can I be a follower of God, have a wonderful husband who also loves God with all his heart, and WE are the ones going through this?
They called my name and by now, I knew to hold out my left arm and show them the best needle location. I would turn my head to the right, wait for the “pinch”, hear the switch of reservoirs, hold the cotton ball down, and wait for them to tape up my arm. The technicians I have met are all the same – kind, but quiet. Just doing their job, most likely afraid to offer comfort or ask questions in such a public area… I bit my lip to keep from crying.
After several blood tests, I was informed that my HCG levels (hormones that indicate pregnancy health) were bouncing up and down. I was told this is often a symptom of ectopic (sometimes called tubal) pregnancy, and my symptoms were easily attributed to this type of pregnancy. They couldn’t be sure, but what they did know is that I was not experiencing a normal pregnancy and that there was nothing that could be done… I remember the doctor telling me that there are no surgery procedures that can be done to fix this situation and there is nothing that will cause the baby to implant to my placenta. She was trying to tell me it was not destined to be a successful pregnancy. She then informed me there was a shot they could give me that would complete the miscarriage process (that my body had already begun) and cause my HCG levels to go to zero, which was necessary at the time to stop the bleeding and to avoid my tube from rupturing.
As I stood there receiving the shot, I cried. It was a bare soul moment. Not only could I never have this baby (that I found out about only a few days before), I had to let someone administer a shot to me that would end it quickly. I turned my head away from the nurse to quickly wipe my tears and “save face”. I will never forget that as she completed her task, she said to me with the soft voice of an angel, “We will never understand why these things happen to such good people.” I meagerly responded my thanks and quickly left the office. (I wish I knew how to reach her now to offer my thanks for such a sensitive and healing word in my time of grief.)
I walked out the building, got in my car and began the drive home. It is funny how in those moments, the rest of the world is still moving on. Cars are speeding by, people are shopping, going on lunch break from work…and I was sandwiched in grief….
TO BE CONTINUED…