Saturday, March 9, 2013

Miscarriage: Waiting Rooms and Waiting Days

We are the only ones left in a waiting room long after all the well people normally leave the hospital.

This realization is what grounds the hope that's been swelled up like an inflated balloon in my lungs; I am holding my breathe and still somehow breathing.

But when she angled the computer monitor away from my face and stared grimly at the screen while pressing the wand against my belly, I knew something wasn't right.

I knew as I glanced inquisitively at my husband sitting across the room that when she was done snapping pictures, there'd be another waiting room waiting for us.

These past three months have been anchored in waiting.

We waited for the positive pregnancy test of our long-hoped for fifth pregnancy.

We waited for tests to come back confirming HCG levels were rising steadily.

We waited as each week rolled by to hear the heart beat of our baby as my stomach swelled and rounded.

All the while hoping the waiting would lead to our third child being born alive and well and beautiful in our arms.

But at the midwife's office there was no heartbeat found with the doppler. So we waited for an ultrasound later that evening.

And came full circle back to the waiting room.

Somewhere in the past week or so a feeling of peace had washed over my body -- peace I couldn't understand; I'm always thinking, sometimes anxious.

I prayed, though, in trust that God would take care of this baby and take care of me.

Peace, unexpected and abounding, in the surrender.

John and I hold hands, hopeful, but the balloon begins to deflate with every moment that passes, and I'm breathing deep breathes before she walks in and hands us the phone.

My midwife, she says she's sorry. The baby stopped growing. 10 weeks 5 days and I'm actually only 11 weeks 5 days and not the 13 we thought.

I don't hear anything else she says.

I birth heavy wet tears

in the midst of peace

I cannot explain.

I voice the injustice and I sob and I fall into my husband's arms with more questions than he could ever answer.

But underlying is this strange peace.

I don't sleep much that night

but I breath, and I tell my body

"it's ok. just let go. the baby is already in heaven. so let go."

I cry more through out the Day Two and notice cramping sneak into the lower parts of my abdomen,

heart still thick-coated in grief dancing closely with gratitude, each battling to take the lead

and un-understandable peace.

So we do what we know how to do:

We wait.

We pray.

Balloon of baby-hope deflated

deep breathing

as weeks of hopeful waiting

morph to

one night of waiting rooms and

bleed into waiting days.

"Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." Philippians 4:4-6

8 comments:

  1. I know that I'm sorry won't suffice. I know that there is nothing I can say, but I couldn't leave without typing words here. I wish I could hold you tight and let your cry on my shoulder and pour out your grief. Or buy you a latte and let you swear and hit the table with your fist.

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  2. so deeply sorry, hyacynth. my heart hurts with yours, and my eyes brim, too. i'm so thankful to read that you feel the deep shalom we're all praying over you. xo

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  3. oh friend...i really wish there were words enough to heal your broken heart, but what i DO know is that He knows and that He is near to you, even now. ((hugs)) and prayers, always. i love you.

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  4. Beautifully written and sorrowfully read. Prayer and peace for you and your family....

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  5. Thinking of you and praying, fervently praying, that you feel enclosed in His arms.

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  6. This is one of those times where simply saying "I'm sorry" just isn't enough. This is one of those times where I wish I could have sat in that waiting room with you, bring you a meal, take the kids for a few hours, anything. Know that I am praying for all of you as you process this.

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  7. Oh Hy, I am so sorry. So, so sorry. My heart is hurting right now along with yours. <3

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  8. Hy, I love you sister - I can't even read the whole thing right now - I know you will be leaning on Jesus - I am here if you want to talk or cry. I am so so sorry. Praying for you crying for you.

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There's nothing better than good conversation ... but not while talking to myself. Will you play a part in this discussion?

AND will you pretty please have your email linked to your account or leave it for me so I can respond?

Thanks for taking the time to make these thoughts into conversation.

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