In just over a week (or any day now, really), I’ll be meeting my baby boy for the first time. Even though I’ve had 9 months to process it, it all still feels so surreal. Truth be told, this process has lasted much longer than 9 months for me; its been over a year.
March 8, 2014 was the first time I found out I was pregnant. I didn’t believe it at first because the line on the pregnancy test appeared to be pretty faint. So I decided to wait until the following morning to take another test. Sure enough, I was pregnant with my first baby. I told my husband that morning, and our immediate family that afternoon.
Ten days later, I had my first ultrasound and saw the tiny speck that was my baby. Just a week thereafter, that tiny speck miraculously exhibited a little flicker on the ultrasound: my baby’s beating heart. At that point it started to feel real; I had a human life growing inside me. My next ultrasound was scheduled in another four weeks and all was well.
Except I didn’t make it for another four weeks.
On April 7, 2014, after seeing some occasional spotting, I went in for a last minute ultrasound. I had read that some spotting was normal, so I wasn’t really worried at that point but wanted to make sure everything checked out alright.
What followed was shock and heartbreak. How could this be when I had just seen my baby’s heartbeat? All I could do as I sat in that sinking chair was cry; nothing to say, nothing to ask. With each tear I tried to comprehend the words that were coming out of the doctor’s mouth, but I couldn’t. Eventually, she sat and cried with me.
The week that followed may have been harder than the news itself. I was told that my body would naturally “get rid” of the baby. So I waited for my body to do what it had to do. Every day I would wake up and wonder if today was the day I would bleed out. The anticipation was agonizing and in some weird way, I felt like my body was making a mockery of me. I wanted the nightmare to end and I wanted closure. Day after day I waited with nothing coming out of my body except for tears. The emotional trauma was just too much to bear, and so I called my doctor and decided to go in for a D&C (dilation and curettage) that weekend. In just less than a week after hearing the piercing news, the nightmare was over.
While it was only a month between the time I found out I was pregnant and my miscarriage, the pain of the loss was palpable. From the moment you see those two pink lines, your mind can’t help but fantasize about whether it’s a boy or girl, what you would name it and what your baby would look like.
After my miscarriage, in July 2014 I again saw those two pink lines. This time I was cautiously happy. After I took the test, I used the due date calculator to find out my estimated due date. The date that appeared brought me to instant tears: April 7, 2015; the exact date in 2014 I was told that my baby no longer had a heart beat. Again I cried, but this time they were thankful tears. All I could do was thank God as I heard in my head, “The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away.” For whatever reason, what the Lord took from me on April 7, 2014 would be given back a year later. Whatever His reason, I know that I have one angel in Heaven, and that I’m now days away from meeting the greatest gift He could have ever given me. Thank you, Lord, for your grace and mercy.
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