The Story Never Told

In the late hours of last night I found myself with eyes wide open. I could tell by Hubs deep breathing that he had drifted off into dreamland. I don't usually suffer from insomnia, but this night I did. (Aging body, perhaps?) I laid perfectly still and listened to the sounds of the night. The guinea pig downstairs scampered about noisily. Kaytlin's cat quietly roamed the house. With my eyes shut tight I begged for sleep to come. I forcibly tried to make my body feel fatigue. But neither refused to happen. I tossed, I turned. I sighed. Then I wondered what early menopause feels like. Glancing at the clock I watched midnight slip by...then 1:00...1:30...2:00...
Sleeping children rolled over in bed from down the hall...making the worn wood of their beds whine from the weight of their bodies. Little Chase awoke for a while and decided to chat himself back to sleep. I watched the video monitor for a few moments and smiled. His mouth opened and closed; eyes flashing white (and rather freaky, if you ask me) from the night-vision camera. He rolled and babbled happily until he gave in to slumber. And I thought....how blessed I am. Five healthy children tucked safe within the warm blankets of their beds. Life. Is. Good.
My mind replayed moments in time where it wasn't always this way. Five years after our last little girl was birthed into the world, I had that inkling. That incredible maternal urge to hold yet another baby in my arms. After Lexi, we purposed that our family was complete and that chapter in our lives was through. Time is a funny thing. It changes us...our perspective and our desires. After cautious thinking, Hubs somewhat reluctantly agreed. Throwing all caution to the wind we traveled down that path of our journey. After two heartbreaking losses I found myself more determined than ever. I blogged about them back then...but I chose to leave the third and last loss out. I kept that story hidden deep within the wounds of my own heart. Perhaps I felt like the wound was too deep to share; that if I truly spoke the words that were within no one would comprehend. Maybe I felt as though I would be judged...I have three perfectly healthy girls; why should I want more? And even deeper still rang a harsh question that begged to be answered: Was this God's way of telling me enough was enough? Does He really work like that? I questioned many things at that time. I felt physically, spiritually and emotionally weakened. I thought I was desiring a good thing...why did God's answer keep coming back "No"? Could He not find another, more gentle way to tell me?
In April of 2011 the pregnancy test came up yet again positive. I maintained an optimistic mindset. Surely God wouldn't allow a third miscarriage. This had to be the one that stuck. When I went to my first ultrasound I grew increasingly apprehensive. What once used to be a joyful anticipation had now become filled with anxiety and doubt. Relief settled over my body when my eyes held the image on the screen. The smallest of babies. 6 weeks old, and with a heart galloping along at 106 beats per minute. I allowed myself to be excited. Reality set in. Life was indeed growing deep within me. When I received the paper report of the ultrasound doubts once again gripped me. It stated that there was a subchorionic hemorrhage on the placenta. In short, a small part of the placenta had torn away from the bed of the uterus and caused a small bleed. After some research I learned that studies show that fetal demise is often the outcome in these situations. My heart sank a little. My OB doctor, being the sweet little Italian lady that she is, immediately ordered a follow-up ultrasound to be done one week later. Once again, I was frightened to look at the screen. But I saw it right away: that beautiful flash of a beating heart. Racing along at 155 beats per minute; a good sign. The SCH was still present, but unchanged in size. Things were looking good. Christmas that year was going to be busy with our newest little one due to arrive in early December. After two successful ultrasounds we felt confident in sharing our secret with our girls. Their reaction was utter delight! They were amazed with the baby's pictures and that there was a little one growing within Momma's tummy. They were, however, less than impressed with how the little one made Momma so very sick, as all my babies do.
To keep a close eye on the hemorrhage (and also to give a weary mother peace of mind), my doctor scheduled an appointment for me to come to her office. It was a beautiful spring day on May 10th. I was nine and a half weeks along. Last minute, Hubs decided he was able to go with me. We dropped our girls off at my sister's house and proceeded to the doctor's office. Anxious to catch another glimpse of my growing baby. As I lay on the table my eyes turned toward the screen and behold there the little one was. His or her spine clearly visible; its body still curled up tight like a jelly bean.

 I noticed that the room was eerily silent. In a fraction of a second, before my sweet doctor could utter the words I knew. Gone was the flash of beating heart that I had twice seen before. So still that baby sat. How small the room became. As she proceeded to carefully choose her words I interrupted her. "It's okay." When in fact, in the midst of my little crisis it quite wasn't. My first instinct was to feel sad for my physician as she struggled to find the right words to say. Sad that her job is sometimes full of complete joy, and other times hopeless sorrow. She still held out hope, though, and wanted to send me where better equipment just might prove her ancient one faulty. Hubs and I left. Without speaking a word we traveled just a few short miles away to the hospital. I refused to cry. He wasn't quite sure what to say. Tears threatened, but somehow I thought if I gave in it would make it all true. I wanted to hold out hope. Once we arrived to the hospital, Hubs dropped me off at the front door and left to park the car. I found the proper department and was handed sheets of paper to fill out. Last menstrual period? Prior miscarriages and deliveries? I could barely remember how to spell my name my head was spinning so fast. I completed it the best I could, handed it back in and waited. I sat. I stood. I paced. From the clear glass walls I could see what a beautiful day it was outside. I stood facing the wall so as not to face the room full of other patients. Outdoors there was the most gorgeous Azalea bushed in full bloom. Bright fuchsia in color. I noted each and every detail of its petals. They way they contrasted against the dark green of the leaves and woody tones of the branches. So perfectly orchestrated for beauty. If. If God can create this, then certainly he can bring this baby within my womb back to life! Oh, please, God...let it be so... I begged over and over. But in my heart...I already knew his reply.
My name was called and with Hubs by my side we stepped on to the elevator that led us upstairs to the ultrasound rooms. He reached for my hand to which I pushed away, pleading, "I can't." I couldn't further explain right then and there that I was in tough girl mode; and a complete and utter breakdown threatened to burst forth at any moment. Just one touch from him would tear down my defenses. We were ushered into a cool room and I was given the opportunity to privately disrobe and then wait for the technician. Which happened to be a young, attractive man. As soon as he left my first words were, "Really? A man? Why did it have to be him? What kind of guy chooses to be an ultrasound tech?!" And not so much in a chipper, funny way. More in a dark, sarcastic tone. Grief often brings out the not-so-pretty part of us. As he began the examination he probed this way and that, looking for any signs of life. After a few short minutes the tears began rolling silently down my face and falling to the pillow underneath. I let Hubs hold my hand...finally admitting defeat. It was over. There would be no baby. His or her little body measured accurately for its gestational age, signifying that he or she had passed perhaps that very day, if not close to it.
The hardest part was telling our girls. My intent was to be strong and let them know that I was okay and God's plan was always best. I failed miserably. I blubbered my through and allowed Hubs to take over when I couldn't. There were many tears shed by all. Although my heart was raw, it was also incredibly thankful and blessed as I looked into three sets of young eyes. I have so much already.
The days to follow were full of emotion as my body strove to release the hormones that it had so rapidly built up. I was knowingly carrying a lifeless baby deep inside. I felt so...empty. Although I had been through several miscarriages before, I wasn't prepared to know what it was like to actually see life growing within, and then see it end. It wasn't just a pregnancy that was lost...it was a tiny little soul. I opted out of having a D&C. It seemed like such a fierce and violent way to end things. And I had success with medication-induced miscarriage in the past, so that was the route I chose. Where I could be at home, grieving my loss while going through the physical pain that would ensue.
Once we were physically through the process Hubs and I talked. A lot. We were struggling to figure out where we were to go from there. Do we pursue adding to our family? Not pursue? Ultimately we chose to leave things in God's hands. Continue on as husband and wife. No expectations; no forcibly trying to move the hand of God. In time I grew to accept and even appreciate the idea of being fully content with what God had chosen to grace me with; instead of being discontent with what I didn't have. Empty arms and all.
Yet in the fall of 2012, we discovered our precious twins were on board. Imagine our complete shock to that news! As I sat in the very same ultrasound room where no heartbeat was found that warm spring day; I learned that in fact there were now TWO beating hearts within me! My very first thoughts were: The Lord gave, and he took away. And now He has given back again...two-fold! I knew these babies were from God's very hand. Gifts to sooth the sufferings of my soul.
To help the family find closure to our loss, we planted a lovely purple leaf sand cherry tree. I chose it due to the fact that each spring it blossoms these sweet-smelling flowers. It's small petals of the lightest pink are a perfect contrast to the mauve hue that its leaves and branches hold. So perfectly orchestrated for beauty. A reminder of the spring in which a little life blossomed into heaven. Where we shall someday finally meet him or her. Last spring, not very long after I birthed our twin boys into the world, my Jillian noticed it had blossomed again. Peering at it from the window she thoughtfully proclaimed, "Hey, mom! Last year this time we were sad about losing that baby. And this year we have TWO instead of ONE!"

God does, in fact, write the best stories, doesn't He?