The rain on that day matched the tears pouring down my face. Sometimes when I lay awake at night, blinded by darkness, I still can't believe everything that took place was not a dream.
Sometime during October 2011 a heart stopped. Not mine, but it was a heart inside me. I was carrying a baby boy, my third child with my husband Brad. We were very excited, if not even more so because of the two very early miscarriages that had preceded that pregnancy. Statistically I knew that miscarriage was common, but I had hoped those two very early miscarriages would suffice for my statistics. I had two healthy children, a little girl named Addi in 2008, and a little boy named Wyatt in 2010. Two healthy children and two miscarriages and the score seemed even. I had my share of joy, and what I perceived was my share of pain and sadness, but nothing could have prepared me for that one terrible day.
"Don't worry about anything; instead pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank Him for all He has done. Then you will experience God's peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus." Philippians 4:6-7"
Brad and I were excited to find out we were pregnant in early August 2011, and we went to our first OB appointment in late August. I was exactly 8 weeks along and everything checked out perfectly. We saw our baby's beautiful heartbeat during an ultrasound, and everything measured exactly as it should at 8 weeks. Our baby's due date was to be in early April 2012. Brad accompanied me again, as he usually had in our prior pregnancies, to my 12 week appointment in late September. My doctor checked for our baby's heartbeat using a handheld doppler machine, and the heartbeat was immediately heard, beating away at 167 beats per minute. In my pregnancies with Addi and Wyatt, I was not able to hear the heartbeat using the doppler until after 13 weeks, and my doctor lovingly joked that this may be our "very cooperative" child. We announced shortly after that appointment that we were expecting a new baby, and people responded with their kind congratulations.
Everything in my pregnancy progressed seemingly normal, and I went to my 16 week appointment without Brad as we expected a routine appointment. I remember waiting quite a while to see my doctor, and when she finally arrived in the room, asking a few questions about some general pregnancy topics. She then had me lay on the exam table to find the heartbeat using her handheld doppler. Since she found the heartbeat so easily at my 12 week appointment, I expected similar results that time, so I was a little concerned when she was not able to locate the heartbeat quickly. After what seemed like minutes of silence, but was probably only 30 seconds to a minute, I felt tears well up in my eyes. My doctor suggested I get an ultrasound to find the heartbeat as it seemed the baby was possibly moving behind my pelvic bone making it difficult for her to locate the heartbeat. I felt numb, but managed to walk down the hall and sit in the ultrasound room waiting area. The ultrasound tech, who is a very laid back and friendly guy, called me back and had me lay on the ultrasound table. He put the ultrasound wand on my belly and I could instantly see my precious baby on the screen. He moved the wand around my belly while I laid there and tried to hold back my tears. He calmly searched and searched around my baby's body, trying to find it's heartbeat. I knew he should have found it very quickly at that point in a pregnancy. He finally said something to the fact of "I'm sorry, I can't find the heartbeat. I'm going to get the doctor." I knew then my precious baby was gone, and I couldn't hold the tears back any longer. By the time my doctor and ultrasound tech arrived back in the ultrasound room, I was a wet, snotty mess. My doctor showed me how there was no blood flowing to my baby any longer, and confirmed that there was not a heartbeat. She told me my options were to wait several days to see if my body went into labor on it's own, but that could potentially take weeks, or that I could choose to be induced. She strongly recommended delivery at a hospital past 14 weeks, as the placenta has developed to a point after 14 weeks that hemorrhaging during or after delivery is a concern. She told me how sorry she was, and that I was welcome to bring my husband in that day or any day following if he wanted to see confirmation that the baby had passed before we made our decision. My doctor and ultrasound tech then left the room and I was alone with a picture of my baby on the ultrasound screen. How do you accept that a picture is all you will ever have on this earth of something so precious? After sobbing for several minutes, I left the ultrasound room with a red face, puffy eyes, and a broken heart.
I arrived at my car, with the knowledge that my baby had died--inside of my womb. For those few minutes, I was the only one of my family and friends that carried that knowledge. With tears streaming down my face, I picked up my cell phone and called Brad. Through sobs I told him about the events of that morning. He was about 45 minutes away for work, but told me he would be on his way home. I left the doctor's office and drove to my church, to tell my dad about the events of that morning, but mostly I just wanted to be hugged by someone safe that would tell me I was going to be ok. My parents are unfortunately no stranger to miscarriage. Their first pregnancy ended in miscarriage at around 7-8 weeks, and their second pregnancy was discovered to be a molar pregnancy at around 4-5 months. They survived those trials, and I knew from their faith and perseverance that Brad and I could too.
The next day Brad and I went back to the doctor's office so Brad could see the ultrasound of our precious baby. The ultrasound tech confirmed again that there was no heartbeat or blood flow to our baby. We then met with the doctor and decided to proceed with an induction the following morning. The next day we arrived at the OB unit of our hospital. I changed into my hospital gown and started the induction medication. My parents arrived and they and Brad sat with me all day. I could not ask for a better family. It took three rounds of medication and a little over 12 hours, but contractions finally started coming regularly. Shortly after regular contractions started, my water broke, after which I started shaking and sobbing. I don't really know why, other than broken water signified the end, my baby was coming soon. When he was delivered, he was the tiniest baby the nurse said she had ever seen. He was just 3 1/2 inches long and weighed less than a pound. He had 10 fingers and 10 toes, a perfect yet tiny human. Brad and I named him Owen, which means "little warrior". I held Owen's body on a receiving blanket for a couple of hours and cried from the deepest parts of my soul. Shortly after midnight I said my goodbyes to his body, and the nurse took him away. I know that Owen's soul, the only part of him that really matters, is in Heaven, but as a mother, it pained me to say goodbye to my baby, a baby I will never know on this earth.
To say that experience changed me, would be an understatement. I feel a purpose I have not ever felt before. Owen's life had meaning, even if his life on this earth was only for a few short weeks in my womb, and I feel a calling to not let that purpose be washed away with the tides of time.
I sometimes wonder if Owen ever looks down on earth, on our family, and wonders what it would have been like to live with us in our home. To play with Addi and Wyatt, for Brad and I to read him stories and take him to the park to play. But our precious Owen spends his days praising our God and Savior. He will never know the pain and suffering that this life on earth holds. He took his first breath in Heaven.
Thank you for reading my story. Miscarriage and stillbirth is not a topic that is easy to discuss or read about, but it is a pivotal point in any mother's life who lives through it. The weeks after Owen's delivery were highlighted with blood tests and a consultation with a Maternal Fetal Medicine specialist to make sure there was nothing wrong with me that could point to a problem that caused the miscarriages. Thankfully, I am completely normal by medical standards, but these miscarriages, coupled with some other health issues along the way have peaked my interest in health, the food we eat, and how it contributes to our daily lives. God has walked with me through this journey, and I can see His hand in my life, though I don't always understand why life unfolds as it does, but I know "...that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns." Philippians 1:6
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