They say that third times a charm, but that really doesn’t matter when its a matter of miscarriage. As a matter of fact, in my case, third time was the most painful and gut wrenching of them all.
My name is Rose. I’m a 30 year old mother to three handsome sons and three children that were just too precious for this world. That’s what you say right? When you lose your child–“they’re just to precious for this world???” Not that I doubt that, really, I believe it with all my heart, but when you’re in the throes of a miscarriage, the third you’ve had in a row, you begin to grow rueful at adages like this.
So onward — Saturday, November 2, 2013 my husband and I have just received the proofs for the our baby announcement photos and had put our three sons, 6-years old, 4-years old and 2-years old, to bed when I felt a heavy pressure in my lower abdomen. I ran into our bathroom and saw the blood. My first thought was “not again”. Each of my earlier losses had been very early in my pregnancy — early enough that I barely knew that I was pregnant. This one, well, this was my miracle baby.
My last miscarriage was in September, and I had suffered my loss at home, just as I had the one before. There was no need to leave home, the miscarriage was routine, until October when I found that I had been pregnant with multiples and that one of the precious babies had survived. Now, I was losing the one child that had survived, eight weeks into my pregnancy, something that was unheard of to me.
My husband and I rushed to the hospital and after several hours were sent home, told that my cervix was still closed and I was perfectly fine. Two days later I was back in the hospital with severe cramping and excessive bleeding. I sat there in a hospital bed, weeping with my husband holding my hand and looking as blank as he could. That’s his coping mechanism — he protects ME by looking unfazed.
I couldn’t imagine what was going on. Why? Why was this happening again? Why was my body doing this to me? Right now, the day after my miscarriage, I check my body, and the volume of my blood flow. I cry every time I use the restroom and I scream at God. The God that I worship, that I love and that I know works all things for the good of those who love him. I scream because I can’t understand how this is good. How it can in any way be good. And I grieve. I lay on my couch and hold the baby blanket that was intended for my precious little Abigail and I miss her. I miss her and I never got to hold her.
My mind goes back and forth — I tell myself that God is still good, Jesus is still on his throne and I am still loved, but I don’t always believe it. I want my baby. I want people to understand where I’m coming from and to see that I’m not crazy. I want to snuggle with my children — ALL of my children — and know that I’m safe, they’re safe and we’re together. Most of all I want to know, without a doubt, that none of this was my fault. That all the healthy eating and exercise wasn’t for naught. I want to know that I didn’t do something to hurt my precious little baby … my Abigail.
And since I can’t answer the “whys” and the “hows” and the “what ifs” I just remind myself, “God is STILL good, Jesus is STILL on his throne and I am STILL loved” and hope that this time, I believe it.
Photo credit: adapted from Bilal Kamoon | Flickr