My Miscarriage

Today I finished miscarrying my second pregnancy.

My first pregnancy went about as swimmingly as any could (save for the severe nausea I had until week 19). But with the second, all of my worst fears were realized.

I say "pregnancy" and not "baby" or "child," because those words would not be accurate. This was what is sometimes known as an anembryonic pregnancy. Which means there was no embryo to be found. So, you see, it would not be accurate or precise to say anything other than "second pregnancy."

But even without an embryo, I was still considered pregnant. When I took a test it always came back positive because my hormone levels were still elevated.

But when 8 weeks came, and we got into the ultrasound room, the terrifying picture I saw looked like this:

My heart immediately sank. You see, I knew from my first pregnancy that this is actually what the ultrasound should look like:

That's my Joshua at 8 weeks gestation.

Something wasn't right. We speculated that maybe that I was not as far along as I thought. But I knew. There was pain and bleeding, and I knew. 

I had hoped and prayed that God would perform a miracle. Please, spare me this, I begged. I cannot bear it. 

But even as my mother drove me to my follow-up with the OB, I knew.

It wasn't that I thought God could not do it. It was that I knew that the answer was no. For whatever reason, I knew that this was not the time.

Let me tell you, there is so much I did not know about miscarriage. I would learn in the coming days that most women opt for a D&C, a surgery that involves removal of the tissues inside the uterus. Worried about damage a D&C might cause to my uterus and effects it might have on future pregnancies, I opted for Misoprostol, a drug used to induce contractions and speed up the miscarriage process. Misoprostol posed no threat to future pregnancies, and would help me avoid potentially months of bleeding. It was a Wednesday when I took it. I went straight from school to my OB. That night, I stayed home and waited for something to happen. And waited. And waited. Thursday morning, I woke up worried it didn't take (that happens sometimes). But then, the worst pain I've ever endured.

I had never endured so much pain. I now understood the Hydrocodone prescription my doctor had given me. I felt so mixed-up. For all the things I was going through physically, and only being able to take one day off from school, there was barely time to process my emotions. And today, as the physical part of this miscarriage ends, the emotional damage is hitting me and sinking in fully.

I lost it. I lost a pregnancy. When all of my other pregnant friends deliver their spring babies, I will be baby-less. What do I do? How can I see all of those babies with the same due-month and not think, why me? 

Mourning. The worst feeling I've ever felt.

But I don't know how to mourn the loss of something that was never mine. An anembryonic pregnancy. Do I find peace in the fact that there is no loss of an embryo here? Do I find peace in not having carried a baby longer, or even bringing them into the world, only to lose them later? I don't know.

I have a uterus that played the nastiest trick on me. It made me believe there was life inside. It lied to me. 

This is a pain I cannot bear. I do not know how to be this person. I do not know how to come out of this daydream--or daynightmare. I don't know how to wake up from the hazy tailspin this experience has put me through.

--

As I come back to this post three weeks later, I realize the daze I am still in. But I have also realized that I cannot live in this delirium. 

I have been told several times by well-meaning people that it's okay to be mad at God. 

But I am not.

To be mad at God would be nonsensical of me. God is not the cause of the suffering we endure. Sin is. From the moment sin entered the world (a choice made by man), evil came with it (Genesis 3:14-19). Suffering. God brings peace, and comfort, and joy. God is the author of good (James 1:13-17). To be angry at God would be a great display of immaturity on my part. Like a toddler throwing a tantrum at his mother when he throws his own toy and breaks it.

I can't explain all of the little things that have happened to me in the last few years. But all of those little things have brought my relationship with God to a very specific understanding: God is the cause of peace and comfort. To be at peace and feel comforted is not a natural state. It is something brought on by God. My natural state as a human being, honestly, is anxious. Worried. Doubtful. Insecure. But God steps in and changes that. He brings me peace and healing. He makes me whole.

So, why, then, would I assume that God suddenly changed his tune and decided to bring me only terror, fear, and suffering? It would not make any sense.

So now is the time for me to persevere and lean further into the embrace of the One who wants nothing but the utmost comfort for me. His answer will not always be yes. But his objective will always be peace.