Oh, 2020.
I didn’t know any other way to start this than with that. It just seemed so fitting.
The year began with such promise, didn’t it? I remember the excitement behind a new year and a new decade. There was a palpable buzz on January 1st. Everyone was ready for that “2020 vision.”
But, and I say this with absolute seriousness, Kobe Bryant and his daughter were killed in the helicopter crash at the end of January, and the world hasn’t been the same since.
Short of some cancellations and disappointments, my family has been pretty fortunate throughout the past 8 months since Covid became a household name. We have stayed healthy and mostly happy. We salvaged our summer with daily trips to the pool and lots of ice cream. The kids have been able to go to school in-person (although I have a feeling we are on borrowed time). My husband has avoided too many Covid exposures at work, and we really have just been trucking along, headed toward 2021.
We could almost see the finish line, and then it happened. 2020 came for us, and now we have our own battle wounds.
I found out I was pregnant with our 6th baby in mid-October. It was a surprise, not that I need to provide that justification, but there it is. In full disclosure, I was terrified to tell Luke. He’s the logistics guy. He thinks about finances, college savings accounts, and practical things like how many bedrooms we have and how many empty seats there are in the van. I am not that person.
But, he reacted well to the news and we both were just so overwhelmed with the feeling of, “Wow. This was a total act of God.” Of course, all children are God’s creation, but the timing, the surprise of it all – this was God’s way of saying, “Yes, this is right. Trust me.”
We kept the news mostly to ourselves. No big family announcements and certainly no public ones. It was early, we were busy, and we weren’t yet ready to share the news.
At about the 6 week mark, I had some concerns, so my doctor ordered blood work and an ultrasound. Thanks to Covid, I went to the ultrasound alone, and it was the most excruciating 5 minutes of my life. I could tell by the way the technician didn’t turn the screen to me and didn’t say a single word that things were not good. I understand that they can’t really say much about what they see (or don’t see), but there’s got to be a better way than stone-cold silence.
I walked out of the radiology department and had tears in my mask by the time I reached the hospital exit. I knew. If there was a heartbeat, I would have heard it. If there was a gestational sac, I would have seen it. There was nothing.
There I was, nearly hyperventilating in the parking lot, mourning the loss of a baby that I was uncertain I was ready for to begin with. Did I subconsciously wish this on myself? Was God playing a cruel game? Those questions would torture me for days.
All the feelings of my very first miscarriage came flooding back. The feeling of betrayal by my own body. The feeling of complete abandonment and even shame. And an emptiness I can’t attempt to describe.
I received word shortly after from my doctor that my HCG levels were simply not high enough, and that this pregnancy was not viable. I wasn’t just confused on dates or “too early.” It wasn’t going to make it.
Luke and I met in a parking lot and cried. And then he had to go back to work, and I had a meeting about the school PTO budget to get to. I dried my tears, drove with my head out the window, and pretended I wasn’t dying inside.
The days passed slowly and painfully. We had so many more questions than answers. Our faith was not only challenged, it was shaken… almost shattered. How could something that felt so right, so Heaven-sent, now feel like such a huge slap in the face?
Thankfully, I had a distraction. I was secretly planning to take Noelle to Universal Studios to see all the Harry Potter attractions, and the trip was approaching. I threw myself into the packing, planning, and prepping, which meant that I didn’t have to think about what was really going on.
My doctor was asking me to get repeat blood work done, but I didn’t have time before my trip. I also was avoiding it because I knew it would just prove that the miscarriage had happened. However, when I returned home, I decided I would get the labs drawn.
Within a few hours of having the lab work done, I was back at the hospital getting another ultrasound because there was a concern with my HCG levels. They had only dropped by about 100 points. Given that it had been two weeks since the initial miscarriage diagnosis, my levels should have been much lower.
This ultrasound was slightly less silent. The technician was a little more conversational. When she asked me if I had a history of ectopic pregnancy, I knew what she was seeing on the screen. Within a couple hours, it was confirmed by my doctor — I did have an ectopic pregnancy. The first ultrasound was not able to detect it.
The only thing I’ve ever heard about ectopic pregnancies is that you would need to have surgery to remove it because of the chance of it rupturing and internal bleeding. I know that they can be fatal if they aren’t managed well.
I was relieved to know that due to the size of my ectopic pregnancy, I could start with a non-surgical option – a methotrexate injection. Methotrexate is actually a chemo medication and is also used to treat rheumatoid arthritis. Methotrexate stops cell division, which is what needed to happen so that the ectopic pregnancy could stop growing. It also makes you feel like you have been hit by a truck and has given me a lot of stomach sickness. I had my first injection on Tuesday, and on Friday, I had lab work done. My HCG levels were not where they needed to be — they actually slightly increased, so I went for another injection today. I will have another round of labs drawn on Thursday of this week, and hopefully it will show that my HCG is steadily decreasing. If it isn’t, we will probably have to talk about surgery.
I got an email today with the subject line: You are 9 weeks, 4 days pregnant! I activated an old baby website account when I first learned of the pregnancy. I excitedly plugged in the due date (June 17) and began relearning all the things I had forgotten about the early baby development. You’d think after 5 children, I would either know everything already or I wouldn’t be that amazed by all those early mysteries, but that’s not true on both accounts. For me, pregnancy will never not be a miracle, and it will never not be a mystery, and it will never not be exciting.
I’m 36 years old and have had 5 children, 2 miscarriages, and 1 ectopic pregnancy. My most recent 3 pregnancies were high risk, and Annie was born 5 weeks early, almost a year ago to the day. I have been asked, “Are you done yet?” I have been asked, “Haven’t your doctors told you to stop?” My doctors have never said anything to me about “stopping,” and (insert unpopular opinion) I am remaining open to life and to the life God has planned for me. If this is our last pregnancy, then I will eventually accept this reality. If there is another child for us, I will embrace that reality, too.
This heartbreak caused me to question everything, including my faith in God. I was angry with Him, but I had to remind myself that the same God who I was thanking and praising for this unexpected gift of life, the same God who was so good to us a few weeks ago, is still the same God now. And He is still good, even when I’m hurting.
Especially when I’m hurting.
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” Psalm 34:18
God uses our suffering to pull us closer and deepen our faith, as backwards as that sounds. It is only God who can give us the grace to push through the pain, to find reasons to smile, and to keep putting one foot in front of the other. It is not our own strength or volition.
I also believe that when you share your suffering with others, you are opening your heart to seeing God in them as well. God is in their words of support, in their kind gestures, in their meals they prepare, and in their nearness to you (even if it is virtual for now).
I believe the soul is created at the moment of conception, regardless of if there was ever a heartbeat or a physical body. And I will feel the loss of this sweet soul until I die. This is my cross to bear, and while it is heavy, I know I am not carrying it alone.
2020, you have bent us, but you will not break us. I love you, Friends.
