Still Hope: An Introduction to a Series on Miscarriage
I had another miscarriage.
Yes. Another.
I took the test a few Fridays back. Spotted that Sunday. Got
myself into the doctor on Monday. And miscarried on Tuesday. Four days. That’s
it. I was barely pregnant.
This is my fifth miscarriage. It overwhelms me to be putting
that ordinal number (fifth!) in front of a word that speaks of defining loss. I
can’t coherently string together words that would explain what it feels like to
lose five times, but here’s some words come to mind: numb, angry, pained,
discouraged, disappointed, and maybe even the word apathetic.
I admitted to a friend that I feel like a freak. Sometimes I
even wonder if I just imagined those extra lines on the pee stick. I wonder if
it’s possible to give false positives, and every time I’ve lost so early I want
to kick myself for not waiting a full week past my missed period to take the
test. I’m embarrassed to be sharing that I miscarried again… because it feels
like I failed, and I keep failing.
I have a feeling anytime our bodies betray us, we feel a bit
like a freak. When a uterus gives way or a
cervix dilates too early or a fertilized egg implants in the wrong place, when
our bodies fail to properly house the little life we so desperately want to
bring into our home. When DNA hardwiring malfunctions, and life stops in its
tracks before heart ever pumped. When an ultrasound reveals the life you’ve
been carrying no longer lives. Oh friends. This is hard.
The most difficult part of this process for me, has been
this need in me to define my loss—something besides zygote or failed pregnancy,
something that validates that I indeed have lost something. Even when I miscarried
at 10 weeks, the little life I carried grew no larger than the period at the
end of this sentence. Doctors refused to say the word baby, and they corrected
me if I did.
The Lord answered my broken cries for some kind of name to give my losses by giving me a picture. Do
you know what there was in my womb?
A seed.
The tiniest of things with all the potential and hope and
dreams the size of an oak tree. It might not have sprouted for reasons I cannot
fathom, but I lost something. I’ve lost five seeds.
I can mourn the little lives with unformed hearts who never
felt life-blood course through their veins. I can mourn because really it only
takes a mother but a couple minutes to fall in love and see a future (even if she's still reeling from the shock of it.)
Though not all seeds
get to send up a stalk into the warm sunshine, even the tiniest seed leaves an
impression on the soil.
Can I tell you that this is not my favorite topic? I’d
rather not write about miscarriage, about grief, about these things so hard and
unexplainable. I feel vulnerable opening up about my grieving process, because
it is so personal. I have this hope that one day I will look back and be
grateful for this road I’m walking… but today, I would much rather be walking a
different road. And that’s honest.
Sometimes I’ve felt like moving forward through the grieving
process has been a bit like hacking through the jungle. It’s like blazing a
trail, walking paths unwalked. I know that’s not true, but grief can be isolating.
And miscarriage doesn’t get talked about much, especially a miscarriage belonging
to an unannounced pregnancy. I’m writing what I wish I could have read. I’m writing because I
have longed to know that I wasn’t alone. I’m writing what God has been speaking to me along the way.
My hope is that if you are walking
this hard road (oh dear heart. I am so sorry) maybe we can hack through the
jungle together, maybe we can blaze a wider trail, maybe we can offer the
wisdom of experience and the encouragement of camaraderie that makes a trail
easier to walk.
We will be talking about losing, about grieving, and about
hoping again. I even have a project God laid on my heart that I want to share with you. I think it will give you a tangible way to both grieve and hope--no matter the stage in pregnancy in which you miscarried.
Even if miscarriage isn’t your story of loss or suffering,
you are so very welcome here. So is your story. This hard substance of
miscarriage touches on topics that are deeply woven into the fabric of
Christian life. I believe there is something here for you this week.
Friends, I hinge my life and this blog on Romans 8:35,37:
that in all these things… yes, even this
thing… they cannot separate us from God’s love, and we shall press forward and
overwhelmingly conquer this darkness. God’s love is here. It is. I know it. And
by His strength, I shall keep pressing forward. I shall overcome. You too,
friend. And that’s what this series is really about.
I know this is hard, this subject, this kind of sharing, but it's an important subject, and your story is important. Here is your invitation. Will you join me?
Here's the part where I ask you to be brave and share your story.
If a comment on a public domain terrifies you= amandaconquers AT gmail DOT com
By Grace,
Amanda Conquers