This post was written on April 26, 2013, after I found out that there was no heartbeat in my first pregnancy, before I actually had the miscarriage. I wrote this blog because I felt like I had told so many people that I was pregnant, and I didn’t want to have to go back and tell them all that I wasn’t anymore.
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When I was three, I was in a car accident. My dad, mom, baby brother and I were headed either to or from home during the holidays. My parents told me that a semi truck knocked our car off the road, and it slid down an embankment, turned upside down and spun to a stop. I still remember waking up to see the seat belts hanging from the ceiling, and a few moments between then and the hospital. I had been cut over my left eye and received stitches. I was the only one hurt in the accident, and they could only figure that it was caused by a plastic tape dispenser.
Over the years, people have asked me about that scar. I have never minded telling the story because it’s such a cool story. God protected us that night. I never really asked why I was the one with the scar because I’ve always felt lucky to have received it. This scar means I get to tell the story.
I think we all deal with the question why bad things happen, especially within the Christian faith. We think that if we live the right way, come from the right family, pray the right prayers, go to the right church, and be involved with the right things, that nothing bad will happen to us. It’s not something we think consciously, but when something difficult does come our way, we start to search for answers as to what we may have done that caused this awful thing to happen or what we may do to prevent it happening again in the future.
But perhaps one reason we are given our struggles is so that we can tell our story.
In both of my miscarriages, I prayed that God would produce a miracle, that the sonograms would be wrong and the baby might live. Surely, that kind of miracle could be used to glorify God. But if we don’t go through the grief, how can we understand those that do? After my first miscarriage, I understood a whole new world of women who have been silently grieving for decades. Being open about my grief and loss allowed others to do the same which strengthened me with hope. Why aren’t we sharing those stories more often? Why do we think that having it all together is going to reach those who are falling apart?
We need to fall apart. We need to have lives that aren’t all together. We have been editing our lives for so long, and it’s pretty scary to live life unedited. But see, when we edit our life, we are editing God as well. God isn’t some pretty cross hanging on the wall of an immaculate home. He’s a lot bigger and more unpredictable than that. Sometimes I think we forget that our job here on earth is to point to God. Not in some put together, simple wave in His direction, but in a desperate clinging to His side.
And you will be judged. By other Christians, by people of the world. Remember that Christ was judged with how he handled the Sabbath or who he hung out with. But if we tell our story, share our struggle, really live in the communities God has given us, then I truly believe that God will take care of the rest. God is going to use your words to reach that person who forgot that they still have value and worth, no matter what they have done or what they are going through. Because no matter what society says about how we look or what we accomplish, that doesn’t dictate our worth. Only God does, and He has given us great value.
That’s why I share my story. This life is hard. There are so many things on this earth that can wound us, physically and spiritually. But God’s love can heal those wounds. And the scars that remain are a reminder that we lived through it and overcame it. It’s a reminder to share that story with others whose wounds are open, others searching for the healing balm to their pain. Share the beautiful mess, the imperfect path, and the healing strength of a God that walks with us.
This wasn’t the post I intended to write. In fact, none of this has gone in any way that I planned, which being a planner and organizer at heart, really turned my world upside-down.
It started in the month of March. I got this crazy fatigue. I was sleeping in every morning, which I haven’t been able to do even if I tried. I’ve always been an “early to bed, early to rise” kinda gal. I was also taking naps at lunch and after work, and still going to bed early. It was like I couldn’t get enough sleep. Well, about a week later, we found the culprit. I was pregnant!
My first response was to start shaking. I was nervous, excited, scared, and felt totally unprepared (even though I had a lot of mommy friends educating me on their pregnancies and reminding me that no two pregnancies are alike). I told only a few people at first, primarily mothers and people who could help me find a great OBGYN. Still, there was a lot of celebration going on.
We had our first sonogram on April 10th, and it was smaller than expected. We thought we were 8 weeks, but we were more 6 and a half, which meant no heartbeat yet. No worries, said the Doctor, we will just have another sono in a week and a half. They took some blood and sent me on my way. On Friday of that week, they called again to reiterate that there was nothing wrong, especially since my blood HCG levels were perfect.
So, we went in for my second sonogram last Friday. There was no growth in that week and a half and no heartbeat. The doctor started talking about what to expect during a miscarriage. I’m so glad my husband was there both times, but especially this time. He just held me after the doctor left and let me cry for a while. I gave more blood and just went home.
That night, I had a talk with God. I remembered the times he had been there for me when I felt like there was no hope. He had a major role in my meeting Michael and in the job that I now have. So why would I even think he wasn’t here now? I told him over and over that I trust him, and that whatever purpose he had for me had to be even bigger than what I imagined.
Last weekend was a rollercoaster. We worked in the garden and saw a movie on Saturday. It wasn’t until the end of the day that I realized I hadn’t felt pregnant at all that day. Sunday was hard. I fell into a depression and didn’t want to go anywhere or do anything. Michael let me stay at home, as long as I didn’t stay in bed all day.
Monday, we got the news. My levels were going down. I had officially lost the baby. Miscarriage is imminent, even though I still hadn’t felt any of the symptoms yet. The doctor offered a D and C, which is basically a medical procedure to clean out the uterus. However, I felt that I would rather do this naturally, as painful as that might be.
I have had a lot of women share with me their own miscarriage stories. It’s amazing how many women have gone through this situation. I have found that just like every pregnancy is different, every miscarriage is too. Sometimes it happens earlier, sometimes later. Sometimes you hear the heartbeat, sometimes you don’t. And every woman reacts differently too, their comfort found in many different places.
I’m not sure when I will be getting back to my regularly scheduled blogging program. I will probably be taking a hiatus from Facebook in May (which I do every year in May, so this isn’t something new). I might just spend time away from social media altogether and come back refreshed in the month of June (just in time for my 30th b-day! You know that month will be a PAR-TAY!)
I want to thank you for being so patient with me. Thank you for the comments, even though I haven’t been able to respond. Thank you for the kind thoughts and prayers. I will see you soon.
Katy's Life Story 