Surviving Miscarriage

Blood. It couldn't be. My hands began to tremble as I fastened my clothes and exited the restroom. I'm bleeding. That was the only thought my brain could form. Tremors ran throughout my body, as if a violent earthquake had seized me. Through a veil of tears I whispered the hated words aloud. "I'm going to lose my baby."

At the hospital, my doctor studied the ultrasound. I braced for the worst. To my utter amazement he could find no reason for the bleeding. The baby was fine. As hard as I cried with despair I now cried with relief. Little did I know this was only the beginning.

I spent countless days examining my every action, trying to please God. I was laboring under the misconception that if I were "good" God would save my baby. In the deep recesses of my mind I knew that wasn't true. But I was seeking comfort for my fears regardless of how temporary it was. During one of these bargaining sessions I felt God impress upon me that it would be okay

Hospitalized later for an unrelated event, I felt a sharp, stabbing pain in my abdomen. Without warning my body began cramping. To my horror, as I made my way to the restroom I heard a sickening thud as a bloody mass slid to the floor. It was such a shock to my system I began just simply screaming. My nurses desperately tried to console me as I repeatedly asked if that mass on the floor was my baby. I alternately demanded they tell me the truth and dared them to give voice to it

"He told me my baby would be okay!" My wild eyes searched the face of one sympathetic nurse as I repeated the words.

"Who, honey? Who told you your baby would be okay?" The question came from the nurse holding my hand.

"God!" The announcement brought immediate silence to the room. I knew they thought I was distraught and more than a little crazy but the statement was true even if only God and I knew it.

In the now silent room, my doctor rushed in giving me the most wonderful news. The mass was not my baby. An ultrasound found my baby's heart beating away. The following day a repeat ultrasound was done. Feeling secure after all that had happened it took a moment for me to see the pain etched across my doctor's face. "We have a problem."

"Nooooo!" My anguished cry filled the room. The tiny little baby that had been the source of so much joy and pain no longer had a beating heart. Surgery removed any traces of him or her. I lay awake that night unable to pray. I don't recall ever feeling such burning anger mingled with paralyzing pain. I rarely drew a breath that I did not remind God how He'd told me my baby would be okay. How could I believe in Him again?

Sometime in the wee hours of that horrific night I again felt a Holy nudge. God reminded me that He had told me that "it" would be okay. I assumed the "it" was the baby when in reality "it" was the situation. I had lost my baby but "it" would still be okay. I couldn't possibly imagine how.

When I was discharged from the hospital I felt as though I'd left part of me there. The days that followed brought no relief to my tormented soul. I didn't read my Bible, I didn't go to church and I didn't pray; until the unexpected happened.

An acquaintance from church called to check on me. Despite having only previously exchanged polite words, we now chatted like old friends. She shared with me difficulties she was enduring. Not long after that, her world spiraled out of control and it was me she sought. And I sought God. I had given up on God for my problems but had no doubt he'd help her. As I petitioned God on her behalf my heart began to open again. My prayers opened up the spiritual channel to where God was able to work through me, with me and for me.

I have never forgotten the brief tiny life that healed me and gave to me a friend for life. My miscarriage was incredibly painful, but the pain made me a better mother. Hurtful seasons come in and out of all our lives. When my kids are experiencing difficulties I help them by having them help someone else. We've anonymously given gift cards to families in need, written letters to soldiers in war and provided meals to those confined to hospital or home. It has never failed to coax my child from his troubles and turn his focus on another.

As God led me in helping another he began teaching me things about myself. With each dawning realization He brought me to I hungered for more. The desire for more knowledge led to more prayers. The more I prayed the closer I drew to God. And with each step I took toward him, He came toward me until at last we met in that glorious place in the middle, where I was made whole again.