Vanessa

Mom to M. R. S.
Born into Heaven February 2011

and

J. Q. S.
Born into Heaven February 2012

Bowling Green, Kentucky

When I had my third child, I had only been not-pregnant for 16 months before getting pregnant with her. Unfortunately, in our humanness, we are broken people, and I was pretty resistant to having a baby so soon after having my second child. Her pregnancy was not a pleasant one, and neither was my attitude towards it. When she arrived though, and spent 7 days in the NICU, my attitude changed drastically. This sets the premise for the story of my first miscarriage.

Two years after my third child’s birth (exactly), the cycle of my fourth child’s pregnancy began. Three weeks later, I discovered I was pregnant. While having a fourth child when not financially stable and with three other children under the age of seven wasn’t ideal, I resolved that I was going to be happy about this baby and enjoy the time I had with her in my womb. I had had no previous complications with miscarriage; my three previous pregnancies had been relatively normal, why wouldn’t this one be also? I had had bleeding with this pregnancy, but told myself it wasn’t uncommon. I went to my doctor, who did an ultrasound, and at 5w6d gestation, there was my baby’s perfect little heartbeat. The doctor told me to take it easy over the weekend and come back Monday if bleeding persisted.

On Saturday over the weekend, I went to the bathroom and wiped, finding purple mucus (or what I thought was purple mucus), and inside somewhere, I knew it was my baby.

Monday, which was Valentine’s Day, I walked into the ultrasound room confident that my child was still within me. I was wrong. The scan showed nothing within my uterus. Secretly, I wanted to tell my doctor to keep looking, but it’s not like an endless cave in there and my baby was hiding somewhere in there, so I kept my mouth shut. I was 6 weeks pregnant when my baby left me.

Afterwards, the year that followed was tough. When God tells us to tell Him the desires of our heart, we have to remember that if it is not in His perfect Will, it won’t be granted. I forgot that, so not only had I lost a precious baby so soon, my faith with my God was bruised, even broken. Neither the loss of a baby nor the loss of some of one’s faith is something I would wish on my worst enemy. Recovering from one is hard enough; recovering from both is near impossible, and I have yet to completely, and in my opinion, satisfactorily, recover from both.

About nine months after my first loss, my husband and I decided to finally lay our will down at the feet of the Lord and let Him decide if we were ever going to have another child. Three months later, I was pregnant again.

For 11 weeks, I prayed to God that whatever happened, for good or bad, with this baby, He would give me the peace and strength to deal no matter what the circumstance. At my 11 week appointment, He showed up to answer my call.

Nothing ever prepares you for the moment your doctor tells you that the baby within you has died. More than once I had seen that tiny flicker of a heartbeat, and for the second time in a row, my baby’s heart stopped beating, and died. It’s not a miscarriage because my baby was still in his carriage; it’s not a loss because my baby was right where I left him, in my womb. It’s a death, because what once was alive is no longer living; what life was in me ceased. My baby died.

I had a D&C the following day. It’s not for everyone, but it was the right decision for me. When I was called back to prep for surgery, the attendant told me to pee in a cup so the lab could run a pregnancy test before my surgery. I didn’t bother telling her I was there for a D&C; rather, I did what I was told because I didn’t have the strength to tell her that it would come back positive, but I wouldn’t be pregnant for much longer because the baby in me was dead and that was why I was there.

I cried the three hours before surgery.

I cried during the pre-op questionnaire.

I cried during the I.V. placement.

I cried when my doctor came to tell me they were ready for me.

I cried when they gave me the anesthesia.

I cried as I was wheeled into the operating room, and as I drifted off to sleep.

When I woke up I immediately started crying because my first thought was, “My baby’s gone; it’s all over.”

Shortly after my second loss I thought I was dealing well with it, but every day I find something that reminds me of my baby that should be in me right now. I fight thoughts of negativity towards my best friend who was due four days before me when I see her belly. I cry. But I remember something God whispered in my ear during the grieving process of my first miscarriage.

The Bible repeatedly talks about our days being numbered (ex: Ps. 39:4), and God knows that number. In those days He has a perfect Will designed for each of us. There is peace in knowing that my two children, who were never born onto this earth, satisfied the number of days they were appointed, and in that time, carried out the perfect Will of the Father. While I still don’t understand what their lives were meant for, what God’s Will for their lives were, I know that they completed their time here fully, performing the Will for their lives, and now rest in Heaven with God in perfection. They’re lives may have been short, but they were FULL lives according to their number of days, and in that I find great comfort <3

After the deaths of both of my unborn children, my husband and I chose names for them that only we and God know. One thing that I believe whole-heartedly is that every child deserves a name. It gives them an identity and reminds us that these were real people, not just cells and tissue (for all of us are that also, and we have names and identities). I also have a bracelet with my children’s birth stones and first initial on it. It includes both my living children and my children who live in Heaven. I am a mother of five, and I choose not to uninclude the existence of two of my children just because they were never in my arms

I have memory boxesfor both, each containing ultrasound pictures in frames which have their name on them, and one that has a baby blanket that I made for the impending arrival. They are in my closet next to each other with their first initial on the top of the box. I don’t look in them often, if at all; the pain is still too fresh. But I know if I want to feel close to them, they’re just an arm’s reach away from me, and I can see them in the only pictures we have of them. And that makes dealing with their deaths a little easier.

Vanessa blogs at http://noordinarylovesong.blogspot.com.

You can contact her at isthisgirl@gmail.com.  

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Comments

  1. Vanessa, your words could have been taken straight from my own life. I have 3 children. I just suffered my second miscarriage. The first was last year at 12 weeks. Same as your second. I still feel sick shock and being told my child died. The second was last week at 10 weeks. My feet do not feel firmly implanted in the soil. I am constantly searching for those children. I know they are with God but I am selfish enough to want them with me. I am a mother to five children. Five. Five. It never does stop hurting, but the thought that it might stop hurting, well, that hurts even more. Thank you for your story. Love, Sara

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