My Journey from Miscarriage to Motherhood Day 3: The Dream Shattered
My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. (Psalm 73:26, ESV)
He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away. (Revelation 21:4, ESV)
It was a cold January day, and to this day I remember the outfit I wore—a floral swing maternity top and soft green pants. Today, the style would be considered hideous, but not in the mid-1990s. My husband did not accompany me that day, and he had a hard time with this decision for quite a few years. He was working for a Heating and Air company on the side for an old family friend, and was working that day to bring in a little extra money. But since it was ultrasound day, my mom accompanied me in his place.
I was 16 weeks pregnant and had been looking forward to this appointment for weeks. The doctor had told me there was a good chance we would find out if we were having a girl or a boy. My mom and I chatted in the waiting room while we waited to be called back. It wasn’t long and the nurse came and ushered us back to the little room where they performed ultrasounds. The ultrasound tech was so sweet, and I remember how excited she was for me as we got situated.
With some cold gel on my belly and the lights turned low, she began moving the probe around, looking for my little one, and to get some pictures and take measurements. It did not take long for me to recognize a look of deep concern on her face. When I asked her what was wrong, she quickly hopped up and excused herself, saying she was having some trouble and needed the doctor’s help. It seemed like she was gone for a very long time, when it was likely only ten minutes or so. In her absence, my mom tried to assure me that the huge black circle I saw on the screen was my baby’s eye. Looking back, I have to laugh about that and how she was trying so hard to make me feel better.
The doctor came in and confirmed my worst fears: my baby had died. I had what they call a “blighted ovum,” and my pregnancy would end the following day with a procedure called a D & C—essentially cleaning out the remains in my uterus. To say we were devastated is an understatement, and I remember going to my sister’s house, waiting for my husband to come pick me up. So many tears followed over the course of the next few weeks, yet I felt tremendous love and support from family and friends.
This brings to mind another Scripture: “Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ” (Galatians 6:2). All around us, people are hurting. Some hurts we may know about, and some we may not. Burdens aren’t meant to be carried alone, and as Christ-followers, we are to help bear the burdens of others. I think about how the Holy Spirit gives us comfort in our hurt and pain, and how awful it must have been for Jesus to lose that comfort during His hours on the cross when God turned His face from Him. Burdens are so much lighter when others help us carry them.
The days that followed were painful. My body hurt from the surgery, but my heart hurt more. God brought people into my life who knew how to help me through that difficult time. Whether they brought food, sent cards, prayed, or just sat in silence with me, I felt cared for by His people. If you see a need in your circle of people, don’t be afraid that you won’t know the right words to say. Words aren’t even necessary; a hug and a heartfelt “I’m so sorry” will help encourage a hurting heart. Losing a pregnancy can feel a lot like losing hope—until we remember that the only real hope we have as believers is in Jesus Christ, and nothing can ever take that hope away from us. I named that baby, and in my heart, I felt certain it was a baby boy. One day, I’ll meet little Kasey, but until then, I know my sweet baby is safe at home in Heaven.