Samantha: 22 Months, Week 3

I am writing these blog posts a few weeks behind when they actually happened.  I was mostly caught up before the miscarriage happened, and after that, I had to give myself some time before I felt like I could start up my writing again.

For those of you have have read Harry Potter, I feel like writing my thoughts and feelings about my miscarriage in the last two blog posts was a bit like unloading them into a pensieve.  (For those of you that don't know, see the pictures below of Albus Dumbledore pulling out his thoughts and placing them in the twirling liquid of the pensieve.)  I know I've said this before, but writing truly is healing to my soul.  It's not that I don't struggle with the miscarriage anymore or that I don't feel sad, I just feel like a burden has been taken off my shoulders.  I am no longer carrying it alone, and I can feel the prayers of family and friends surrounding our little family.  My blog is my pensieve, and I have unloaded my thoughts and feelings into it, leaving more space in my head and heart to process what has happened, allow God to reveal Himself to me more and more each day, and try to move forward, knowing that God works out the good in any situation, even losing the life of a child.

Anyways, on to our week spending time together as a family.  Here are some cute pictures of Samantha and Daddy making silly faces together on Monday evening.

Monday night, after we put Samantha to bed, Ben and I had a very healing conversation.  We talked about what we wanted to do as a remembrance for our baby.  I spent my free time at school looking at miscarriage necklaces online and found one that I really like.  It has a charm in the shape of a heart with little baby footprints stamped into it.  They also hang the birthstone of the month the baby was to be born.  I thought this was a great remembrance for me, and I can wear it when I went to keep my baby close to my heart, on those hard days.  I wanted to do something for Ben, too, as a way of remembrance, and I was so pleased when he mentioned making a wall hanging like the one we have for Samantha.  Samantha and I painted this one below at a pottery studio in Bloomington and gave it to Ben for Valentine's Day.

By making one for our unborn child, we can hang it on the wall by Samantha's, making him just as much a part of our family as Samantha is.  We also chose to name our baby.  We always thought the baby was a boy, just because my pregnancy was so much different from my pregnancy with Samantha.  Also, we were secretly hoping for a boy so that we could have a girl and a boy.  We also chose a name for him, Jeremiah, a name that Ben has always liked, but was chosen most importantly for it's meaning, "YAHWEH has uplifted."  We thought that would be the perfect name for out little boy that was taken from my womb straight into the arms of our Savior and Lord.

The next day, we went to a local Rural King which just opened up near our house to get some birdseed and a hook to hang our birdhouse on for our back patio area.  We also took the opportunity to let Samantha look at the baby chicks.  She was pretty interested in them, but was a bit tired and mellow on this particular night.

The big penguin you can see in this picture below was given to Samantha for her first Christmas when she was seven months old by Uncle Timmy.  She didn't really know what to do with it at first, but it has now become her little playmate.  It will sit at the little table with her while she plays or eats her snack.  The next year, when Samantha was nineteen months old, Uncle Timmy gave Samantha a four foot long stuffed dog.  Now we keep thinking, how big will the stuffed animal be next year?  Are they going to keep increasing in size?

Daddy has been wearing more ties to school lately, so here's Samantha sporting Daddy's tie for the day, wearing only a diaper of course.

And here's Samantha cuddling with Daddy and Monkey George, as she calls him.

On Friday night we made a family trip up to Greenwood, Indiana to meet Ema and Papa for dinner and time to play at a park.  I found a really neat park called Independence Park, and it had a great playground.  I highly recommend it.  We got there before Ema and Papa, so Samantha and I stayed to play in the park while Daddy went to get dinner from Culver's for everyone.  Once Ema and Papa arrived, we ate dinner together at the picnic tables and then went back to playing until it got too chilly to stay outside.  After our time at the park, we visited Culver's again for some ice cream.  Samantha had a good ole time eating her "blue" ice cream.  (That was the kind of ice cream she requested, so we got her chocolate ice cream with blue and white sprinkles.)  Even though she had her own ice cream, she was more interested in trying to snag Papa's ice cream from his cup.  Ah, the things grandparents let their grandchildren get away with. :)

The next day was another busy day for us because Ben and I had plans to go back up to Greenwood and paint a wall hanging for Jeremiah.  A lady from my school and her daughter came over to our house to watch Samantha for us.  Ben and I had a wonderful time.  We left while Samantha was still napping so that we'd have time to paint our tile before the pottery studio closed.  We made it simple and fairly similar to the one I made with Samantha.  Here is the tile when we were finished painting, before it was fired.

Here is what our wall looks like, with tributes to both our children, one on earth and one in heaven.

After we were done painting, we went out to eat at the Cheesecake Factory, and we even sat outside on the patio.  We had a wonderful time sitting in the warm air, eating a delicious meal, and talking about life, about next year, and about parenthood.  It was such a refreshing afternoon for us.

While we were out together, Samantha was having a great time playing at the park with her new friend.  Anybody that takes her to the park is good in her book.

Samantha loves her play kitchen.  Here she is stirring up some food for us on Sunday morning before church.  She's in her dress, but her hair is still a mess.  Man, what that hair would look like if it was never combed or put up.  But, I love the curls, I never want to cut them for fear they will never return.

While Samantha was sleeping that afternoon, another family from church brought us their little play set since their boys had already grown out of it.  She took a nice long nap that afternoon after church and woke up to find a great surprise in our "backyard."  We actually had to wake her up because she got to bed a little late and was still sleeping at five o'clock.  Once we got her out of bed, we stood her on her window sill and let her look out her window at her new play set.  Her jaw dropped open and she was so excited to get down there and play with it.  The rest of the night she wanted to nothing else besides play with her new play set.  She loved climbing in and out of it, going down the slide, going in and out of the door, closing the door behind her each time.  It was actually a struggle to get her inside to eat dinner and then inside again to go to bed.  Although, we can't say we mind.  We love being outside in the evenings and are looking forward to doing this throughout the rest of the spring and summer.

I wanted to share one more thing about my experience at church today.  It was still very hard to worship at church without tears welling up in my eyes.  However, I felt the Holy Spirit move in me on this day, comforting me with a picture of our little boy, Jeremiah, standing around the throne of God with the angels, worshiping Him, just as I was doing in the sanctuary of our church.  I feel the closest to my little one when I am worshiping God because I know that he is also in God's presence.  We are connected for just a brief moment in time, and it made me feel so secure and satisfied in the love, care, and protection of our Heavenly Father.

Samantha: 22 Months, Week 2 {The Pain of Miscarriage}

The week leading up to Easter felt like we were just in survival mode after our news of last week.  I went back to school, even though I didn't much feel like being around people, especially kids who had no idea what was going on in my personal life.  It's not like I could just sit behind a closed office door and cry.  I decided to email the parents of my students to let them know what was going on with my miscarriage and left it up to them if they wanted to tell their children or not. Luckily, parents at my school are very kind and generous.  They wanted to do anything they could to help me.  I even had several moms come in first thing Monday morning to see if there was anything they could do for me.  One mom gave me a book called I'll Hold You in Heaven by Jack Hayford, saying that it helped her after she lost her baby many years ago.  So many women came out of the woodwork, parents and fellow teachers alike, sharing their experiences with miscarriage, letting me know that I am not alone and that they know the pain I am experiencing.

Going back to work was very difficult for me.  There were many times that I had to choke back tears.  Tuesday was the hardest day for me, even though I expected Monday to be the worst.  I really missed my baby on Tuesday.  I think what made it even more difficult was that on Tuesday we were supposed to be going to my appointment for the ultrasound and to find out what my official due date would be.  However, of course, I would not be going to this appointment anymore since my baby's heartbeat stopped several weeks earlier.  I couldn't stop thinking about what I was about to face during my surgery on Friday.  I desperately wanted to rewind time and make all this go away, hoping that it was just some bad nightmare.  It felt wrong to continue on with daily life when I felt so empty and heartbroken.   I even had the thought cross my mind that maybe by some freak of nature my baby would still be alive, and I wondered if they'd check the heartbeat again.  I was full of insecurities about myself, my role as a wife and mother, whether I was being consistent and loving enough with Samantha when sometimes I felt like I didn't have enough energy for her.

The one thing that made me feel better was the conversation Ben and I had on Monday night in bed.  We discussed next year and what our plans would be now that we are not expecting a new baby at the end of September.  I had planned to stay home next year to take care of Samantha and the new baby, but now with losing the baby, did all that change?  Ben was wonderful and brought this up with me, expressing that he still wanted me to stay home, stating that I would be happier doing what I want to do instead of feeling forced to go back to work, plus it will give him more time to devote to working and writing his dissertation, with the end goal of finishing graduate school and getting a job someday.  This conversation was so encouraging to me because the thought of going back to teach next year was devastating to me.  If I went back to teaching, I would constantly be thinking the only reason I was there was because I lost my baby, and I don't think I could handle that idea emotionally.  I was so encouraged that Ben supported those plans for me to stay home and saw the value of it, even if I don't have a newborn to take care of right away.  

Despite the sadness that enveloped our hearts throughout the week, we did manage to take some cute pictures of Samantha.  Here is a video of Samantha running around our living room "nakie" as she would say.

We are lucky enough to be blessed by a great church here, and they offered to bring us meals after they found out about our miscarriage.  It was such a blessing to us because we certainly didn't feel like making and cleaning up dinner.  It was nice to be able to just spend time as a family, without having the burden of meal planning.  We did make a trip to the grocery store mid-week for odds and ends, and here are some pictures of Samantha in the shopping cart car.

On Wednesday night Samantha helped us make banana chocolate chip muffins for our small group on Thursday night.  We hadn't met for a few weeks, so we decided we should probably try to meet even though Ben and I weren't really in the mood for company.  When making the muffins, I decided to give her the job of mashing the bananas, and she loved her job.  She took it very seriously and surprisingly did not get any mashed bananas on anything.  After that day, she talked about mashing bananas many days after.  Samantha loves to help in the kitchen, and it's great trying to come up with little jobs like this for her to do.

Thursday afternoon I took a half day off school because of my pre-operation appointment.  We knew these next two days and many weeks after would be terrible, but I had no idea of the pain of miscarriage in every way, physically, emotionally, relationally, and spiritually.  The pre-op appointment was fairly uneventful.  They just asked a lot of questions and filled out a lot of forms.  They also had to take my blood.  Right after this appointment, we were scheduled to see my doctor at the office for him to insert a laminaria to begin opening my cervix in preparation for the surgery.  In the exam room, he asked how we were doing, if we had any questions, and I posed the question of wondering if there was anything to see after the d and c procedure.  He said no, that there wouldn't be anything recognizable this early, and asked if we were okay with the results of the ultrasound, if we had any doubts.  He said if we were second guessing anything, we should do another ultrasound, just to give us peace of mind before we move toward the d and c procedure.  I decided that it would be good for me to have another ultrasound, just to have the loss of life confirmed, to put any doubts at ease.  So, I got redressed and went to another room for the ultrasound.  Claire, the ultrasound tech, is one of the sweetest, most gentle ladies you'll ever meet, and it was great doing another ultrasound with her.  The nurse at the hospital was so indirect, cold, and distant.  It didn't feel like it was a real life that was ended.  However, at my own doctor's office, I felt the life inside my womb was confirmed, she explained a lot about what I was seeing on the ultrasound screen, the size of baby and the lack of blood flow.  She even made a CD of a few pictures for us and that made me so happy.  The hard part of a miscarriage is there is nothing physical to hold on to.  At least now we have some pictures of our little one in my womb.  Seeing those images and having the details explained to me made me feel so much better about proceeding with the insertion of the laminaria and moving towards the surgery the next day.  I then went back in with the doctor for the insertion of the laminaria and that was more painful than I expected.  Emotionally and physically painful.

Later that evening, I was in a state of shock.  I was having some cramping, but was feeling okay physically.  However, later in the evening when using the restroom, the laminaria fell out and I got really worried.  The doctor didn't say anything to us about what to do if that happened.  I was concerned that the surgery would be affected or that things would be delayed.  Ben called the emergency call line for the doctor, explaining what had happened, and the doctor called back pretty quickly.  He said that he had never heard of this happening to anyone before, but that it was okay.  He said that he might just have to dilate me in a different way during the surgery the next day.

Friday morning we got up and spent some time together as a family before Ben's mom got to our house.  She volunteered to come down the day of my surgery and stay the night to help us around the house and with Samantha on Saturday.  It was such a big help to have her here.  I was not allowed to eat anything that morning, so while Ben, Samantha, and Ema were eating lunch, I took the opportunity to spend some quiet time with my Abba Father.  I knew that they were just going to be removing the physical body of my baby in the surgery, that his soul was already in heaven with God, but I was having such a hard time accepting what was going to be happening to me.  I desperately wanted to give birth to my baby and hold him in my arms.  I knew that someday I would be able to hold my baby in heaven.

We got to the hospital around 12:30, checked in, and then had to wait an agonizingly long time in the waiting room.  I leaned my head against Ben's chest and let the tears roll down my cheeks onto his shirt.  I felt like we should be making conversation, but had no words to say.  It was well after 1:00 by the time they called us back.  A nurse took my vitals and told me to undress and put on the hospital gown.  Ben helped me cover up with the stiff, white sheets and blankets on the sterilized hospital bed, and as I sat there I instantly broke down crying, saying that I didn't want to do this.  Ben just embraced me, and we cried together.  

Once we collected ourselves and opened up the door to our room, another nurse came in to finish paperwork and insert my IV.  She talked to us about her son thinking of going to Taylor and some baloney about "going through hard times so that we can see the rainbows later in life."  I was not in a place where I could accept that statement as truth.  It just irritated me and made me wish she would just stop talking to me, trying to make light of the situation I was in.  A few minutes later, the nurse came back in, checking to make sure that it was okay for the anesthesiologist to be a pregnant lady.  They didn't want to be insensitive to my situation.  I told them it was fine since I wouldn't be awake for the surgery anyways, so she came in and introduced herself.  Then, another nurse, in the long progression of nurses I would see during my stay in the hospital, came in and said she would give me something to relax me.  It seemed like it worked instantly.  I felt the white walls of the room spinning and my body getting heavy.  I even said, "Whoa, this works fast."  She took my glasses, I said good-bye to Ben, and we were off wheeling down the creepy hallway, through the doors into the large circular room with many metal instruments and a stiff looking table that I had to scoot myself onto, while the ladies tried to make conversation about my occupation.  I remember them asking me to lay out my right arm and then my left arm, and that's the last thing I remember until after my surgery.

When I awoke I was very disoriented and felt like I couldn't see clearly out of my right eye.  I was in another room now, surrounded by curtains, sitting with yet another nurse, and I remember asking her where I was.  Once I remembered, realizing the surgery was over, I instantly placed my palms over my empty womb, almost feeling the emptiness that now replaced the life that once grew inside.  I had a flashback of a time early in my pregnancy, before I even took a pregnancy test and found out that I was pregnant, where I was laying in bed with my palms over my stomach and could have sworn that I felt a flutter from inside my womb.  This remembrance and the juxtaposition of those two moments of time hurt like the worst pain I have ever felt.

After awhile of trying to make conversation, I was wheeled back into the first room I was in, where I could see Ben.  The nurses were talking to each other, and I overheard one say to the other that they had to give me more medicine to relax me when I came out of my anesthesia because I was crying.  They let me lay there and rest with Ben as he asked me how I was feeling, helped me take some drinks, and filled me in on the report from my doctor.  The doctor said the surgery went well, that the laminaria did its job even though it fell out, so he didn't have to dilate me in any other way.  There was very little bleeding, which is good, and I felt pleased hearing those results from Ben.  At this point, I just wanted the nightmare to be over.  It is normal to bleed after the surgery, particularly in the few days following, but I was not prepared for it emotionally.  Once we got home, several big blood clots passed while going to the bathroom, and I just burst into tears at the loss of our baby and the remembrance of that loss with every spot of blood.  Ben just sat there and held me, being the wonderfully supportive husband that he is.  I would not have been able to do this without him and his great love for me and our family.

I tried to be a part of the family and came downstairs; however, I just sat on the couch in a daze as life continue on around me.  Finally, after dinner, I decided to lay down upstairs because I couldn't handle being around people and just needed the freedom to cry openly.  However, Samantha was having a really hard time with me being upstairs and was crying and calling for me.  I got up so that she would know I was okay.  It's hard to have a boisterous toddler around when you are trying to grieve.  I felt like I had to put on a good face and I pushed myself too hard, trying to act like everything was "normal" when I was feeling anything but normal on the inside.  I felt empty inside, angry at my flat stomach, insecure of being by myself, selfish with Ben's time and presence, and deeply saddened that I was no longer with child.

Saturday morning Samantha was very excited to have Ema still at our house.  She LOVES having visitors and enjoyed playing on Ema's bed.  Ben and I even got the treat of sleeping in while Ema went in and got Samantha out of her bed in the morning, taking her downstairs and playing with her, while Ben and I took the opportunity to get some much needed rest.

Saturday morning after breakfast we decorated Easter eggs.  I wasn't so sure what Samantha would think of it, whether she would like it or not, but she was fascinated and intrigued by the whole process.  She loved dropping the eggs in the colored water, coloring on the eggs with the white crayon, and watching as the eggs turned from pale white to bright pastel.  As Samantha would say, "Happy Easter Eggs!"

After decorating Easter eggs, I went outside and "hid" twelve plastic Easter eggs with several M&Ms in each one.  Then, we had Samantha come outside and go on an Easter egg hunt.  She was so cute walking around our little patio area, finding all her little plastic eggs and placing them in her little basket.  After we were done, she kept asking to do it again.

On Sunday we went to church for the wonderful Easter service our church has.  We were supposed to work in the nursery, but someone covered my place so that I could rest and enjoy the worship service.  Ben, however, did have to work in the nursery, so it was especially difficult being in the service without him.  Having the d and c procedure on Easter weekend was both a blessing and a curse because Easter will now always remind me of the loss of our child.  However, it is impossible to not think about how Jesus conquered death and that our baby is not dead, but living eternally with God in heaven.  That is the life He promises all of us who believe in Him as our Lord and Savior, and even though I can't physically hold, see, and touch my baby, even though I will never know if my baby was a boy or girl, or what he or she would have looked like, I know my baby is alive with God, and what could be better?  Here is a quote from my journal on Easter Sunday, "Thank you for taking care of my baby, knowing and creating his inmost being.  Thank you for the joy of Samantha and the blessing you have given us in her.  Thank you for the simple joy of being a family, decorating Easter eggs, going on an egg hunt, playing outside in the sunshine, and hearing Samantha say, "Happy Easter eggs!'"  I AM BLESSED.

Samantha: 22 Months, Week 1 {The Loss of Life}

This week started off like any other normal week.  We went off to work, went about our normal routine, clueless as to the circumstances that were about to turn our lives upside down, devastating us to the core of our beings.  For those of you who do not wish to read about some details of our miscarriage, as noted in the title of my blog post, you may want to stop reading here.  I won't even be sharing much about Samantha in this blog, and I have no pictures or videos to share from this week.  However, writing is healing to my soul, and I want to record the experience of our miscarriage, partly for my own well-being, and also in hopes that my story can minister to someone else who has, is, or will be going through the same thing.  Women don't speak of miscarriage.  Even before I experienced one, I knew of women that had had one, but didn't know anything about the trauma of how it feels physically, the pain of searing loss you feel emotionally, and the gut wrenching doubts and despair of dreams crushed.  I guess maybe no one talks about it because when someone is pregnant you don't want to ruin their joy by speaking of what "could" happen.  You want to revel in the joy of the life inside your womb, not fixate on all that could go wrong, that there is a 1 in 4 chance that the life inside you could be snuffed out, not because of anything you did or didn't do, but just because of some weird act of nature.  Anyways, here is the beginning of my story through the dredges of miscarriage.

Monday after school I was sitting on the couch playing with Samantha, reading her stories, and all of a sudden, I sneezed.  I felt a wet sensation, almost as if I had wet myself, which wouldn't be completely unheard of for a pregnant lady, but usually not this early on in a pregnancy.  I rushed off to the bathroom and noticed it was not urine, but some mixture of fluid with blood.  This scared me quite a lot, as any sight of blood while you are pregnant sends up a warning sign and could be a cause for concern.  Nothing else much happened that night, just some light spotting which is considered somewhat normal during pregnancy.  Since it was after hours, I decided to wait until the next day to call the doctor and see if they had any recommendations about whether this was normal or something that warranted me coming into the office to get checked out.  During the day on Tuesday it seemed to taper off, I was having some brown discharge, almost like at the end of my period.  When I called the doctor and spoke to the nurse about my symptoms, she said that some brown discharge is normal, but it shouldn't be enough that I need a pad like a period.  Also, it shouldn't be heavy or bright red.  If that happened, she encouraged me to call back.

Tuesday night, it turned from brown to red and I was also having mild cramps, kind of like period cramps.  I emailed some of my friends that have had babies to see if this sounded normal, of if I should try to call my doctor again, and they encouraged me to call and try to get in for an ultrasound, just to make sure everything was okay and give me peace of mind.  In the meantime, I made the mistake of looking on the internet about bleeding/spotting during pregnancy.  It is never a good idea to go browsing around on the internet because there are so many horror stories posted about every possible physical condition, and at least with me it makes me jump to the worst possible conclusion.

Wednesday I called the doctor as soon as they opened and talked to them about my bleeding and cramping.  Unfortunately, my doctor was out of the office until Friday, so if I wanted an ultrasound, I would have to go into the hospital to have it done.  I wasn't sure if my bleeding and cramping warranted something where I should go into the hospital.  It never seemed as bad as how the nurse described it should be if I were indeed having a problem with my pregnancy.  Plus, during the day it always tapered off and the cramping stopped.  The nurse told me to call her after school and let her know how I was feeling and if the bleeding continued.  By the end of the day, the bleeding had tapered off again, so we decided it was probably okay unless things got worse over the next day or two.  She just told me to take it easy, so I stayed home from my exercise class and rested.  However, that night the cramping came back and was more intense than the night before.  At this point, I was definitely concerned about my baby and how my pregnancy was going.  Ben convinced me to call the doctor back again the next day and set up a time to go in and get an ultrasound done at the hospital.  We had an appointment scheduled for the following Tuesday, the 26th, the appointment we were supposed to have our first ultrasound to determine the exact due date of our little precious baby; but, we didn't want to wait until then to figure out if everything was okay or not.  I called the office and left a message requesting an ultrasound to be scheduled for me at the hospital the next day, knowing they would get the message first thing in the morning and begin working on scheduling the appointment right away before I would be able to call them from school during my free time.

Wednesday night before bed I wrote in my journal, something that I have not been very consistent with lately.  Ever since college I have kept some sort of prayer journal, some seasons being more faithful than others.  However, this night I was terrified and had to pour out my feelings before my Heavenly Father, the only one who truly knows me for who I am.  Here is a portion of what I wrote: "Be with the precious baby in my womb.  Protect and hold it in your loving, Sovereign hands.  After all, the baby is Yours."  I had no idea how true those words would actually become as the reality of life lost set in over the next couple days.

Thursday morning I received a phone call shortly after 9 a.m., letting me know that they scheduled an ultrasound for me at the hospital for 11:30 a.m.  I was to be at the hospital by 11:00 and had to drink a lot of water (don't remember the exact amount) by 10:00 in preparation for the ultrasound.  I quickly went about arranging for things at school to be taken care of and the rest of the morning was a blur.  I taught math and talked to people, but have no idea what I said.  All I could think about was going to the hospital and finding out what was happening with my baby, this little one that I had already grown to love, this little one that I had already dreamed about, spending evenings planning the future of our family of four with Ben and Samantha.  I don't have any words to describe how I felt.  I didn't know what to expect.  I still felt silly going into the hospital for something that I hoped would turn out to be nothing, but I desperately wanted answers for the nagging doubts and fears that lurked in my mind.  Another teacher at the school covered my class for me since it was such a last minute thing.  In the confidence of my empty classroom, she asked me if everything was okay, and I said no, that I had been cramping and bleeding, and that I was going into the hospital for an ultrasound to see if my baby was okay.  She instantly asked if she could pray for me and before any words came out of her mouth, tears came streaming down my cheeks.  She prayed that everything would be okay and that we would discover my baby was healthy and growing strong.  I packed up my things and headed to the hospital with my very full bladder.

Ben met me at the hospital.  Waiting in the surgical services waiting area seemed like an eternity.  I was praying to God that everything would be okay, that I would not be finding out that I lost my baby.  We were brought into the back by a nice looking lady, escorted into the room with the ultrasound machine.  She asked me, "How are you today?" to which I responded "Good."  After I said that, I thought to myself, good?, I am nowhere near good.  My heart was in the pit of my stomach.  I laid down on the table, rolled down the top of my maternity pants, and Ben immediately laid his hand on my arm, rubbing it consolingly.  We glanced into each other's eyes, giving each other a tearful half smile as we turned back to the monitor.  The nurse rubbed the instrument on my lower abdomen, searching around for the baby growing in my womb.  Not being a specialist in this area, I didn't know what to look for except for my experience from our first ultrasound with Samantha.  The nurse was silent and cold, no words were said and her face was expressionless.  I knew from my pregnancy with Samantha that we should be able to not only hear a heartbeat, but also be able to see it's tiny flicker of white on the screen.  I did not hear or or see anything and the tears began to roll down my cheeks, wetting the hair behind my ears.  Very matter of factly, the nurse asked me to go into the restroom, empty my bladder, and take my clothes off from the waist down so she could do a vaginal ultrasound to get a better look inside my uterus.  

Again, I was laying on my back on the table with Ben at my side while the nurse searched again for any signs of life.  At one point she switched on whatever it is that records heartbeats.  I heard a heartbeat, glanced over at Ben and smiled-- thinking, praying, hoping, that that was the heartbeat of my baby.  However, it was slow, not like the fast-paced heartbeat I remember from all the times we heard Samantha's heartbeat prenatally.  It was a glimmer of hope that was quickly smashed into pieces when a little later the nurse turned it on again and I saw a straight line go across the screen, followed by the nurse quickly turning it off.  It was then I knew in the deepest part of my soul that my baby no longer had a heartbeat.  It was so shocking that the reality of it didn't quite settle in yet, especially because there was no official word from the nurse.  She remained silent, telling me I could go back and get dressed in the restroom.  

When I came back out, I decided to ask the nurse if she could tell us anything, if she could find a heartbeat at all.  She beat around the bush for awhile, saying that she was technically not allowed to tell us anything since she was not my doctor.  You could tell she was really struggling internally with what to say to us as we stood there in front of her, begging for some clarity.  She went on to say, since we weren't going to be seeing our doctor until the next day, she didn't want us leaving the hospital not knowing, assuming that everything was okay.  So, she finally said that she could not find a heartbeat.  I should have been about 12 weeks along, but the baby only measured at 8 weeks, 2 days.  My heart stopped, and I started sobbing.  She handed Ben the tissue box and said she would step outside the room and give us some time, that we could come out when we were ready.  I melted into Ben's arms and sobbed tears of the deepest sorrow I have ever felt.  Our tears fell together for the loss of our baby.  What do you say to your husband or wife after the loss of your child?  We were speechless.  We left the hospital in a daze, in a state of unbelief of the news we just heard.  The hospital, once a place marked with the joy of the birth of our firstborn, now having the feeling of death, sorrow, and sadness.  Ben called school for me, letting them know I would not be back that day, and we headed home.

Samantha was still at the babysitter's house, so our house felt so empty.  I didn't know what to do with myself.  I could not stop crying.  I was exhausted in every way possible and numb with disbelief.  I had not eaten any lunch, but couldn't bring myself to eat anything.  I approached Ben in the kitchen, hugging him and crying into his chest.  Then, I pulled back, looking into his loving eyes, and asked if I could tell him something.  I shared with him that God gave me a nice image after we found out about our baby at the hospital.  I instantly had a picture of our Heavenly Father cradling our little baby in the palm of His hand, jut like the image on the ultrasound machine, but in His loving hand.  Ben said, "Yeah, I know," with the most pained look of sadness I have ever seen, pulling me back into his embrace.

Not knowing what to do, I got out my Bible and journal, voicing my many questions to the God that will bear all my burdens: "What do we do now?  How do we deal with our grief?  Why did God take this baby from us?  What happened that made me miscarry?  What would this little one have looked like?  What about all the plans we made for the coming year with our new apartment and me staying home next year?  I feel strange knowing that I have a dead baby inside me.  What are they gonna have to do now?  How soon can we try for another one?"  Then, I re-read the words I wrote the previous day, "Be with the precious baby in my womb.  Protect and hold it in your loving, Sovereign hands.  After all, the baby is Yours."  I believe that God gave me that picture for a reason.  He heard my prayers last night and give me that picture to reassure me that He answered my prayer.  He was indeed holding my precious baby in His loving, Sovereign hands.

I stayed home from school on Friday, not being able to bear being around people so soon.  Plus, I had a follow up appointment with Dr. Crooke at 9:30 to discuss the results of our ultrasound.  We dropped Samantha off at the babysitter's house so we could go to our appointment.  The doctor said that I could either wait for the miscarriage to happen naturally or we could schedule a Dilation and Curettage surgery.  After talking to a close friend from Texas who is an ultrasound technician and hearing from some friends' experiences with miscarriages the night before, I knew that I would rather have the D and C surgery.  I did not want to see and experience the passing of my baby.  I did not want the process to be long and drawn out.  Having the surgery put me in a better place for making sure my uterus was cleaned out and in a better place to be healthy for another growing baby sooner.  We scheduled the surgery for the next Friday, the 29th, Good Friday, since I already had the day off of school.  I kept it together fairly well for the appointment, but when we were checking out, scheduling the time for the surgery and pre-operation appointment, the office lady started crying with me and I couldn't hold it in any longer.  I left the office, passing all the other happy pregnant ladies in the waiting room, with tears streaming down my face and Ben's strong arm wrapped around my shoulders.

This weekend we were supposed to drive up to Chicago for a wedding for a friend from high school, and I thought about still going as a way to distract myself from the feelings of sadness, doubt, grief, and emptiness.  I felt unable to function normally, not being able to play and laugh with Samantha like I usually do.  Ben allowed me to sleep in that morning, running out and doing errands for me so that I didn't have to, but being alone was not good for me.  I remember walking around the apartment, attempting to get ready for our trip to Chicago and I would just start sobbing uncontrollably.  I could not even think clearly enough to know what to pack or even what decision to make about whether we should still travel or not.  Then, just as it came to a time I had to make a decision because we were coming up on Samantha's nap time, I heard a knock at the door.  I went down the stairs to answer it and there stood a delivery man with a vase of flowers for me from a sweet friend, Cecelia, at school.  I eat lunch with her every day at school and she knew about my pregnancy and my plans for next year.  Immediately, I broke into tears, going upstairs to show Ben the flowers, crying and telling him that I didn't think we should go because I won't be able to handle it.  I just can't stop crying, how would I be able to go to a wedding and act like everything is happy and okay?

The rest of the weekend was a blur.  Ben and I did a lot of crying.  He was a great support to me, helping out around the house and with Samantha when he could tell I was not in a position where I could function that way.  The bleeding and cramping increased over the weekend, and especially on Friday night.  I used the heating pad throughout each evening and that seemed to ease some of the discomfort.  I also took ibuprofen, but that didn't seem to relieve that dull pain I felt in my lower abdomen.  I was very scared about still having a natural miscarriage.  I did not want my baby to fall out of my body into the toilet like a piece of trash.  Every time I went to the bathroom I was reminded of the loss of my baby.  Every time I changed clothes I was reminded of the loss of my baby.  Every time I touched my belly I was reminded of the loss of my baby.  There were reminders everywhere: our new three bedroom apartment that we got because we were expecting, the empty bedroom waiting the life of a newborn, everything.

On Saturday, Ben's parents came down to Bloomington to be with us, but mostly to help out with Samantha.  We found that we just didn't have the energy to deal with a toddler.  She obviously had no idea what was going on, and we were trying our best not to upset her by the way we were acting.  It was a welcome distraction, and Ben and I were able to get out of the house for a little while by ourselves.

We decided to go to church on Sunday, wanting to be wrapped in the presence of our Father.  I could not bring myself to sing.  Singing praise to God was too hard for me to do, the grief and pain were too raw for me.  I stood there in the middle of the sanctuary, once again wrapped in Ben's strong arm, tears flowing freely down my face, letting the words of praise wash over my broken heart.  Later that day I wrote in my journal the verse that my dear friend Melanie shared with me.  This verse spoke to her after she had her miscarriage: Isaiah 65:17-20a & 23, "Behold, I will create new heavens and a new earth.  The former things will not be remembered, nor will they come to mind.  But be glad and rejoice forever in what I will create, for I will create Jerusalem to be a delight and its people a joy.  I will rejoice over Jerusalem and take delight in my people; the sound of weeping and crying will be heard in it no more.  Never again will there be in it an infant who lives but a few days,...They will not toil in vain or bear children doomed to misfortune; for they will be a people blessed by the Lord, they and their descendants with them."  I was still full of many doubts and questions.  God could have easily reached in and healed whatever it was that caused my baby not to grow and develop.  Why would God not even give an infant chance at life?  Thinking of the Isaiah passage reminded me that we are not living in the new heavens and the new earth.  We still have mortal bodies that go through pain, suffering, disease, and illness.  I knew that God's ways and plans are greater than any of my feeble plans, but at that moment, all I felt was dreams crushed, plans halted, heart broken, and wonder about why God chose this road for me and my family.