Hope Deferred, Part Three

Part One is here.

Part Two is here.

Earlier today, I stood by the counter in the office of my midwives, glanced down, saw the stack of free pregnancy magazines lying there, noticed the cover picture of a gorgeous pregnant woman showing off her baby bump, and thought, "A midwives' office is no place for a woman who's just had a miscarriage."

I love those midwives; and I'm grateful for the members of their staff, who treated me with kindness and friendliness today (as they do every time I walk through those doors).  But every inch of that place is a reminder of what's been lost:  from the pictures on the walls to the must-be-at-least-eight-months-along woman sitting in the waiting room to the unmistakable cry of a newborn brought along to his mother's postpartum appointment.  It all speaks of what others have and I don't.

As I read back over those two paragraphs, I realize that they sound much more melancholy than I intend.  In reality, I'm doing fine.  I've been buoyed by so many things, not the least of which is all the kind comments left here and on Facebook and the knowledge that so many women are thinking of and praying for me.  I'm deeply grateful.  And so, my office visit today was not remarkably emotional for me, but it could have been if I had been feeling less stable.  My heart goes out to the woman who miscarries, is in the midst of intense grieving, and then finds herself surrounded by images--both real and in print--of happy, smiling, excited pregnant women.  That could be so painful.

I'm certain that my own grief has been tempered by the caution I felt, as did Jeff, from the beginning.  But in those early days, despite the curtain of concern that had wrapped itself around my heart, I found myself jubilant at the thought of another child.  I couldn't help but begin to grow attached, and it didn't take long for my feelings to soar.  For example, I started writing letters--short little notes--to my unborn baby, in an effort to capture how I was feeling at each step of the process.  But after only two, I stopped.  At that point, I had done the pregnancy test that I expected to be dark and definite, but which turned out to be--once again--light and unconvincing.  Maybe at that point I knew what was coming?  But even though I suspected it, hope held out strongly...all the way until there was unarguable proof of the miscarriage and I had to accept what was happening.

Even though it's bittersweet and heart-wrenching for me to read these, I'll include them here as part of the record of this miscarriage...

********

Monday, June 27, 2011 - 10:30 PM

Twenty-four hours ago, I first learned of your existence; and to say that my heart pounded drums of joy inside me would be an understatement.

To be completely honest, I should perhaps say that I first learned of the possibility of your existence because the line in the pregnancy test that told us I am carrying you was so faint that it fell into the category of "if you hold the test tilted just so and if you squint a little and if the lighting is right, there might be an extra bit of blue color down the middle of that window where the line is supposed to be that confirms the test is positive."  It certainly wasn't clear or definitive or obvious.

But nevertheless, my pulse quickened, and my smile broadened; and I proudly carried the test downstairs to show it to your daddy.  When he saw my glow, he remarked, "You really want to be pregnant, don't you?"

Oh, yes.  I surely do.

********

Tuesday, June 28, 2011 - 6:15 PM

The thought running through my head today is this:  I can hardly believe I get to be pregnant again.  I can hardly believe I'm so blessed as to be chosen for this honor.  After having been given four other healthy pregnancies (and a fifth that resulted in miscarriage), to now have the opportunity to do this again is unbelievable.  I am so honored.

When I packed away my maternity clothes after Shav's birth, I distinctly remember wondering whether I would ever get to wear them again.  How absolutely delightful to think that the answer is yes!

********

Oh, such short-lived joy!  But in the long run, I'm sure it's preferable to find out quickly that a pregnancy can't continue.

Because not much time had passed since I had first found out I was expecting AND because of our concern from the beginning, we had not shared the news of our pregnancy with anyone.  However, that also meant that we had not shared the news of the miscarriage either.  And, although I didn't realize it at first, that bothered me.  I felt like people didn't really know me if they didn't know about that loss.  When I began to open up and tell a few close friends about it, I was blessed by the outpouring of love and support they gave me; and it reminded me anew of how valuable openness is.  Fear and sadness grow best in the dark, but shine the light of confession and open communication on it, and those things shrink until they vanish.  How wonderful that God has created us that way!

I'm not trying to drag this out, and I apologize for the various parts that my story has come out in; but I'm simply not finding the time to sit down and get it all out on paper....er, keyboard.  :)  I suppose that, bit by bit, it will all come out.  If only I had more time to write...  :)