"We can't find the heartbeat."
The baby's heart had stopped. And in that moment, mine did too.
The woman at the hospital confirmed what I had suspected, but it didn't make the blow any less painful. Since becoming pregnant, the thought of miscarrying was constantly in the folds of my mind. And the days leading up to that hospital visit were filled with worry combated with faith. You see, I had been spotting, on and off, for three weeks. At the first sight of blood, I immediately went researching. As it turns out, many women spot or bleed in their first trimester. It eased my mind for awhile, and the spotting even stopped for several days. But then it started again and was heavier.
I told Hodge and shared with him my concerns. Whilst holding my hands, he prayed. And then we moved forward, knowing that no matter what was about to happen, God knew and we were in God's hands.
Hodge called our doctor but had to leave a message. She soon responded instructing us to go to a hospital about 30 minutes away in Porto. Upon arriving and then waiting three hours to be seen, I tried to remain calm as my mind raced and my heart was heavy. I mostly did so by repeating the words God had brought to me earlier that morning.
"The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivers him out of them all." Psalm 34:18-19
With these words, God confirmed His presence. He was going to help me through and deliver me out of it. I had no doubt about it.
After the doctor called us back and asked all the appropriate questions, she proceeded to do an ultrasound. And then those words. "We can't find the heartbeat." We struggled to respond as she continued to ramble off the facts: doesn't mean you can't have children in the future, genetic problem, try again in a couple months, 1 in 4 women. In that moment, you don't feel like 1 in 4. You feel like one in the entire world.
We walked out into the lobby and then came the flood. It is something about walking into a room full of pregnant women when you have just discovered your baby has died and then being asked "What did they say? How is everything?" by the man who deals with the hospital bill because he speaks fluent English that makes you want to cry. And you ever notice how when you are sad and someone gives you a hug, for some reason that hug gives you license to cry or cry harder?
Well, we went back home having been told that because I was already bleeding, it would take about a week for the baby to come out naturally. O man, was I dreading this part. And that is because, mostly, I didn't know what to expect. The doctor did little to inform. Plus, with the language barrier, it was difficult to get clear answers. So, I went researching, again, and it seemed the only useful information were the personal testimonies shared on online forums. I was thankful for women that shared. I also reread a blog post one of my friends wrote a couple weeks back about her miscarriage. In her words, "If you go through a miscarriage on your own, with out any procedure, your body actually goes through labor. Yes LABOR. And what happens when a woman goes through labor?... A baby at the end...right." I was terrified of the inevitable physical pain as well as the emotional pain when my eyes would see that tiny, lifeless fetus.
(Now come the slightly gory details.)
As we settled in for the night, I started to bleed A LOT. I went through one pad. Two pads. I sat on the toilet and blood was dripping. And not only blood, but large globs of tissue. (Looking back now, I had read somewhere that if you bleed through a pad in one hour, you go to the hospital. However, that bit of information seemed to have slipped my mind, and my freaking out about losing so much blood took precedence.) Then, contractions. Then, nausea and dizziness. Then, as my arms rested around Hodge's neck, I passed out. When I came to, I leaned over to vomit.
The second time this happened, I woke up surrounded by a pool of blood and about 5 people in a hospital room. (Thankfully, Hodge had found a hospital nearby.) A woman was yelling my name. I panicked, I freaked out, I started crying. What else was I to do? The woman in charge was asking, "Are you pregnant?" My response: "I was." It was only after they stripped me, laid me on a gurney, and covered me with a huge blanket that I realized I was shaking. I was cold, I was scared, and my eyes were frantically searching for Hodge.
My breathing slowly became more calm and controlled as I was rolled to another room. Once there, a doctor performed an ultrasound, and I was cleaned up by two really sweet girls that looked younger than me. I tried to convey that I was doing okay by making a joke, because, well... I was 24 and wearing a diaper. The girls then helped me to another room with a bed where I was finally able to talk with Hodge. He said I was to stay overnight, and he wasn't allowed to stay. I asked if the baby had come out. His answer, "Yes." When the nurse came back, she said that she had given me some medicine as an effort to get the remainder of the tissue out of my uterus naturally. Once she got me settled and Hodge made sure I was okay, I was left alone. At that point, I looked forward to rest. Only, it didn't come quite yet. I spent the night with contractions as my companions. Finally, at around 7:30 in the morning, tissue started coming out. Then, it was over. The pain was gone, and sleep immediately overtook me. A couple hours later, the doctor did another ultrasound and informed me everything was good. More blood was expected over the next week, but it would be very light.
After I drank some tea and ate bread to fight dizziness that nearly made me pass out again, Hodge took me back home, got me in bed, and fed me. Then, rest.
I write all of this down not to gross anyone out but to inform. I share because other women shared. I read nothing that prepared me for this. Miscarriages vary and every woman who goes through one has a different experience it seems. But I believe, every woman (and every person for that matter) should be informed, whether or not it happens to them. As family and friends reached out to us, it was quite surprising to discover how many had gone through a miscarriage. They really are that common and really do effect many women and families. It is helpful knowing that others understand what we went through, emotionally as well as physically and mentally.
In the days that followed, every time I closed my eyes to talk with God, the only words that I could think to say were "Thank you." Thank you, Lord, for getting me through this. Thank you for doctors that spoke English and took great care of me in that moment of crisis. Thank you for Sergio, that EMT guy who gave Hodge a hug as the doctors attended to me. Thank you for my sweet husband who has been so strong through it all, has made me laugh despite the pain, and has taken care of me. Thank you for family and friends who are there for us despite the distance. Thank you for Your comfort. Thank you for hope. I don't blame God. In fact, I was reminded several times through this that the Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Many people might not understand this statement and even think it dumb, but it makes sense to me.
While my faith remains in God, I don't ignore the pain. I don't cover anything with a smile and pretend that my heart isn't broken. Those 24 hours, each feeling, each scene, each word are forever implanted in my memory and each time they are replayed in my mind, my eyes fill with tears. This world is full of pain, and I am not blind to that. Everyone encounters affliction, everyone deals with pain. But there is only one God who can sympathize with us in our pain. His name is Jesus. The only God who came as man and experienced pain and suffering. The only God who truly understands what we face in this world. And because of Him, I can find joy in the midst of pain.
(Hebrews 4:15, James 1:2-4)
In the future, I will cry and I will get sad, but it doesn't mean I don't trust the God who gave me life, the God who loves me unconditionally, and the God who holds my future. I know that I will continue to face affliction my entire life, but I also know that I will continue to grow through each experience and every feeling of pain.
In a few months, we will try again to conceive. And I am hopeful. If I have another miscarriage, I will learn and grow through it and praise God. If we have the opportunity to birth and raise a child, I will learn and grow through it and praise God.
