When the test
read positive, Jonathan and I did a victory jig in the bathroom. We were ecstatic
to have another baby. We did some quick calculation and figured I was five
weeks.
My plan was
coming together beautifully. I wanted my children two and half years a part.
Bella would soon have a playmate. Peter Rabbit would be the nursery theme. The
baby name book was off the shelf and names were cycling through my mind.
My first pregnancy with Isabella went wonderful. I never had
a moment of doubt that the second would be any different. I had no fear. No
women in my immediate bloodline have ever lost a baby. I never could have
anticipated it happening to me.
As the weeks of my pregnancy progressed, I felt more sick
and fatigued than I had with my first pregnancy. I summed it up to each child
is different, and lovingly bore the sickness because my mind wasn’t focused on
the present day. I was already anticipating July 9th: the arrival of
our child.
At ten weeks, I went in for my routine appointment. Everything
seemed fine, until they did a scan for the baby's heartbeat. My doctor rolled
the gel scanner over my belly, back and forth, but we heard nothing. Her
eyebrows scrunched a bit and she said, “Well it’s still early, so the baby
might be small. Let’s do an ultrasound to be sure everything is okay.”
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| Jonathan gave me this necklace as a symbol of our baby in Heaven. |
At the Zeeland Hospital, I laid on the bed watching the
screen, hoping that we’d find a heartbeat. The ultrasound technician was taking
plenty of pictures and measuring things that looked strange to me, but what did
I know, I wasn’t certified in reading images. So I asked her, “Do you see the
heartbeat?” She paused before looking at me. Her smile was nice, almost
sympathetic. She replied, “I’m not sure, maybe.” It was then that I knew
something was definitely wrong.
That night, my doctor called me from her cell phone. Her
first words were, “I don’t like to call with bad news, but….” My heart stopped
at that moment. She explained to me that the images appeared to be a rare Molar
Pregnancy. The tissues inside the uterus were abnormal, the placenta didn’t
look right, the fetus wasn’t forming properly, and a cyst was also present. Ultimately,
the baby was no longer living, and we needed to schedule an extraction surgery.
I hung up the phone and wept in Jonathan’s arms.
I had to wait five days before they could get me into
surgery because the hospital was booked. So for five days, I not only felt
physically ill, but utterly devastated. As Friday approached, I battled with
anxiety over the surgery. Jonathan suggested that I look up scriptures on
peace. During my search, I came across Isaiah 26:3-4, “You will keep in perfect
peace him whose mind is steadfast, because he trusts in You. Trust in the Lord
forever, for the Lord, the Lord, is the Rock eternal.” I read that verse and
thought, Okay. I will trust in you Lord.
You will be my Rock through this.
On December 16th, I entered surgery. Molar pregnancies are
tricky because if the abnormal tissues are left inside the body, they can
become cancerous. It is important that everything be fully removed or the
tissues may continue to grow and enter other parts of the body, namely the
lungs.
I was put under anesthesia and the doctor worked on
extracting the tissues. I started to hemorrhage. The anesthesiologist hooked me up for a blood transfusion but once the
placenta and fetal tissues were out, the bleeding reduced significantly. Praise
the Lord, I was able to avoid transfusion. After my uterus was scraped twice
and the last tissues were suctioned, I was wheeled into recovery.
An hour later, I awoke feeling shaky and weak. I remember
looking around the room. It was all white. White walls. White curtains. A nurse
stood beside me looking at a monitor. I stared at the wall and thought, It’s done. I’m empty. Before the surgery,
I knew that my baby wasn’t living, but now, my baby was truly gone. Tears
filled my eyes and washed down my cheeks. The nurse rubbed my arm and told me
it was okay to cry.
Recovery has been a very very hard process. The physical
pain after surgery was horrible. A week passed and I wasn't getting better. I
went in for my one-week follow-up and found I had a clinical infection. After ten
days of antibiotics, my physical body felt almost completely healed. But
feeling physically whole is very different from feeling emotionally whole.
Losing a child is devastating. I've never felt such a deep
loss ever before. I have wept and still weep many tears. It’s hard to describe
the great depths of emptiness and grief. I loved that baby from the moment I
knew she was inside my tummy. I wanted that child even before she was
conceived. And I miss my baby more than words can say.
We have named
our second child Shiloh, which means “His gift.” We never were able to hold
Shiloh or rub her smooth face or see her color of eyes, hair, or skin. But
Shiloh is still my gift from God. I have lost the time with my child here on
earth, but I have not lost my child.
I miss my
Shiloh. I will miss Shiloh until we are reunited in Heaven. But oh, that time
is coming. I look forward to the time when I enter the pearly gates and Shiloh
will run across the streets of gold and into my arms. What a wonderful gift!
Right now, I
know my baby is whole and healthy in Heaven’s magnificent nursery. Each night
Shiloh hears the most beautiful lullabies sung from the voices of angels. And
my precious child will never know pain, sorrow, or fear for she is already in
the presence of Jesus.
I prayed the
other day, “Jesus, could you go to the nursery and hold Shiloh in your arms, tell
her that Mommy loves her and that I miss her. Kiss her for me. And tell her that
Mommy will be there soon and very soon.”
I know the Lord
did just that.
This morning, I awoke to the sound of cats making a ruckus in the hall. After
plucking Isabella from her crib, we go into the hall to investigate. 
I grab a Q-tip
to try and push the thing out, but Henry’s going bananas and the mouse is
wedging in further. So I did what had to be done.
