Still Hope: An Introduction to a Series on Miscarriage
I had another miscarriage.
Yes. Another.
I took the test a few Fridays back. Spotted that Sunday. Got myself into the doctor on Monday. And miscarried on Tuesday. Four days. That’s it. I was barely pregnant.
This is my fifth miscarriage. It overwhelms me to be putting that ordinal number (fifth!) in front of a word that speaks of defining loss. I can’t coherently string together words that would explain what it feels like to lose five times, but here’s some words come to mind: numb, angry, pained, discouraged, disappointed, and maybe even the word apathetic.
I admitted to a friend that I feel like a freak. Sometimes I even wonder if I just imagined those extra lines on the pee stick. I wonder if it’s possible to give false positives, and every time I’ve lost so early I want to kick myself for not waiting a full week past my missed period to take the test. I’m embarrassed to be sharing that I miscarried again… because it feels like I failed, and I keep failing.
I have a feeling anytime our bodies betray us, we feel a bit like a freak. When a uterus gives way or a cervix dilates too early or a fertilized egg implants in the wrong place, when our bodies fail to properly house the little life we so desperately want to bring into our home. When DNA hardwiring malfunctions, and life stops in its tracks before heart ever pumped. When an ultrasound reveals the life you’ve been carrying no longer lives. Oh friends. This is hard.
The most difficult part of this process for me, has been this need in me to define my loss—something besides zygote or failed pregnancy, something that validates that I indeed have lost something. Even when I miscarried at 10 weeks, the little life I carried grew no larger than the period at the end of this sentence. Doctors refused to say the word baby, and they corrected me if I did.
The Lord answered my broken cries for some kind of name to give my losses by giving me a picture. Do you know what there was in my womb?
A seed.
The tiniest of things with all the potential and hope and dreams the size of an oak tree. It might not have sprouted for reasons I cannot fathom, but I lost something. I’ve lost five seeds.
I can mourn the little lives with unformed hearts who never felt life-blood course through their veins. I can mourn because really it only takes a mother but a couple minutes to fall in love and see a future (even if she's still reeling from the shock of it.)
Though not all seeds get to send up a stalk into the warm sunshine, even the tiniest seed leaves an impression on the soil.
Can I tell you that this is not my favorite topic? I’d rather not write about miscarriage, about grief, about these things so hard and unexplainable. I feel vulnerable opening up about my grieving process, because it is so personal. I have this hope that one day I will look back and be grateful for this road I’m walking… but today, I would much rather be walking a different road. And that’s honest.
Sometimes I’ve felt like moving forward through the grieving process has been a bit like hacking through the jungle. It’s like blazing a trail, walking paths unwalked. I know that’s not true, but grief can be isolating. And miscarriage doesn’t get talked about much, especially a miscarriage belonging to an unannounced pregnancy.
I’m writing what I wish I could have read. I’m writing because I have longed to know that I wasn’t alone.
I’m writing what God has been speaking to me along the way.
My hope is that if you are walking this hard road (oh dear heart. I am so sorry) maybe we can hack through the jungle together, maybe we can blaze a wider trail, maybe we can offer the wisdom of experience and the encouragement of camaraderie that makes a trail easier to walk.
We will be talking about losing, about grieving, and about hoping again. I even have a project God laid on my heart that I want to share with you. I think it will give you a tangible way to both grieve and hope--no matter the stage in pregnancy in which you miscarried.
Even if miscarriage isn’t your story of loss or suffering, you are so very welcome here. So is your story. This hard substance of miscarriage touches on topics that are deeply woven into the fabric of Christian life. I believe there is something here for you this week.
Friends, I hinge my life and this blog on Romans 8:35,37:
that in all these things… yes, even
this
thing… they cannot separate us from God’s love, and we shall press forward and overwhelmingly conquer this darkness.
God’s love is here. It is. I know it. And by His strength, I shall keep pressing forward. I shall overcome. You too, friend. And that’s what this series is really about.
I know this is hard, this subject, this kind of sharing, but it's an important subject, and your story is important. Here is your invitation. Will you join me?
Here's the part where I ask you to be brave and share your story.
If a comment on a public domain terrifies you= amandaconquers AT gmail DOT com
By Grace,
Amanda Conquers
To Continue Reading the Rest of the Series:
When You Are Trying to Make Something Out of Your Ashes
What You Need to Know When Fear is Suffocating You
Practical Advice for the Grieving Woman and Those Who Love Her