Sunday, June 29th, 2008
We called the midwife. How far along was I? “We just found out on Wednesday.” Was I on medication? “Yes, Clomid.”
She said Clomid sometimes causes cysts. She said it could be a cyst or tubal pregnancy – either way, we were going in for an emergency ultra sound. Drew called our pastor on the way to the hospital. Gave him about an hour’s notice that I wouldn’t be leading worship that Sunday. Thankfully, he didn’t ask questions.
After a few hours at the hospital, the doctor-on-call verified that it was a ruptured ovarian cyst. The baby was too small to be detected in the ultra sound, but everything should be ok.
So we went home.
I was completely unprepared for what came next, and I couldn’t stop it. Even though I would’ve given my life to protect the life inside me, my body had a different plan. And, when things went wrong, the receptionist at the Doctor’s office simply said “You may be miscarrying. Come in to test your hCG levels.” No one told me what was going to happen to my body. No one told me what to expect. Even though I could tell she didn’t want to talk to me, I’d call back again. I didn’t know what else to do. She’d say “Your hCG levels haven’t fallen yet, but you’re probably miscarrying. We won’t know until…” I went to the hospital four times in eight days, carrying a paper that said “Abortion threatened.” Why do they use that word? THAT word? I didn’t ask for this to happen to me. To us. To it.
I didn’t need those tests to tell me everything was NOT ok.
Monday was not ok.
Tuesday was not ok.
Wednesday was not ok.
Thursday was not ok.
And everyday after my hCG levels dwindled to the point of “Abortion confirmed.” By the time we received this news, the worst was nearly over.
I remember crying. A lot.
I remember blood. A lot.
I remember trash cans and toilets… and wondering.
I remember trying to walk, doubled-over from what I would later find out were contractions.
I remember naming that little life that we’d never know.
I remember sitting in a parking lot while hail and rain and wind shook the car as violently as my body shook that microscopic little life out of me.
I remember laying on my couch late one night, unable to sleep from the physical and emotional pain, rubbing my stomach: “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”
I remember asking myself if the second round of Clomid did this. If I did this? IF I DID THIS???
I don’t remember talking to God.
Part one: Before The Beginning
Part two: The Real Reason Why I Quit Seminary
Part three: Clomid
Part four: When Everything Changed
tears.
This sounds all too familiar. We experienced nearly the exact same circumstances. Four times. It sucks. A lot.
I know Brooke… I’m so sorry.
Wow!
Mandy~
When we lost Kira @ 6 months
EVERY SINGLE
word..
thought..
and even raindrop (it was raining for me)
Were your words above
This morning, 20 years to the month that we lost her
I sit here miles away wanting to hug you… already crying with you. Wanting to grab your hands and tell you eye to eye
YOU are SO BRAVE, Faithful to Him by telling your story.
God hears you, sees you, chases frantically after you
GOD is the God of the IMPOSSIBLE
Trust Him, pursue Him with every breathe.
and He will show up.
((hug))
Thank you, H. I’ve said it a billion times over the past week or so, but I don’t feel brave. I dread opening my computer. I dread remembering what’s out there for the world to read about us right now.
But, then again, if the world doesn’t know “what” happens in these circumstances – if people don’t have a glimpse of what infertility or miscarriages are like – then they won’t know how to talk to someone about it. They will hide from those of us who are hurting. And we will continue to sit in our collective silence.
I don’t want others to go through this. But I do want others to be aware… Hopefully it will make a difference.
it already IS making a difference friend… you are teaching me how to talk to others going through this. that is a gift. thank you for your courage… thank you for helping other women talk about it, and allowing the rest to learn more through their stories too, so we can not be silent as our sisters struggle with this…
thank you.
It is making a difference…. trust me.
“They will hide from those of us who are hurting. And we will continue to sit in our collective silence.”
I pray these sentences alone will bridge the vast gulf between those who know this pain and those who don’t. My heart aches from the familiar sting of infertility and the desire to see those who hold out hope for a sign not give up, no matter how silent heaven might be in reply.
Mandy, I’m listening as you share your heart.
I’m also hoping these posts will help people who haven’t lived this know what to say to those who have.
Yessir.
Hugging you, friend…
Still listening.
oh my god
oh my god
oh my god
oh my god
oh my god
oh my god
*breathless*
I can’t talk
*gasping for breath*
*tears*
wow
Mandy, I am so sorry. . .so, so sorry. . .
me too…
I have typed out and deleted several comments on this already…. but none seem worthy.
my arms ache to give you a big hug and cry for that life with you. my heart feels heavy for your sadness and pain.
\
and honestly, the mom in me is angry for you, and grieving this morning. it’s a terrible thing that we’ll never understand this side of life…. which, frankly, sucks.
dang.
you are loved. by so so many.
I know this sounds crazy, but thank you for your anger. It makes mine feel less… unjustified.
your anger is totally justified. anger itself is not bad, especially when we have been handed something so heart wrenching.
it’s ALWAYS a comfort to me to remember that even Jesus himself was angry. To know he identifies with that part of us that often feels so dark.
oh Mandy….I’m so sorry….
Hey Kelly. Thanks for reading.
im so sorry. =(
I pray writing this out, as painful as it must be, is cathartic for you.
The part where I started crying was when you apologized to your baby.
I’m so sorry.
My lips are quivering.
Yeah…. that’s what got me too….
There was nothing else I could do for that life.
My heart breaks…
For you…
For me…
For all the others who have walked through this.
Your words are echoing in my heart, after having been down that path 3 different times and uttered those same words each time.
Thank you for opening your heart and your story.
I’m thankful I’ve only endured one… I’m petrified of enduring another.
I have four children.
Three, I have been fortunate enough to hold.
One, I’ll see in heaven.
We named him, or her, Chris.
It will be amazing to see the child of our hearts, of our dreams, one day.
“I will go to him, but he cannot return to me.”
~King David after the death of his first child with Bathsheba
I’m praying for you and Drew.
Thank you Red.
Thank you Mandy for having the courage to re-live what you went through, so that others faced with the trial of infertility or miscarriage are encouraged to not be afraid to reach out for help.
You are making a difference by being part of the collective voice of overcoming. Letting others who are suffering know that are not alone.
Thank you Ed… I hope there’s encouragement in all this.
So sorry you haven been through such a heart wrenching journey and thank you for sharing so honestly.
I walked this more than once with my sister. And even after seeing it, I can’t imagine the pain that stays with her. Or you.
I love you and am praying for you.
More than once… I’m so sorry for her – and for your whole family. I know it rocks everyone…
She had one baby die inside her that didn’t deliver on its own. They had to go in and take the baby… the wailing sound that came from her after that is one I can still hear in my ears. I love her and grieved with her, but I can’t pretend to know her pain or yours. I can only love you in it.
Thank you for loving me well.
I am crying again today reading this post. I can’t even imagine the pain you felt then and certainly the pain you are reliving as you share this story with all of us. You don’t feel brave and courageous and yet you are that and so much more. I am praying for you and like everyone else on here wishing I could hug your neck and tell you face to face how loved you are.
OH DEAR GOD!! Mandy, I get this… because this this is what happened to me. I started spotting at 7weeks but the idea of miscarrying wasn’t even in my thoughts. No one told us what would happen after we left the ER at 5 am after seeing our baby on the ultrasound but hear no heartbeat but my own…. the next 24 – 48 hours after that were pure HELL! No one told me I would be crawling to the bathroom because the pain I was feeling where contractions… and all my poor Greg could do was hold me… and I too said sorry to our little baby. Probably because I felt like I didn’t do enough to protect it, as if there was something I could do. If I thought standing on my head would being the baby back I wouldn have done it but the fact was… the heart stopped beating…
After that I threw out the clomid..
I’m so sorry that you had to go through this Mandy… so sorry… but I believe there is a special place for our babies in Heaven. I truly do.
I’m astonished by the number of women who have confessed how crazy Clomid made them. Simply astonished. Why isn’t this discussed in the process??
No, they don’t say a word, just hand it out like the cure-all that it isn’t. Also, I had this feeling that as they wanted to up the dosage that I’d end up with more than one baby, or it would happen again OR worse yet, that I didn’t really know the side effects of Clomid were… (Other than the tremendous pain I felt) for all I knew I could end up with ovarian cancer. Then what would be the good in that…
The ironic thing about losing that little one… it set off a different chain reaction of events that truly caused us to do our knees. The stress of losing the baby seemed to issue heart issues for Greg…. That’s when we met Brent & Tam also because they moved in next door. Even though we recognized them from church, we didn’t know each other well… especially since Brent’s dad had just had open heart surgery also.
“or it would happen again”
I hear you…
I cry tears for you.
“The punishment which brought us peace was upon Him, and by His wounds we are healed.”
Hoping for healing
…
“Childlessness, to any degree, in the heart of a person who so wants to be a mommy hurts. It hurts like a mother! The pain is evidence of hope. We hope for the fulfillment of our desires, while all the while our guts are a train wreck of emotions. We haven’t given in to cynical resignation so we burn with hope.”
For the record… I see you as a fellow mother.
Thank you @ngie…
I read this yesterday, but I could not think of anything to say. It brings back too many memories.
Please just know that I am trying to listen…
Nor:
If it’s too much, don’t feel obligated to listen. Really. This is for people who need it.
And I’ve been aware of the fact that my words could be difficult for some…
Mandy-my heart hurts for you and Drew. I am sorry. I wanted to mention a friend of Shelly’s who has gone through similar painful circumstances. I don’t know about you but sometimes talking with a fellow believer who is still in the midst of pain is comforting. Let me know if you would like to get in touch with her. I am praying for you and thinking about you. My heart hurts.
Love in Him,
Robin
Thank you Robin – for your words and prayers.
I mean that.
Fortunately, in the past few months, I’ve been blessed to talk this out with a few women who have/are in these struggles…
And, please, tell your man I said it was good to see him Sunday.
Mandy,
I decided to check in on your blog… and wow…. found your story.
Now let me say, that shockingly, I have been in a very similar place then you, but it doesn’t look like it if you look at my life from the outside.
Dustin and I tried to have children for 4 years before conceiving Grace, she was born at almost 5 years of marriage. In those first four years, we tried very hard to get pregnant. And we did, multiple times, We lost six before we had one. I have been on clomid, progesterone, and had so many tests multiple times. I have been told, “If you ever have one child, that will be probably all you will ever have.”
I have experienced the pain of seeing my friends have children after children while we waited……
Now, Mandy, we have 5 kids…… I have shared my story before….
just wanted you to understand… and my heart aches for you heart and your empty arms…..
I will be reading the rest of your story.
Thank you Anna. And I’m so happy that your situation has turned out as it has. What a blessing and miracle!
so proud of you. you know my thoughts already here… just wanted to let you know i’m still here.
praying.
supporting.
loving you.
look at the community you’re pulling in here, mandy-girl! your words are SO needed here. SO needed.
Just wanted to say that I remember the pain too. I had a placental abruption during labor and my full term son wasn’t able to breathe in utero. He was born alive, lived for 5 days on the ventilator and was pronounced brain dead. We had to remove him from life support.
My body failed me.
My body rejected my son.
I remember the first time I got to see him after being at separate hospitals for 4 days. I wheeled in and looked at him, crying. “I am so sorry.” I said over and over again. And then I wheeled out, unable to deal with the tears and lump in my throat.
The nurse followed me and got into my face and said, “do not be sorry. It is not your fault. Quit blaming yourself.”
I had never even met the lady, but I just told her. “I know, but I am feeling so very sorry for his situation and it WAS my body’s fault whether or not I wanted it.”
It took me a real long time to forgive myself for that. And sometimes I feel sorry even still, 4+ years later.
Mandy, it is not your fault, but, I will allow you to feel sorrow. That is human empathy and proves you’re that child’s mother. You have every right to feel sorry. All mothers do when there child is hurting. Every single one of them.
((((hugs)))) By the way, I would love to know your sweet baby’s name!
What a nightmare and heart-wrenching experience. In some ways, I count myself lucky in that I … well … in that my miscarriage didn’t happen further along. Those few days were sweet, but I know it gets worse and worse – harder and harder.
Thank you for your permission and understanding about my sorrow… I know there are a million reasons why a pregnancy can go wrong. And I also know that a LARGE percentage of women who have lost a pregnancy, end up asking themselves if they could’ve prevented it. If they did something wrong.
In most cases, we’ll never know.
mandy….. i walked through a painful miscarriage about 7 years ago. i never expected the emotional turmoil which would accompany such loss. jett was 2 at the time and i remember the shock of the miscarriage being so much like post-pardum but without the cute baby to hold. i know you’re a few years removed from that time in your life but also know that you think about the sweet baby you loss everyday (as i also thinking of mind everyday and wonder who’s rocking he/she in heave.)
thanks for your authenticity.
Brandi. I’m so sorry… Really. “Shock” is a good word for it, isn’t it? It’s completely shocking – overwhelming – overtaking…
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just started reading through your “waiting” ( i know i need to catch up)
i know how every word of this feels and has felt for me, then i watched my daughter go through this same pain. There are no words that will make this okay, but i admire you so much for having the courage and love for others to write this. I am sorry for your loss, its not your fault, and someone told me once.. “maybe God knit that lil angel together so well, HE decided to keep her for himself, and spare her all the bad in this world” that made me look at it a different way. Love you friend!
Thanks for these words, Darla.
I’m sorry you know about this… And your daughter.
Love you
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