I walk the line... or at least I try to. The line that narrowly divides self-advocating and being obnoxious, asking the right questions and being "that" patient, trusting my own instinct and trusting the medical expertise of doctors and nurses.
First I need to say that this post goes well beyond my own experience in miscarriage. When Liam (my now 2 1/2 year old) had just reached his first birthday, I took him to his well-check Doctor's visit and spoke with his pediatrician about his lack of verbal skills. At that point he was only slightly delayed and a referral may have been premature but in retrospect we see that at 12 months he would have benefited from early intervention. At each subsequent well-check and sick-visit I brought up his lack of speech to our doctor. Admittedly it was hard to pinpoint exactly how many words he could use since he would use a word once then we wouldn't hear it again for months. That being said, I think I knew by 18mos that we really needed help but the doctor was determined that we would wait until his 2 year check up to see if he improved. At two years we got his referral. At 26mos his evaluation put him at an 8mo verbal level.
Also, I've spoken to many other people who have struggled with knowing when to push back and ask for more tests, a referral, answers, an appointment, so I share this as an encouragement.
Your doctor is in the exam room with your body for what, 20 minutes? You're with your body 24 hours a day. Just saying.
(I recognize that the flip side of the coin is that there are many people who abuse the 24 hour nurse call lines because they're paranoid. I'm blessed to have a sister who is a nurse and has worked in the ER; she talks me down from the "Oh my gosh I have to take James/Liam/myself to the emergency room right now" ledge.)
Now, back to my experience with doctors and miscarriage. When we lost our second baby the doctor explained that 25% of all pregnancies end in miscarriage or stillbirth. He started saying that they would run a few tests before we could try again but, glancing at my chart, he realized that we have two children already so "we know you can have babies." He explained that he and his wife had had a miscarriage in the middle of their four children and that we are "just on the wrong side of the percentages." He said all of this with an appropriate amount of compassion in his voice. But the more I've thought about it, the more unsettling that was to hear.
Every woman who has had a miscarriage or still born baby is on the wrong side of the percentages.
Every woman who has ever had a miscarriage or still born baby is on the wrong side of the percentages.
Natural Family Planning (NFP) is a way to chart certain signs that your body gives you about your fertility cycle so that you can either avoid or achieve pregnancy. One of the things you chart is your waking temperature. According to the book that I have, if your temperature is lower than 97.3F during a certain time of your cycle you may be experiencing low thyroid function. When I began to chart low temperatures I assumed that it wasn't a big deal and the book probably wasn't describing my symptoms. A few months after our second miscarriage I began to experience some pronounced exhaustion, inability to focus, and hair loss. The energy and focus problems felt like the first trimester of pregnancy and the hair loss was reminiscent of postpartum hair hell. The combination of these two sets of symptoms gave me the courage I needed to set up an appointment with my Primary Care Physician.
Going into the appointment I was nervous. I had to wait a few months to be seen since I was a new patient and by the time the appointment day arrived, I was no longer experiencing the extreme exhaustion, inability to focus, and hair loss. I was worried that my doctor wouldn't be familiar with NFP and that she would dismiss my concerns as illogical. Although she was not very familiar with NFP, she had heard of it and validated my concerns regarding my period of exhaustion. When I told her what the OBGYN said about not doing any testing in response to the miscarriages, she explained that we do know that there wouldn't be a genetic reason for the miscarriages since we've had two successful pregnancies but that things like hormone levels can fluctuate and there may be an answer there. She ordered a panel of blood work that would test my thyroid function and a few other things related to exhaustion (kidney function, Vitamin D, Vitamin B12, etc). When the results came back I was surprised to learn that everything was normal except for one thing. My Vitamin D level was very low.
The research that I've done on the internet regarding a link between Vitamin D deficiency and miscarriage has been inconclusive. What I mean is that there seems to be many people posting on forums and other places about a link but I wasn't able to find a reputable scientific website that connected the two. The most valid-sounding theory that I found suggested that low Vitamin D would cause the lining of the uterus to be thin, making it difficult for a fertilized egg to implant successfully, which would fit with my symptoms (early miscarriage with the bleeding starting quickly). All that to say, I know that Vitamin D may not have caused my miscarriages and I know that even if we get my levels up to normal that won't guarantee that I won't have another miscarriage, but-- there is a possibility that the miscarriages were caused or linked to my Vitamin D levels and that bringing my levels up will give us a good chance at a successful pregnancy in the future.
All in all, I'm frustrated that in the United States there is a standard of three miscarriages before beginning tests. I can understand wanting to avoid painful and invasive testing after the first miscarriage. But it took one needle stick and four vials of blood to determine that I have low Vitamin D. Between the two miscarriages I had blood taken 8-10 times, just to test my pregnancy hormone levels. It's mind-boggling to me that it was too much work? too expensive? too inconvenient? not covered by insurance? I'm not sure what keeps OBGYNs from doing a panel of blood work after the first miscarriage, but I don't understand it.
So my point is this: keep asking questions, do your own research and come to appointments prepared to make suggestions and requests, and trust your own instincts. You may not find any answers. You may not have low Vitamin D. But if you're having fertility issues or your kids are having developmental issues, what is the harm in getting tested? The worst that can happen is that you wind up with a bruised ego, you were overreacting and there's nothing wrong. But more and more, I'm finding that my instincts are good, and it's better to check... you might just find the answer you've been looking for.
Thursday, January 30, 2014
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
We Had Cupcakes and Cried
There is a certain misconception regarding miscarriage. One that I mean to shed light on in this post. Many suppose that since I have never held my lost babies in my arms that I must not have any memories of them. And while it's true that I've never seen the faces of Samuel or Cora -- or held them in my arms -- I most certainly have vivid memories, reminders, and important dates that will always be reminders of the short time I had with each of them on earth.
I know the night that we got pregnant with Samuel. (Sorry if that's TMI, but chances are, if you're still reading my entries regarding miscarriage and broken hearts you'll roll with me on this one.) The point is, I only knew that I was pregnant for a week. But I was actually pregnant for three weeks. And I know which three weeks they were. We started the Daniel Fast at church they day after I got pregnant and the Fast was broken the weekend that we miscarried. Full disclosure: we broke the fast a few days early-- the Wednesday that I started bleeding and we went to the doctor, I'm pretty sure we ordered a pizza that night.
So there are memories that I have within those three weeks that I can't recall without a stab of pain. The roadtrip I took with Nathan when we discovered the song, "Thrift Shop". Changing the fast to include dairy for me so that I could try to make sure I was getting enough calcium (I was really loving cottage cheese with black pepper). Having some friends over and offering them "Daniel-Fast-Friendly" cookies, knowing that I was pregnant but holding it in because it was too early to share. We watched 3 seasons of Downton Abbey that weekend. We went to an Easter Egg hunt at the Community Center down the street. Two people told us that it was about time to have a third baby. All vivid memories.
With Cora it was a little different. We knew about her for three weeks so I was pregnant for five. I had multiple blood tests to track my hormone levels. Phone tag with nurses and doctors. Confusion about what everything meant. A phone call from the midwife in the middle of Fitness Connection where I finally gained some clarity. Telling my small group about the pregnancy and my need for prayer at Bonefish Grill. Going to Raleigh to Pullen Park and Marbles Museum, Liam was at the peak of his frustration with communication, James camped out the train table and Liam screamed and refused to go into one of the rooms. Working during the days after the miscarriage, telling my co-worker that I was having the "cramps from hell" and letting her believe it was a standard menstrual period.
It's such a hard thing to explain. When I found out I was pregnant it was still very surreal. There was a part of me that kept asking myself if I remembered correctly. The test WAS positive, right? It's a huge thing to wrap my mind around. And even as I try to wrap my mind around it, I attempt to make sense of what I know to be true, my body is growing a human being, I have at least a thousand questions to try to answer. Will it be a boy or a girl? What will we name him/her? How will I tell my husband? How will I tell my family? How will I tell my kids? What will happen at work-- how much time can I take off? Will I return to work at all? If I go back to work will it be full-time or part-time? When and how will I tell my boss? What kind of awesome Facebook reveal will I do? How old will James and Liam be when this baby is born? Where will the baby sleep? How can we rearrange the house to fit a crib? What things did we get rid of that we need to buy again? Will this baby have special needs the way that James and Liam do? Will James and Liam still be struggling in school by then? On and on and on it goes. So that when it's gone, our whole world shifts. The rug has been pulled out from under us.
As time goes by I stop to consider my life occasionally. There is no mark on my body or outward sign that reflects the impact they had on our hearts. My womb is empty, there is no pack n play set up next to my bed, the sounds in my house are the sounds of preschoolers, not a newborn. But I know. At least I have an idea of what my life would be like we had not lost those two little ones. Samuel's due date was November 30th. He would've been almost 2 months old by now. Cora's due date was March 18th, I would've been about 33weeks along, and we would've already had the big gender-reveal ultrasound.
My point is this: there is really no "getting over" this. The pain will always be there. And like one who has had a limb amputated, we learn to limp along. The wound stops bleeding, a scar forms, but something will always be missing. My heart bears the marks that my body does not.
I'm so blessed to have James and Liam. Many people have miscarriages or struggle with infertility and never have the chance to carry and birth their own children. I don't take my children for granted. But I do have vivid memories of my water breaking, my hospital stays (they were so different from James to Liam), holding each of them seconds after they were delivered, nursing them, and caring for them through all hours of the night. As time goes on and I pass Samuel and Cora's due dates I know exactly what I am missing.
This year on Samuel's due date I worked then we attended the Saturday evening church service. It was the first weekend of the Advent season and I was completely caught off guard by the pain of it. Sermons and songs on expectation, a tiny baby, and a pregnant mother made my heart ache. At that time I hadn't given myself space to grieve or process. Opening my heart to worship the newborn Christ was more than I could take. When we returned home a crack had formed in my armor and I was ready to remember my baby. Nathan and I sat together after the boys had gone to bed and we remembered the son that we lost. We had cupcakes for his would-be birthday and cried.
I know the night that we got pregnant with Samuel. (Sorry if that's TMI, but chances are, if you're still reading my entries regarding miscarriage and broken hearts you'll roll with me on this one.) The point is, I only knew that I was pregnant for a week. But I was actually pregnant for three weeks. And I know which three weeks they were. We started the Daniel Fast at church they day after I got pregnant and the Fast was broken the weekend that we miscarried. Full disclosure: we broke the fast a few days early-- the Wednesday that I started bleeding and we went to the doctor, I'm pretty sure we ordered a pizza that night.
So there are memories that I have within those three weeks that I can't recall without a stab of pain. The roadtrip I took with Nathan when we discovered the song, "Thrift Shop". Changing the fast to include dairy for me so that I could try to make sure I was getting enough calcium (I was really loving cottage cheese with black pepper). Having some friends over and offering them "Daniel-Fast-Friendly" cookies, knowing that I was pregnant but holding it in because it was too early to share. We watched 3 seasons of Downton Abbey that weekend. We went to an Easter Egg hunt at the Community Center down the street. Two people told us that it was about time to have a third baby. All vivid memories.
With Cora it was a little different. We knew about her for three weeks so I was pregnant for five. I had multiple blood tests to track my hormone levels. Phone tag with nurses and doctors. Confusion about what everything meant. A phone call from the midwife in the middle of Fitness Connection where I finally gained some clarity. Telling my small group about the pregnancy and my need for prayer at Bonefish Grill. Going to Raleigh to Pullen Park and Marbles Museum, Liam was at the peak of his frustration with communication, James camped out the train table and Liam screamed and refused to go into one of the rooms. Working during the days after the miscarriage, telling my co-worker that I was having the "cramps from hell" and letting her believe it was a standard menstrual period.
It's such a hard thing to explain. When I found out I was pregnant it was still very surreal. There was a part of me that kept asking myself if I remembered correctly. The test WAS positive, right? It's a huge thing to wrap my mind around. And even as I try to wrap my mind around it, I attempt to make sense of what I know to be true, my body is growing a human being, I have at least a thousand questions to try to answer. Will it be a boy or a girl? What will we name him/her? How will I tell my husband? How will I tell my family? How will I tell my kids? What will happen at work-- how much time can I take off? Will I return to work at all? If I go back to work will it be full-time or part-time? When and how will I tell my boss? What kind of awesome Facebook reveal will I do? How old will James and Liam be when this baby is born? Where will the baby sleep? How can we rearrange the house to fit a crib? What things did we get rid of that we need to buy again? Will this baby have special needs the way that James and Liam do? Will James and Liam still be struggling in school by then? On and on and on it goes. So that when it's gone, our whole world shifts. The rug has been pulled out from under us.
As time goes by I stop to consider my life occasionally. There is no mark on my body or outward sign that reflects the impact they had on our hearts. My womb is empty, there is no pack n play set up next to my bed, the sounds in my house are the sounds of preschoolers, not a newborn. But I know. At least I have an idea of what my life would be like we had not lost those two little ones. Samuel's due date was November 30th. He would've been almost 2 months old by now. Cora's due date was March 18th, I would've been about 33weeks along, and we would've already had the big gender-reveal ultrasound.
My point is this: there is really no "getting over" this. The pain will always be there. And like one who has had a limb amputated, we learn to limp along. The wound stops bleeding, a scar forms, but something will always be missing. My heart bears the marks that my body does not.
I'm so blessed to have James and Liam. Many people have miscarriages or struggle with infertility and never have the chance to carry and birth their own children. I don't take my children for granted. But I do have vivid memories of my water breaking, my hospital stays (they were so different from James to Liam), holding each of them seconds after they were delivered, nursing them, and caring for them through all hours of the night. As time goes on and I pass Samuel and Cora's due dates I know exactly what I am missing.
This year on Samuel's due date I worked then we attended the Saturday evening church service. It was the first weekend of the Advent season and I was completely caught off guard by the pain of it. Sermons and songs on expectation, a tiny baby, and a pregnant mother made my heart ache. At that time I hadn't given myself space to grieve or process. Opening my heart to worship the newborn Christ was more than I could take. When we returned home a crack had formed in my armor and I was ready to remember my baby. Nathan and I sat together after the boys had gone to bed and we remembered the son that we lost. We had cupcakes for his would-be birthday and cried.
Sunday, January 19, 2014
The Silence was Broken
By the way, I really wanted to call this post "The Silence will Fall" but it wouldn't have made nearly as much sense and I figured only a handful of you would've caught on to the Doctor Who reference :)
It was last Sunday. Nathan had returned from National Staff Conference late the night before and I was working at the restaurant by myself so that I could catch up on the hours that I took off to watch the boys while he was traveling.
Nathan had been met by the Lord so sweetly at the conference. One speaker in particular was able to share a balanced, thoughtful, scriptural perspective on suffering. A perspective that is hard to come by and one that we were desperate to hear. The speaker was John Ortberg, an author and pastor of books and a church that I have never heard of, but his name was familiar. This past week I watched two of his three talks on vimeo and I am planning to watch the third one sometime this coming week.
His first talk was called, "Who is this Man?" and he explored the impact of Jesus on history and culture. His second talk was about Easter Saturday. Wow, that sounds awkward. We have Good Friday and Easter Sunday but we don't have a word for Saturday. The moment Nathan started to tell me about this talk I could feel the lump in my throat and the tears threatening. Easter might do that to me for awhile.
In this talk, Ortberg described Good Friday as the darkest day in the world, and Sunday was the greatest day in the world. Friday is the day of trouble, Sunday is the day of deliverance. But sometimes we don't understand the point of Saturday when we talk about Easter. We sort of want to skip ahead to the good stuff. There's something so true about the darkness of Saturday, something we often miss. It's the day after your best dreams have died but you still have to go on. Jesus ended Friday on the cross by saying, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" Saturday is the day of God's silence.
Ortberg quotes CS Lewis in his talk, a passage from A Grief Observed. I don't remember how much of this passage he used, but the book has been very important for me in processing my own grief. At the risk of including more than Ortberg did...
Ortberg goes on to explain that there are repeated themes of "Third Day" stories throughout the Bible. On many occasions bad things happened and deliverance came on the third day. The trouble is, you don't know it's a third day story until the third day. He then shares an idea, that we, as humanity, are still waiting on the resurrection. In many ways it is a Saturday world and God is still at work. There are 3 ways that we can respond to Saturday: Despair (decide it will always be Friday), Deny (give simplistic explanations, false triumphalism, and cliched answers), and Wait (Rest, complain, talk, abide in Him.). On Saturday we have the chance to be with Him in a way that we cannot be with Him on any other day because on Saturday you know that He is YOUR ONLY HOPE.
Ok, back to last Sunday. I was mulling over all that Nathan had told me about this talk and how it resonated so strongly with my experience. There is suffering and hardship but there is still hope. Not necessarily hope of blessing on earth or restoration of what was lost, but eternal hope to "glorify God and enjoy Him forever." (quoted from CS Lewis again) My heart was heavy still, heavy with our loss, finally starting to face it. I was realizing that "there is nothing we can do with suffering except to suffer it." (again CS Lewis).
I used to be in the habit of casually praying throughout the day, "Lord please help..." all the time. When I decided to take a break from church I resolved to stop praying that way, recognizing what an empty, manipulative gesture it was. How could I ask for the Lord to help or be with someone when I didn't trust Him or really want much to do with Him? But when I was at work that day, my heart quieted for a moment and I talked to Him, briefly and with honesty, "Lord, Saturday hurts." In the small prayer was so much more. "I'm tired, I'm hurting, I don't understand. This life is difficult. I don't know how to wait for Sunday." His response was similarly brief and honest, carrying far more than the two words I heard, "I know," He said (not audibly of course, but I felt his response deep in my heart). In that response I felt the comfort of a Father to his daughter and I knew that he hurts, too, for the broken world. He is also waiting for His creation to be restored. The response was so much like my heart toward my son, when he's injured and crying, "Mommy, it hurts!" and all I can do is hold him through his pain, my own heart hurting for him, and say, "I know Sweetie. I know." And there, while making bread at work, the silence was broken.
"There was no sudden, striking, and emotional transition. Like the warming of a room or the coming of daylight. When you first notice them they have already been going on for some time." (CS Lewis, once again) Maybe his presence has been here, warming the room and lighting the dark for some time. But I'm just now starting to notice it. My hope is that as Spring comes, and warmth and lightness spread over the earth, the presence of the Lord will become more real to me.
It was last Sunday. Nathan had returned from National Staff Conference late the night before and I was working at the restaurant by myself so that I could catch up on the hours that I took off to watch the boys while he was traveling.
Nathan had been met by the Lord so sweetly at the conference. One speaker in particular was able to share a balanced, thoughtful, scriptural perspective on suffering. A perspective that is hard to come by and one that we were desperate to hear. The speaker was John Ortberg, an author and pastor of books and a church that I have never heard of, but his name was familiar. This past week I watched two of his three talks on vimeo and I am planning to watch the third one sometime this coming week.
His first talk was called, "Who is this Man?" and he explored the impact of Jesus on history and culture. His second talk was about Easter Saturday. Wow, that sounds awkward. We have Good Friday and Easter Sunday but we don't have a word for Saturday. The moment Nathan started to tell me about this talk I could feel the lump in my throat and the tears threatening. Easter might do that to me for awhile.
In this talk, Ortberg described Good Friday as the darkest day in the world, and Sunday was the greatest day in the world. Friday is the day of trouble, Sunday is the day of deliverance. But sometimes we don't understand the point of Saturday when we talk about Easter. We sort of want to skip ahead to the good stuff. There's something so true about the darkness of Saturday, something we often miss. It's the day after your best dreams have died but you still have to go on. Jesus ended Friday on the cross by saying, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" Saturday is the day of God's silence.
Ortberg quotes CS Lewis in his talk, a passage from A Grief Observed. I don't remember how much of this passage he used, but the book has been very important for me in processing my own grief. At the risk of including more than Ortberg did...
"Meanwhile, where is God? This is one of the most disquieting symptoms. When you are happy, so happy that you have no sense of needing Him, so happy that you are tempted to feel His claims upon you as an interruption, if you remember yourself and turn to Him with gratitude and praise, you will be -- or so it feels -- welcomed with open arms. But go to Him when your need is desperate, when all other help is vain, and what do you find? A door slammed in your face, and a sound of bolting and double bolting on the inside. After that, silence. You may as well turn away. The longer you wait, the more emphatic the silence will become... Why is He so present a commander in our time of prosperity and so very absent a help in time of trouble?"In the midst of suffering, we don't always feel the presence of the Lord.
Ortberg goes on to explain that there are repeated themes of "Third Day" stories throughout the Bible. On many occasions bad things happened and deliverance came on the third day. The trouble is, you don't know it's a third day story until the third day. He then shares an idea, that we, as humanity, are still waiting on the resurrection. In many ways it is a Saturday world and God is still at work. There are 3 ways that we can respond to Saturday: Despair (decide it will always be Friday), Deny (give simplistic explanations, false triumphalism, and cliched answers), and Wait (Rest, complain, talk, abide in Him.). On Saturday we have the chance to be with Him in a way that we cannot be with Him on any other day because on Saturday you know that He is YOUR ONLY HOPE.
Ok, back to last Sunday. I was mulling over all that Nathan had told me about this talk and how it resonated so strongly with my experience. There is suffering and hardship but there is still hope. Not necessarily hope of blessing on earth or restoration of what was lost, but eternal hope to "glorify God and enjoy Him forever." (quoted from CS Lewis again) My heart was heavy still, heavy with our loss, finally starting to face it. I was realizing that "there is nothing we can do with suffering except to suffer it." (again CS Lewis).
I used to be in the habit of casually praying throughout the day, "Lord please help..." all the time. When I decided to take a break from church I resolved to stop praying that way, recognizing what an empty, manipulative gesture it was. How could I ask for the Lord to help or be with someone when I didn't trust Him or really want much to do with Him? But when I was at work that day, my heart quieted for a moment and I talked to Him, briefly and with honesty, "Lord, Saturday hurts." In the small prayer was so much more. "I'm tired, I'm hurting, I don't understand. This life is difficult. I don't know how to wait for Sunday." His response was similarly brief and honest, carrying far more than the two words I heard, "I know," He said (not audibly of course, but I felt his response deep in my heart). In that response I felt the comfort of a Father to his daughter and I knew that he hurts, too, for the broken world. He is also waiting for His creation to be restored. The response was so much like my heart toward my son, when he's injured and crying, "Mommy, it hurts!" and all I can do is hold him through his pain, my own heart hurting for him, and say, "I know Sweetie. I know." And there, while making bread at work, the silence was broken.
"There was no sudden, striking, and emotional transition. Like the warming of a room or the coming of daylight. When you first notice them they have already been going on for some time." (CS Lewis, once again) Maybe his presence has been here, warming the room and lighting the dark for some time. But I'm just now starting to notice it. My hope is that as Spring comes, and warmth and lightness spread over the earth, the presence of the Lord will become more real to me.
Monday, January 13, 2014
The Break
I mentioned in my last post that I decided to take a break from church for a little while. So far everyone that has spoken to me about my decision has been supportive. But I know that most likely there are people who read my post and don't understand my decision. So I want to give a bit of back story.
When we lost Samuel, our hearts were broken. In the storm of grief, we found ourselves lashing out at each other. We were new to grief, never having lost anyone closer than a grandparent. We didn't realize that we would grieve differently and sometimes those differences seemed to push us apart.
We lost Samuel in the midst of Easter season. As I said in my last post, our church was observing the Daniel Fast, a 3-week partial food fast, and we were encouraged to bring something--a problem, a question, a desire--to the Lord and implore him for guidance, an answer, or provision. The fast ended Easter Sunday and a few weeks later, at the end of a church service, the Pastor invited us to celebrate the ways that we'd seen the Lord meet us miraculously during that season. My husband and I had to get up and leave, it was so painful to be in the midst of that celebration knowing that we had lost a dear child the very weekend that was the focus of celebration. Thankfully we ran into one of the associate pastors who knew our story and walked with Nathan through this pain, he prayed for us in the lobby. When we got to the car, I reflected that if the lead pastor had been willing to give a small caveat, a qualification to the celebration, something along the lines of, "Now I know that not everyone received miracles during this time. In fact some of you may have heard painful 'nos' from the Lord. But I want to invite you to rejoice with those who rejoice even as we've mourned with you,"... if there had been some sort of acknowledgement of the pain that we were in, I would have been able to enter into that time of celebration. As it was, I left in tears, feeling isolated and mostly alone.
We decided to talk to a couple of counselors from our church; we knew we needed help. By the time we landed in their office we were in a better place. Between the Sunday of celebration and our meeting with the counselors, I remember sitting at church, being broken in such a sweet, tender way by the Lord. I don't remember the sermon or the context, but I remember sitting in a chair, feeling for the first time that the Lord was my Father, sitting next to me with his arm around me, grieving with me. As opposed to sitting up in heaven with my baby (there was a subtext there that I wouldn't allow myself to voice: he was in heaven with the baby he had taken from me).
So when we arrived in the counselors' office, I felt like I was on the upswing. I was seeing the presence of the Lord around me, I knew the right answers to my deepest fear (I knew the Lord did NOT take my baby), and Nathan and I had reopened lines of healthy communication and were supporting each other well.
I felt like I was just starting to recover. We stepped out in faith and tried again for a baby, getting pregnant right away. When I did the math and realized I was due March 18th, right around Easter, I secretly hoped that I could take it as a promise from the Lord that this baby would live. Maybe a redemption of the previous Easter. New life where there was once death (not that Cora would have replaced Samuel in any way, but my mind was and is, eager to draw meaning from numbers that supports my own desire).
When we were losing Cora, I subconsciously tried to pray differently, hoping to yield a different result from the Lord. I thought I could manipulate the Lord to do what I wanted. After we confirmed her passing, I actively tried to lean into the Lord's presence, I didn't want to repeat the silence we shared after Samuel died. I wrestled with questions of why I believe, what do I expect of the Lord, and why do I pray. But somewhere along the way I lost sight of my hope. It's like physical therapy after an injury; it hurts so much but you've got to keep it up. Sometimes it's easy to convince yourself that you're all better and you don't need help to recover anymore so you stop doing the hard work of healing. That's pretty much what happened to me, I stopped leaning into the Lord and my pain.
The pain was too big for my heart to bear. So I stopped. I stopped thinking about the Lord or my lost babies. I took on more hours and responsibilities at work and poured myself into caring for my amazing family (they are pretty stinking amazing). And the thing is, when you've grown up in a family of Christians who are thoughtful about the faith they hold, you know all the right answers. Knowing all the right answers kept me from asking the questions that were dwelling in the deepest places of my heart.
In December when we attended church and the pastor said what he did, to the effect of, "People who are faithful are blessed", I just felt my heart constrict within me. The only conclusion to draw from that statement is that people who are not blessed must be unfaithful. Does that mean that God didn't bless us with Samuel or Cora because we weren't faithful? This was my deepest fear, one that I wasn't able to bring to light yet. As we left I realized that my heart was pulling away from the Lord. At the time, I was okay with that. I was comfortable continuing to go through the motions without bringing my pain and questions to the Lord. (I think my pastor meant well and he didn't say exactly that, but in my hurt, that's what I heard him saying. I don't mean to start drama, but I share because this is part of my story.)
I think my turning point came later in December when I had the chance to join my husband and his co-workers at Regional Staff Conference for InterVarsity Christian Fellowship. While we were there I had the chance to fellowship with fellow wives and mothers and I shared with two women about the year we had. One of them asked a few questions like,"How are you coping?" that helped me to see the ways that I hadn't really dealt with the pain of this year. Her questions helped me to see that I couldn't keep up the pace that I was using to keep myself from the Lord. I wasn't without the Lord and healthy, I was without the Lord and unhealthy. Something needed to change. She encouraged me to take a day of retreat, something that my husband is incredibly supportive of (he's really the best, Happy Anniversary honey!!).
So I took a day, went to Barnes & Noble, and bought "A Grief Observed" by CS Lewis. I read it in one sitting at the B&N cafe. The book is the journal that Lewis kept after his wife died. This book was indescribably helpful for me. Lewis is one of those people whose theology is well-respected in my family and to hear him asking questions of God like, "how can he be good?"... well, it gave me words for my feelings and freedom to express them. I realized that I needed more than a monthly or bi-monthly day of retreat to recover. I needed weekly or daily time to read and re-discover my faith.
So I decided to take a break from Sunday morning church. This should give me a minimum of a weekly time when I have the house myself and I'm able to bring my questions and my emotions and my pain to the Lord. My intention is to continue on in our Small Group and in community with other believers. Recently Nathan returned from National Staff Conference with InterVarsity and he was impacted by the speaking of John Ortberg (more on that later!). After discussing one particular part of the conference with Nathan I realized that at church I've been surrounded by some people who are in denial to the pain and suffering in the world, believing that victory has already come. On the other hand, I've been in despair, unable to see the hope of the work of redemption that's currently in progress. Being around people in denial has pushed me further into my own despair. Taking a break from church is chance for me to rebuild my foundation and reclaim my hope. I have every intention of returning to church but for now I need some space to heal.
I'm beginning to hope again. And I believe that the Lord will meet me here, in my honest questions and my brokenness.
When we lost Samuel, our hearts were broken. In the storm of grief, we found ourselves lashing out at each other. We were new to grief, never having lost anyone closer than a grandparent. We didn't realize that we would grieve differently and sometimes those differences seemed to push us apart.
We lost Samuel in the midst of Easter season. As I said in my last post, our church was observing the Daniel Fast, a 3-week partial food fast, and we were encouraged to bring something--a problem, a question, a desire--to the Lord and implore him for guidance, an answer, or provision. The fast ended Easter Sunday and a few weeks later, at the end of a church service, the Pastor invited us to celebrate the ways that we'd seen the Lord meet us miraculously during that season. My husband and I had to get up and leave, it was so painful to be in the midst of that celebration knowing that we had lost a dear child the very weekend that was the focus of celebration. Thankfully we ran into one of the associate pastors who knew our story and walked with Nathan through this pain, he prayed for us in the lobby. When we got to the car, I reflected that if the lead pastor had been willing to give a small caveat, a qualification to the celebration, something along the lines of, "Now I know that not everyone received miracles during this time. In fact some of you may have heard painful 'nos' from the Lord. But I want to invite you to rejoice with those who rejoice even as we've mourned with you,"... if there had been some sort of acknowledgement of the pain that we were in, I would have been able to enter into that time of celebration. As it was, I left in tears, feeling isolated and mostly alone.
We decided to talk to a couple of counselors from our church; we knew we needed help. By the time we landed in their office we were in a better place. Between the Sunday of celebration and our meeting with the counselors, I remember sitting at church, being broken in such a sweet, tender way by the Lord. I don't remember the sermon or the context, but I remember sitting in a chair, feeling for the first time that the Lord was my Father, sitting next to me with his arm around me, grieving with me. As opposed to sitting up in heaven with my baby (there was a subtext there that I wouldn't allow myself to voice: he was in heaven with the baby he had taken from me).
So when we arrived in the counselors' office, I felt like I was on the upswing. I was seeing the presence of the Lord around me, I knew the right answers to my deepest fear (I knew the Lord did NOT take my baby), and Nathan and I had reopened lines of healthy communication and were supporting each other well.
I felt like I was just starting to recover. We stepped out in faith and tried again for a baby, getting pregnant right away. When I did the math and realized I was due March 18th, right around Easter, I secretly hoped that I could take it as a promise from the Lord that this baby would live. Maybe a redemption of the previous Easter. New life where there was once death (not that Cora would have replaced Samuel in any way, but my mind was and is, eager to draw meaning from numbers that supports my own desire).
When we were losing Cora, I subconsciously tried to pray differently, hoping to yield a different result from the Lord. I thought I could manipulate the Lord to do what I wanted. After we confirmed her passing, I actively tried to lean into the Lord's presence, I didn't want to repeat the silence we shared after Samuel died. I wrestled with questions of why I believe, what do I expect of the Lord, and why do I pray. But somewhere along the way I lost sight of my hope. It's like physical therapy after an injury; it hurts so much but you've got to keep it up. Sometimes it's easy to convince yourself that you're all better and you don't need help to recover anymore so you stop doing the hard work of healing. That's pretty much what happened to me, I stopped leaning into the Lord and my pain.
The pain was too big for my heart to bear. So I stopped. I stopped thinking about the Lord or my lost babies. I took on more hours and responsibilities at work and poured myself into caring for my amazing family (they are pretty stinking amazing). And the thing is, when you've grown up in a family of Christians who are thoughtful about the faith they hold, you know all the right answers. Knowing all the right answers kept me from asking the questions that were dwelling in the deepest places of my heart.
In December when we attended church and the pastor said what he did, to the effect of, "People who are faithful are blessed", I just felt my heart constrict within me. The only conclusion to draw from that statement is that people who are not blessed must be unfaithful. Does that mean that God didn't bless us with Samuel or Cora because we weren't faithful? This was my deepest fear, one that I wasn't able to bring to light yet. As we left I realized that my heart was pulling away from the Lord. At the time, I was okay with that. I was comfortable continuing to go through the motions without bringing my pain and questions to the Lord. (I think my pastor meant well and he didn't say exactly that, but in my hurt, that's what I heard him saying. I don't mean to start drama, but I share because this is part of my story.)
I think my turning point came later in December when I had the chance to join my husband and his co-workers at Regional Staff Conference for InterVarsity Christian Fellowship. While we were there I had the chance to fellowship with fellow wives and mothers and I shared with two women about the year we had. One of them asked a few questions like,"How are you coping?" that helped me to see the ways that I hadn't really dealt with the pain of this year. Her questions helped me to see that I couldn't keep up the pace that I was using to keep myself from the Lord. I wasn't without the Lord and healthy, I was without the Lord and unhealthy. Something needed to change. She encouraged me to take a day of retreat, something that my husband is incredibly supportive of (he's really the best, Happy Anniversary honey!!).
So I took a day, went to Barnes & Noble, and bought "A Grief Observed" by CS Lewis. I read it in one sitting at the B&N cafe. The book is the journal that Lewis kept after his wife died. This book was indescribably helpful for me. Lewis is one of those people whose theology is well-respected in my family and to hear him asking questions of God like, "how can he be good?"... well, it gave me words for my feelings and freedom to express them. I realized that I needed more than a monthly or bi-monthly day of retreat to recover. I needed weekly or daily time to read and re-discover my faith.
So I decided to take a break from Sunday morning church. This should give me a minimum of a weekly time when I have the house myself and I'm able to bring my questions and my emotions and my pain to the Lord. My intention is to continue on in our Small Group and in community with other believers. Recently Nathan returned from National Staff Conference with InterVarsity and he was impacted by the speaking of John Ortberg (more on that later!). After discussing one particular part of the conference with Nathan I realized that at church I've been surrounded by some people who are in denial to the pain and suffering in the world, believing that victory has already come. On the other hand, I've been in despair, unable to see the hope of the work of redemption that's currently in progress. Being around people in denial has pushed me further into my own despair. Taking a break from church is chance for me to rebuild my foundation and reclaim my hope. I have every intention of returning to church but for now I need some space to heal.
I'm beginning to hope again. And I believe that the Lord will meet me here, in my honest questions and my brokenness.
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
2013: The Year from Hell
Many of you know that this year has been difficult for us. Many of you know that this year we found out that our older son has Autism and you might assume that his diagnosis was the reason for our difficult year. That's only a small part of the story.
We lost two children this year.
In December, 2012, when Nathan was at Urbana, I started to think that I might be ready to have another baby. At the time, James was 3 and Liam was about 1 1/2. I thought we might wait a few months but that we might have a baby in 2013. When Nathan returned from Urbana I was surprised to learn that he had started to consider growing our family as well. We even took it as a sign of the Lord's leading that we had both begun to think of it at the same time. We weren't sure if we had a solid plan as far as childcare and finances go, but we also knew that we hadn't had plans for James or Liam and that the Lord had provided. This would be the first time that we intentionally "tried" to get pregnant and we were excited to see how the Lord would provide and lead our family.
We got pregnant quickly, I found out in March 20th that I was pregnant, due November 30th. We were in the midst of the Daniel Fast at the church we attend (a 3-week partial food fast). The church was preparing for Easter. March 27th I began bleeding. I knew something was wrong and went in to my OB office as soon as it opened. Their pregnancy test was negative but they drew blood to see what the hormone levels were in my bloodstream (it's important after a miscarriage to make sure the hormone levels return to normal). My levels were higher than the midwife expected and she wanted to test them again to determine if this was a "miscarriage or an abnormal pregnancy." They typically need 48 hours between blood tests in order to track the hormone levels. The 27th was a Wednesday and the 29th was Good Friday and the office was closed. We would need to wait until Monday before we could have the follow-up test. I knew the chance of a pregnancy that would lead to a live birth was slim to none. It would take a miracle, one could call it a raising from the dead... As we entered into Easter weekend I couldn't help but hope. The disciples didn't have any reason to hope that they'd ever see Jesus again. He was dead. And yet... he was raised from the dead. The sermon series during that month highlighted the power of prayer. There were so many stories of God coming through at the Eleventh Hour with a miracle, some sign that he's there and he cares for us and he's powerful. I thought to myself, what if as a result of this baby living we have a new understanding of the miracle of Easter, how special would that be?!
Unfortunately that would not be the case. On Monday the pregnancy hormone level in my blood was down considerably. It confirmed a miscarriage. We were assured that just because it happened once, it doesn't mean it'll happen again. We could try to get pregnant again in a month or so and we should have no reason to be overly concerned that it'd happen again. In the week that we knew about this child we had discussed baby names; we both felt in our guts that this child was a boy. In my mind, I had kept coming back to the name "Samuel". For a middle name, I thought. My prayer for my children is that they would hear the word of the Lord and obey it, as Samuel in the Bible had done from the time he was a child. When our world was crashing down around us we had a small measure of comfort know that our baby is in Heaven, with our Lord. And so we chose to name him Samuel because, just like Samuel from the Bible, our baby will spend his whole life in service to the Lord.
During that month we got a referral for James from our pediatrician and in April he received a pre-screen from Pitt County Schools and determined that he should receive a full evaluation to determine if he had any delays or disabilities that would require services from the State to help prepare him for Kindergarten.
In July, just after Liam turned 2, we received a referral for Liam to be evaluated by the CDSA for his speech delay (when a child is 3 or older he is referred to the school system, if he is younger than 3 he is referred to the CDSA, a different department in the State's infrastructure).
Also in June, about 3 months after losing Samuel, we decided to try again for a baby. We felt like fear was the only thing holding us back from trying again. Again, we got pregnant right away. We found out July 8th, while Nathan was traveling for work, that we were expecting again, due March 18th. We scheduled a doctor's appointment right away. The test they did was positive and they gave us the choice of waiting to have our next appointment at 9 weeks, when they typically start prenatal appointments, or doing some blood work to test my hormone levels and scheduling an ultrasound at 7 weeks to determine if there was a heartbeat. We decided to go ahead with blood work and the ultrasound, the tension was thick and we couldn't help but be fearful.
The rule of thumb for typically developing baby is that the hormone levels double every 48 hours. So we entered the waiting game. Test 1: 400. Test 2: 700, it was going up but not doubling so they ordered another test. Again, it went up but didn't double, so we needed another test. We did a total of 5 blood tests. Most of my correspondence with the OBGYN was messages sent through the nurses so I really had no idea what was going on. Finally, I was told to come in for an ultrasound at about 5 weeks. They wanted to confirm that the pregnancy wasn't ectopic, which was pretty much my worst fear. I couldn't stand the thought of choosing for this baby to die, even if there was no chance of her reaching full-term. Thankfully, the ultrasound revealed a fetal sac in my uterus. There was not a heartbeat yet, so they scheduled another ultrasound for the following week. Still no heartbeat but the sac had grown so they weren't "ready to call it" yet. We scheduled a third ultrasound for the next week, just before Nathan would have to leave town for about 4 days for work. Two days after my 2nd ultrasound I began to cramp and bleed heavily. It was July 31st.
I knew there was nothing the doctor could do and we had plans to spend the day with my parents, my sister, and my sister's children in Raleigh. My parents are missionaries in Nigeria and they were stateside for a few weeks. This would be our one day to gather the grandchildren and enjoy each others' company. I had hoped to reveal to my parents that day that we were pregnant. We would've heard the baby's heartbeat by then and we could rejoice together at this new life. Instead, I had to break the news to them, over dinner at Moe's, that we were in the midst of losing another baby. I went to work the next few days, broken; experiencing pain emotionally and physically. The cramps were awful. I should've just stayed home, but there was no one to cover my duties and I knew that missing work would hurt their business and that staying home wouldn't change our situation. Nathan and I had both felt in our guts, that this baby was a girl. In my mind and heart, she was always "Cora", a family name from my side of the family, which means "maiden".
In August we found out that Liam was speaking at an 8mo level (he was then 26mos) and that he has difficulty regulating how his body responds to sensory input. He began Speech therapy and Occupational Therapy. In October, James received his evaluation from the school system and we learned that he has High-Functioning Autism and many of the same sensory issues that Liam has. He began to receive one-on-one help from the state at his preschool and occupational therapy. Unfortunately the preschool that the boys were at had a difficult time accommodating their special needs and director made an abrupt decision at Thanksgiving that the boys could stay at their school until Christmas but that we would need to find a different school after that. Knowing that we would be traveling a lot during December, we decided to keep them home in December with the hope of finding a new school for them in January.
And so ended 2013: the year from hell.
Not surprisingly, I've had a hard time processing the blow after blow. Healing is still a long way off. I've recently decided that I need to take a break from church in order to intentionally process and redefine my relationship with God. Sometimes the things that I hear at church make my heart contract. I feel wounded and shut down and it's been pushing me away from God. (The pastor recently said something to the effect of "Don't you ever wonder why God's blessing just seem to come down on certain people? It's because they're being faithful")
I've declared this 2014: the year of restoration. I started reading "Hind's Feet on High Places"; I read it once about 5 years ago and I loved it. I also started reading "Streams in the Desert", a daily devotional recommended by a friend. My jury is still out on this one... some of the entries I've glanced through almost have that "claim your victory" mindset that makes me cringe. Finally, I'm reading "In Search of Deep Faith." I'm really excited about this one. It's the story of a father who took his family on a pilgrimage through Europe to visit important landmarks of Christianity, over-lain with the history of those men and women, many of whom gave their lives for their faith in Christ. It's the kind of book that doesn't gloss or sugar coat the suffering that Christians experience; and it calls the audience to deeper faith, which is exactly what I need right now.
Here's to meeting the Lord this year.
FAQ's: 1) Were we trying? um, yes. Firstly, if we had been surprised by a pregnancy that we lost, we would probably make damn sure not to get pregnant "accidentally" a second time. Secondly, consider the subtext of this question before you ask it of someone who is suffering after a miscarriage. It communicates that you're attempting to categorize their suffering. As in, if I wasn't "trying" to have this baby, maybe I won't miss her. (Sorry, when this is the first question I'm asked after sharing that I've had a miscarriage, it makes me feel like, instead of mourning with me, you're attempting to categorize my hurt, it's a sore point for me)
2) Do we know why? The answer is no. We don't know why we had two miscarriages. We don't know why James has autism. There's no strong family history of miscarriage or autism. Sometimes things happen and we don't know why. According to the Doctor at the OBGYN, "25% of all pregnancies end in miscarriage or stillbirth and [I'm] just on the wrong end of that percentage". I'm pursuing some theories with my Primary Care Physician but the OBGYN is currently not interested in running any tests because I already have 2 kids so we know I "can have babies" as the Doctor said.
This is a hard thing to share. Our culture doesn't know how to mourn well. Or how to comfort those who are mourning. Sometimes when people attempt to make me feel better they just hurt me more. It's been easier to keep this loss private than to open myself up to the ways people try to explain away suffering. But I need to share. As part of my own healing, I need so share our story and make our grief public. These two children need to be mourned. Our family will never be complete this side of heaven. We will always miss Samuel and Cora. I also need to share because people don't realize how often this happens and how many other women are going through what they're going through. We need support and it's hard to get when we don't let other people in.
If you're wondering what an appropriate response is, here are some excellent options: "I'm so sorry to hear that", "I'm broken hearted with you and for your family", "thank you for sharing this, I'll be praying for your family".
We lost two children this year.
In December, 2012, when Nathan was at Urbana, I started to think that I might be ready to have another baby. At the time, James was 3 and Liam was about 1 1/2. I thought we might wait a few months but that we might have a baby in 2013. When Nathan returned from Urbana I was surprised to learn that he had started to consider growing our family as well. We even took it as a sign of the Lord's leading that we had both begun to think of it at the same time. We weren't sure if we had a solid plan as far as childcare and finances go, but we also knew that we hadn't had plans for James or Liam and that the Lord had provided. This would be the first time that we intentionally "tried" to get pregnant and we were excited to see how the Lord would provide and lead our family.
We got pregnant quickly, I found out in March 20th that I was pregnant, due November 30th. We were in the midst of the Daniel Fast at the church we attend (a 3-week partial food fast). The church was preparing for Easter. March 27th I began bleeding. I knew something was wrong and went in to my OB office as soon as it opened. Their pregnancy test was negative but they drew blood to see what the hormone levels were in my bloodstream (it's important after a miscarriage to make sure the hormone levels return to normal). My levels were higher than the midwife expected and she wanted to test them again to determine if this was a "miscarriage or an abnormal pregnancy." They typically need 48 hours between blood tests in order to track the hormone levels. The 27th was a Wednesday and the 29th was Good Friday and the office was closed. We would need to wait until Monday before we could have the follow-up test. I knew the chance of a pregnancy that would lead to a live birth was slim to none. It would take a miracle, one could call it a raising from the dead... As we entered into Easter weekend I couldn't help but hope. The disciples didn't have any reason to hope that they'd ever see Jesus again. He was dead. And yet... he was raised from the dead. The sermon series during that month highlighted the power of prayer. There were so many stories of God coming through at the Eleventh Hour with a miracle, some sign that he's there and he cares for us and he's powerful. I thought to myself, what if as a result of this baby living we have a new understanding of the miracle of Easter, how special would that be?!
Unfortunately that would not be the case. On Monday the pregnancy hormone level in my blood was down considerably. It confirmed a miscarriage. We were assured that just because it happened once, it doesn't mean it'll happen again. We could try to get pregnant again in a month or so and we should have no reason to be overly concerned that it'd happen again. In the week that we knew about this child we had discussed baby names; we both felt in our guts that this child was a boy. In my mind, I had kept coming back to the name "Samuel". For a middle name, I thought. My prayer for my children is that they would hear the word of the Lord and obey it, as Samuel in the Bible had done from the time he was a child. When our world was crashing down around us we had a small measure of comfort know that our baby is in Heaven, with our Lord. And so we chose to name him Samuel because, just like Samuel from the Bible, our baby will spend his whole life in service to the Lord.
During that month we got a referral for James from our pediatrician and in April he received a pre-screen from Pitt County Schools and determined that he should receive a full evaluation to determine if he had any delays or disabilities that would require services from the State to help prepare him for Kindergarten.
In July, just after Liam turned 2, we received a referral for Liam to be evaluated by the CDSA for his speech delay (when a child is 3 or older he is referred to the school system, if he is younger than 3 he is referred to the CDSA, a different department in the State's infrastructure).
Also in June, about 3 months after losing Samuel, we decided to try again for a baby. We felt like fear was the only thing holding us back from trying again. Again, we got pregnant right away. We found out July 8th, while Nathan was traveling for work, that we were expecting again, due March 18th. We scheduled a doctor's appointment right away. The test they did was positive and they gave us the choice of waiting to have our next appointment at 9 weeks, when they typically start prenatal appointments, or doing some blood work to test my hormone levels and scheduling an ultrasound at 7 weeks to determine if there was a heartbeat. We decided to go ahead with blood work and the ultrasound, the tension was thick and we couldn't help but be fearful.
The rule of thumb for typically developing baby is that the hormone levels double every 48 hours. So we entered the waiting game. Test 1: 400. Test 2: 700, it was going up but not doubling so they ordered another test. Again, it went up but didn't double, so we needed another test. We did a total of 5 blood tests. Most of my correspondence with the OBGYN was messages sent through the nurses so I really had no idea what was going on. Finally, I was told to come in for an ultrasound at about 5 weeks. They wanted to confirm that the pregnancy wasn't ectopic, which was pretty much my worst fear. I couldn't stand the thought of choosing for this baby to die, even if there was no chance of her reaching full-term. Thankfully, the ultrasound revealed a fetal sac in my uterus. There was not a heartbeat yet, so they scheduled another ultrasound for the following week. Still no heartbeat but the sac had grown so they weren't "ready to call it" yet. We scheduled a third ultrasound for the next week, just before Nathan would have to leave town for about 4 days for work. Two days after my 2nd ultrasound I began to cramp and bleed heavily. It was July 31st.
I knew there was nothing the doctor could do and we had plans to spend the day with my parents, my sister, and my sister's children in Raleigh. My parents are missionaries in Nigeria and they were stateside for a few weeks. This would be our one day to gather the grandchildren and enjoy each others' company. I had hoped to reveal to my parents that day that we were pregnant. We would've heard the baby's heartbeat by then and we could rejoice together at this new life. Instead, I had to break the news to them, over dinner at Moe's, that we were in the midst of losing another baby. I went to work the next few days, broken; experiencing pain emotionally and physically. The cramps were awful. I should've just stayed home, but there was no one to cover my duties and I knew that missing work would hurt their business and that staying home wouldn't change our situation. Nathan and I had both felt in our guts, that this baby was a girl. In my mind and heart, she was always "Cora", a family name from my side of the family, which means "maiden".
In August we found out that Liam was speaking at an 8mo level (he was then 26mos) and that he has difficulty regulating how his body responds to sensory input. He began Speech therapy and Occupational Therapy. In October, James received his evaluation from the school system and we learned that he has High-Functioning Autism and many of the same sensory issues that Liam has. He began to receive one-on-one help from the state at his preschool and occupational therapy. Unfortunately the preschool that the boys were at had a difficult time accommodating their special needs and director made an abrupt decision at Thanksgiving that the boys could stay at their school until Christmas but that we would need to find a different school after that. Knowing that we would be traveling a lot during December, we decided to keep them home in December with the hope of finding a new school for them in January.
And so ended 2013: the year from hell.
Not surprisingly, I've had a hard time processing the blow after blow. Healing is still a long way off. I've recently decided that I need to take a break from church in order to intentionally process and redefine my relationship with God. Sometimes the things that I hear at church make my heart contract. I feel wounded and shut down and it's been pushing me away from God. (The pastor recently said something to the effect of "Don't you ever wonder why God's blessing just seem to come down on certain people? It's because they're being faithful")
I've declared this 2014: the year of restoration. I started reading "Hind's Feet on High Places"; I read it once about 5 years ago and I loved it. I also started reading "Streams in the Desert", a daily devotional recommended by a friend. My jury is still out on this one... some of the entries I've glanced through almost have that "claim your victory" mindset that makes me cringe. Finally, I'm reading "In Search of Deep Faith." I'm really excited about this one. It's the story of a father who took his family on a pilgrimage through Europe to visit important landmarks of Christianity, over-lain with the history of those men and women, many of whom gave their lives for their faith in Christ. It's the kind of book that doesn't gloss or sugar coat the suffering that Christians experience; and it calls the audience to deeper faith, which is exactly what I need right now.
Here's to meeting the Lord this year.
FAQ's: 1) Were we trying? um, yes. Firstly, if we had been surprised by a pregnancy that we lost, we would probably make damn sure not to get pregnant "accidentally" a second time. Secondly, consider the subtext of this question before you ask it of someone who is suffering after a miscarriage. It communicates that you're attempting to categorize their suffering. As in, if I wasn't "trying" to have this baby, maybe I won't miss her. (Sorry, when this is the first question I'm asked after sharing that I've had a miscarriage, it makes me feel like, instead of mourning with me, you're attempting to categorize my hurt, it's a sore point for me)
2) Do we know why? The answer is no. We don't know why we had two miscarriages. We don't know why James has autism. There's no strong family history of miscarriage or autism. Sometimes things happen and we don't know why. According to the Doctor at the OBGYN, "25% of all pregnancies end in miscarriage or stillbirth and [I'm] just on the wrong end of that percentage". I'm pursuing some theories with my Primary Care Physician but the OBGYN is currently not interested in running any tests because I already have 2 kids so we know I "can have babies" as the Doctor said.
This is a hard thing to share. Our culture doesn't know how to mourn well. Or how to comfort those who are mourning. Sometimes when people attempt to make me feel better they just hurt me more. It's been easier to keep this loss private than to open myself up to the ways people try to explain away suffering. But I need to share. As part of my own healing, I need so share our story and make our grief public. These two children need to be mourned. Our family will never be complete this side of heaven. We will always miss Samuel and Cora. I also need to share because people don't realize how often this happens and how many other women are going through what they're going through. We need support and it's hard to get when we don't let other people in.
If you're wondering what an appropriate response is, here are some excellent options: "I'm so sorry to hear that", "I'm broken hearted with you and for your family", "thank you for sharing this, I'll be praying for your family".
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