Remembering

This post is for my sister, who wants to encourage important conversations instead of chit chat, which is also a habit of happier people..  Connecting, instead of going through life nodding and waving at people and feeling disconnected from all of them.

I had a miscarriage many years ago.  It was hard.  I was traveling.  My spouse didn’t seem to care at all, and wasn’t around.  My aunt was there, and was very supportive.  It wasn’t sudden.  I knew it was going to happen several days before it did, and was dreading it, anxious and worried for days.  I spent hours on the phone with insurance, trying to figure out how in was covered in an out-of-state hospital and what I was supposed to do.  I didn’t feel like they cared at all, and was sure they were trying to make it as difficult as possible. 

It was nothing like I thought it would be.  I was in “labor” for 13 hours, longer than any other labor I’ve had.  I was scared, and tense, and had a migraine.  I was traveling for several hours of contractions, from St. George to somewhere above Salt Lake.  I labored at my Aunt’s best friend’s house- a woman I had never met, with several children.  I don’t even remember my own child or who was watching him—I have no idea what he did or where he was for days.  I’m sure I should thank my aunt for making sure he was fed and happy.  I was self-conscious, wondering why this was so hard and long.  I thought it would be quick and relatively painless.  I shut myself in someone’s bedroom and cried and paced and curled up on their bed.  I wanted Mom and wanted to be home.

Eventually, my Aunt’s friend suggested massage.  It was painful, but a little while later, I was in the bathroom hemorrhaging.  I couldn’t move.  I called out for someone I think, and then I passed out.  I was in shock and being whisked to the hospital.  I came out of it long enough to tell someone I didn’t want to go to the hospital, that I wouldn’t do what they told me to.  We detoured to the bishop’s house for a blessing.  I was told to go to the hospital and do everything the doctor told me to, that he would be guided to know what to do.  At the hospital, I wanted to talk, but I couldn’t make the words come out.  I was still in shock.  I was so cold.  People were talking, to me, about me.  There were needles, and swabs, an IV, and they were asking lots of questions.  My aunt talked to me for hours and helped me to be calm.

Then it was over.  Everything was back to normal.  Except it wasn’t quite.  I was given a Father’s blessing. I talked to my mom.  She'd never had a miscarriage and told me to talk to my grandma.  For my grandmother, it was a long-ago experience, and she didn't have much to say.  She told me it just happens sometimes, to go on with life, and trust the Lord.

Then life became harder than I could ever have imagined, and my thoughts about it drowned in the wake of a new trial.

A couple of years and a new life later, I remembered the miscarriage with renewed anxiety.  I was at peace with what had happened.  I understood at least partly why, and why it was good.  But I was worried- that I would never have another child, that I would continue to miscarry (an inconsiderate doctor told me, while doing an intravaginal ultrasound and telling me my baby didn’t have a heartbeat, that I would thereafter have a 50% of miscarrying in every pregnancy after that), or not even be able to conceive.  We tried for 6 months, and I was starting to think of going to a doctor to see what was wrong.  I did conceive, and then I worried more.  I worried that I would do something wrong and hurt the baby, that no matter what I did I wouldn’t be able to fix it, that something was wrong with me.  

Now, when I find that I'm expecting, I hold my breath until I hear his heartbeat.  Then some more until I begin to feel him move.

I know God is in control, He works in my best interests, and that even as I have difficult experiences in the future, I will not be tested beyond my ability to endure.  I'm sure this knowledge should cause me to be calm about everything and never worry.  It doesn't work that way.  I still stress.  But I remind myself that He loves me and wants the best for me, and that everything will work out.  Sometimes I remind myself every day, sometimes I don't need reminding for weeks, and sometimes my husband does it for me :).