The Rebreaking

When Colin was about nine months old, we found out that we were expecting again.  After the initial shock wore off, I was thrilled.  No, I take that back... I was thrilled from the very moment I suspected something might be off.  Although we weren't planning to have another baby so soon, I was very excited at the idea of having two little Colins running around the house.

When I was younger, I wanted several children.  Eleven to be exact.  I was going to have four girls and seven boys.  The girls were to be named Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter and I'd name the boys Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Bob.  Yes, I had it all planned out.
Then, I saw the news of the Dilley Sextuplets.  I was so excited about that possibility that I determined I'd be the first woman to have seven babies at once.  If you asked me what I wanted to be, I'd tell you I wanted to be an astronaut.  Clearly, I was a bit delusional as a child.

But, as I grew, my hopes for the future matured.  I wanted 5-8 children and had dreams of our family playing outside and the older children helping with the younger children.  If you asked me what I wanted to be, I'd say I wanted to be a mom.  That was my new dream.

Eventually, my dream grew to include teaching.  So, here I was, as a teacher, expecting my second child.  The best part of it was that all four of my closest friends were pregnant at the same time.  Two of them had just found out, so we'd go through pregnancy together.  The other two were farther along and were getting to their baby shower stage.  It was amazingly exciting.

We went to the doctor to hear the heartbeat of our baby and were so excited as the nurse pulled out the doppler.  I rested on the table at 6 weeks pregnant and was anxious to hear the little horse-galloping sound of the baby's heart.  The doctor warned me that it was still early and sometimes you just couldn't hear the heartbeat at this stage, but I knew we'd hear it.  Sure enough, as soon as they put the doppler to my abdomen, we could hear the amazing sound of a living being inside me.  I was thrilled.  The baby was progressing well and I was on my way to baby number two.

I remember telling my mom.  I'd put together a photo album of Colin for them.  On the last page, there was a picture of me holding Colin, with the caption "I have a secret!"  On Colin's shirt, it read, "Big Brother".  My parents were thrilled.

At 10 weeks, I went back in for my next appointment.  I was an old pro by this time and knew exactly what to expect.  They grabbed the doppler and we all listened.  Nothing.  My OB moved it around and we still heard nothing.  He gave it to his nurse and she tried.  No heartbeat.  He sent me over to the ultrasound room, but I knew what was going to happen.  Alone in the ultrasound room, I found out that my baby was not going to make it.  I was advised to go home and miscarry naturally.  Two and a half weeks later, I still hadn't miscarried, so they scheduled me for a D&E.  Seeing those letters in writing doesn't seem like a big deal, but this is the same process as abortion.  They literally rip the baby out in pieces.  It was a very emotional experience and I got no closure.  Up to this point in my life, this was the most traumatic experience that had ever happened to me.  My heart was broken.

They say that once you've lost a baby, all your future pregnancies are ruined because you've lost the innocence and wonder.  This certainly happened with me.  My first pregnancy had finally and officially ended just before the end of the first trimester, so when I got pregnant again, the first trimester was a very scary time.  I was monitored a little more closely, but things were going pretty smoothly.  I actually reached the second trimester at the same time my miscarried baby would have been born.  But I was finally in the second trimester and things were going great.  I had a very pronounced baby bump and was enjoying my trips to Babies R Us.  I was scouring the internet for baby names and looking at magazines for nursery ideas.  I was going to be a mom of two!  This time, I rented a doppler to keep at home and listened to the baby's heartbeat whenever I got nervous.  It was so reassuring to know that things were going smoothly.

I remember one Sunday morning just before 16 weeks.  I was sitting in church and felt the baby kick for the first time.  There was no mistaking it.  It was no flutter.  It was a good solid kick in my gut.  It made me jump!  This was the stage I'd been waiting for.  Feeling the baby would be so much more reassuring!  That afternoon, my ex was leaving for training, so I grabbed the doppler so he could hear the heartbeat one more time.  I couldn't find it.  My ex brushed it off as no big deal, but I knew something was wrong.  That night, after he left, I tried again.  Nothing.  I tried a few times a day until Tuesday morning, when I made an appointment for that afternoon.  Again, I was by myself when the OB told me that the baby had no heartbeat.  I'd lost another one.

They admitted me into Labor and Delivery to deliver the baby.  They put me on some induction medication and tried to encourage labor.  That night, my water broke, but there were no signs of labor.    They tried some heavier drugs to get the process going.  I was going to be able to hold the tiny baby and name it.  They even said they'd get me footprints.  I was going to get the closure that I didn't get the first time.  But after a day of heavy meds, there were still no signs of labor.  My OB said it was time for another D&E.  I burst into tears.  I couldn't go through that again.  I begged and pleaded with him to please try anything else.  He was concerned about infection, but tried everything else he could.  The next morning, there was no progress and they wheeled me away for another D&E.

I went into a very dark place emotionally.  I was angry at God, no question, but I still understood that He could bring good out of my situation.  That didn't make me feel any better, though, and I was sinking fast.  My OB had suggested that I go on some antidepressants for a short time if I needed them.  I started really considering that option.  I confided in a Christian friend who insisted that if I went on antidepressants, I wasn't trusting God enough.  That comment killed me inside.  I knew I needed help.  I'd been closer to God than ever before, but I just needed a little more.  I was teaching at a Christian school at the time and I made an appointment with the Campus Pastor.  He told me that God has gifted everyone differently.  For some, that gift is the ability to create medications.  He asked me if people would have issues if I took medication for an illness.  Obviously, not.  He encouraged me so much that day.  I was grateful for a Christian who chose to build up instead of tear down.

I began seeing a high risk OB, who ran several tests.  There was nothing in the tests or the pathology report from the baby that gave any clues as to why this was happening.  They assured me it was just bad luck and gave us permission to try again.

Our next pregnancy was a long series of confusing appointments.  My numbers were rising well, but the doctor couldn't find a baby in the uterus.  Around 9 weeks, he decided it was probably hiding behind some cysts on my ovary, but recommended another D&E just in case there was something in my uterus that could cause infection.  So, off I went for my third heartless D&E.  At this point, two Christians I worked with began blaming me for my miscarriages.  Again, my support system was tearing me down instead of uplifting me.  Why do we do this to each other?
My next pregnancy was my shortest.  I miscarried naturally just before 5 weeks.  I was barely pregnant.

At this point, my emotions were all over the place.  I knew I could get pregnant, but why wasn't I staying pregnant?  I just didn't understand it.  If I'd just been diagnosed with something, I could be treated with something.  But with no diagnosis, all the doctors could offer was, "Just keep trying."  Oh, and the worst part?  On my charts, I was labeled a "habitual aborter".

I began seeing a Reproductive Endocrinologist and we tried everything from Clomid to injections.  Now, I couldn't even GET pregnant.  It was as if my uterus had waged war against my emotions.
My sixth pregnancy came as I was completely giving up.  My ex husband's very first reaction when I told him was, "I wonder how long THIS one is going to last."

I went in for bloodwork and found out that my estradiol was low, so I was put on supplements.  The supplements made my progesterone drop, so then I was put on supplements for that as well.  Eventually, my numbers balanced out and started looking good.  My OB was concerned about my pregnancy due to the trauma to my uterus from the three prior D&Es.  I had ultrasounds every other week to make sure things were okay.  I had placenta previa, but that usually corrected itself, so I wasn't too worried about that.

But it didn't correct itself.  I was put on modified bed rest and wasn't allowed to lift anything over 10 pounds.  I was having regular contractions and had been hospitalized twice and was put on medication to keep the contractions from causing any trouble.  It was very risky for me to go into labor, so they'd planned a c-section at 38 weeks.

At 36 weeks, I'd gone in to check on Colin sleeping.  I thought my water broke, but quickly realized I was bleeding, so we rushed to Labor and Delivery.  They decided it was a great risk and prepped me for an emergency c-section.  Harper was born and sent to be cleaned up and checked, where she was put on oxygen because she wasn't breathing well on her own.  Meanwhile, in the OR, my uterus wasn't contracting and I was losing a lot of blood.  My OB told me that he'd have to take my uterus out or I'd die from blood loss.  They'd already given me a transfusion.

When I woke up (I'd passed out during the hysterectomy), I asked for my daughter.  The nurse said she'd check and left the room.  I didn't realize she'd been on oxygen.  The pediatric nurses were concerned that she wasn't getting better and were about to send her to another hospital with a NICU when she finally started breathing better on her own.  All of this happened just as I was waking up.  My nurse came back into my room and told me they were preparing to bring my daughter and it would just be a moment.  I remember when I first held her.  She was truly a miracle.

They say it's easier to remove a bandaid if you just rip it off in one swift motion.  I think it's the same with the heart.  The heart recovers better if you have the pain in one big attack.  It's the constant rebreaking that does the most damage.  Mine had definitely been broken many times over.  But the rebreaking wasn't nearly finished.

Not long after my daughter was born, I found out about my ex husband and the things he'd been doing to hurt me over the years.  What followed was months of discoveries and rebreaking.

My heart has been hurt over and over again in ways I'd never wish on my worst enemy.

But it doesn't matter how badly your heart is hurt or how many times it is broken.  God is the healer.
I will never carry another baby inside, but God can fill that void.  My wonderful husband will never have a child that carries his genes, but he has two step-children who love him and whom he treats as his own.  We may never have a large family or we may give a home to children longing for parents.
Who knows what God has planned for us, but I will stand firm on Romans 8:28.  God works together ALL things for good for those who love Him and are called according to His purpose.
God WILL bring good out of all of this breaking.  Some days that's easier for me to believe than others.  But I have to cling to His word.

And sometimes, that really means CLING!  As Psalm 119:31 says, I cling to your decrees, Lord.  Do not put me to shame.

And so I trust God and His word.  Even when trusting is hard.  Because trusting is all I have left.