I don’t remember the exact day it happened.
Twenty-two years ago my world came crashing down – for the third time – while in Jordan, Montana.
While we were cutting wheat near Hutchinson, Kansas, I found out we were expecting baby number four. I hadn’t been feeling quite right and suspected that maybe I was pregnant. Maybe. But I wasn’t sick like I had been with the other three. I mean really sick. Sick like hyperemesis sick. Like not being able to quit puking sick.
So I visited the local clinic to be checked out.
“Could you be pregnant?”, they asked. I said, “I guess it’s a possibility.”
I was told to call the clinic back later that day and they would give me the result. Positive. Now…how in the world am I going to tell Jim I’m pregnant? Guess just tell him. 🙂
I never did get as sick as I had been with the others. Maybe that should have been my first clue? I was so excited about my growing belly and the fact that I could continue to take care of my family and “crew” (all of one additional guy) without having to feel like I was going to die.
It’s been long enough ago I’ve forgotten all the details. But what I will never forget is what I was doing the very instant I knew something was wrong. I was attempting to lift a five gallon water jug in the trailer house. We have to buy our water while we’re in Jordan. You don’t want to drink this extra salty, mineral-filled water.
It was a sickening, numbing feeling that instantly hit me. I thought…maybe if I just stop what I’m doing and sit down or lay down it will all go away. I still think about this particular day every time I lift one of those blue five gallon water jugs.
I called Dan the local PA. He told me to come to the clinic immediately and then sent me to Miles City for an ultrasound. I could tell by the look on the face of the gal doing the test that something wasn’t right. But she couldn’t say anything. The doctor confirmed the worst. There was no heartbeat. I immediately felt like I was going to be sick.
It wasn’t immediate but I eventually went into “labor”. I was 13 weeks along. Dan took care of me the entire time I was in the Jordan hospital. Things were different then. And I often think about the baby I lost that year – especially when we pull back into town. I remember feeling like I would never be the same. I would never be able to get over what had just happened. I remember walking the streets of the town late at night trying to understand why this had to happen. Especially so far away from home.
The people of this community were amazing! Dan came to our trailer house several times to check on me. Where else does the doctor make a “house visit” anymore? Or call to see how things are going? People brought food for our little harvest crew until I could get back on my feet. I was blessed to have had this happen where it did. I just didn’t know it at the time.
I find myself thinking about this more so today because of the premature birth of a dear friend’s baby. I had prayed for a miracle for her. She was only 20 weeks pregnant. But there was hope through others who shared their stories of delivering babies this young and they survived. Unfortunately, Henry wasn’t going to grow up here on earth. God had other plans for him. So, as I think about Emma and the emotions she’s going through tonight, it made me think about my own loss. I had two other miscarriages before the last one in Jordan. Each one never easier than the previous one.
I used to remember the due dates. I don’t anymore. All I can remember is that there were three – two between Jenna and Taylor and one between Taylor and Callie. I used to notice pregnant women more than usual. I don’t anymore. I used to wonder if they were boys or girls. I know that one day I will be reunited with them in heaven. They will be waiting for me to arrive and then I will be able to hold them in my arms.
I’ve told Taylor and Callie they must have very important purposes on this earth. If I had carried those babies to term, I would not have had either Taylor or Callie. And, I can’t imagine life without either one of them.
You see, I believe God has a plan for each one of us. And sometimes that plan includes the death of a baby. Doesn’t seem right at all. How could a loving God allow such a thing? He knows. He has the plan, not us. How can we question what He knows? So much doesn’t make sense, but I fully believe that one day it will.
All of this leads up to my final thought. Why do we women feel it so necessary to keep a miscarriage or the loss of a baby quiet? Why is it so important that we don’t tell anyone we’re pregnant until we’re in the second trimester? I understand everyone thinks differently. However, due to the losses I experienced, it would have been much easier to have gone through it with the help of others.
I didn’t tell anyone.
I didn’t think I was supposed to. Was it because I thought others would look at me with questions? Was it taboo to let others know that you were pregnant and now you’re not? I don’t know. I’ve thought about it all so much over the years. When I went through the heartache of miscarriage, there was nothing about it anywhere. Nothing to help the grieving mom and dad understand why it happened. I was so hungry for information to learn about the reason why. There was no google or internet to refer to.
Was it something I did? Was there something wrong with me? Why did I miscarry these babies? What caused this to happen? So many unanswered questions.
If I could give a bit of advice, it would be this…don’t deny yourself the love and care of others. The time you could use support, prayers, sympathy and care is during the moment of loss. Let the world know you’re pregnant right away. If the pregnancy ends with a miscarriage or the death of your baby, you will have the love and support of people who can help carry you through the difficult times. By keeping your pregnancy a secret, you also keep the pain of a loss a secret. That’s so very difficult to get through on your own. Believe me, I know. Being able to talk to someone – anyone – who would listen and would allow me to talk was the best therapy I had.
If you know of someone who is having to go through the loss of a baby, please don’t be afraid to ask them about it. They need you. They need to know you will listen and try to understand. The pain of losing their baby is no different than dealing with the death of any loved one. It hurts and it takes an awful lot of time to work through the pain. Be there for them – in any way you can.
Time does lessen the pain but the heartache never really goes away – even after 22 years.
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The first time Jim held Ben – just before we had to tell him goodbye.
Back to the land of corn and soybeans.
The yellow roseometer is telling us it’s about that time to load up and head south.