The Physical Side (Part 2)

Another warning that this is personal stuff and probably more suited to female readers.  Read at your own risk.

We were on our way to the hospital in Fergus Falls.  It was around 7 am and beginning to get light outside, which was very strange because we hadn't sleep and still felt like it was the middle of the long, dark night.  (In fact I almost titled these blog posts something about The Dark Night and The Dark Night Rises, but it was just too silly.) After a half hour of driving and trying not to let my thoughts wander into the terror and blood of the previous hours, we made it to the hospital.

They wheeled me into an Emergency room right away and a very kind nurse began helping me.  She said that the ER doctor would come and take a look at me and he'd probably have to do a pelvic exam.  Then if they needed more help they might call their OB doctor.  The ER doctor came and asked me questions.  I tried my best to explain everything without crying but was getting exhausted.  Yes, my third pregnancy.  Yes my second miscarriage.  When was your healthy pregnancy?  How did your second one end?  Are you in pain?  YES!  A lot!  Ugh.  Finally the questions ended.  Bert reminded me that we are in a new place and they have to ask everything. just in case.

The ER doctor returned and told me the famous, "scoot to the edge of the bed."  I thought to myself, "yeah right, I can't even sit up on my own."  Somehow, with Bert's help, I got down to the edge of the bed and put my feet in the stirrups.  What followed was definitely the worst part of the entire experience.  I cried and writhed as something I call the "speculum of satan" was plunged into me and the doctor tried to "just pull out some of the tissue that I see."  It would not be pulled out, even after much trying,  After the exam ended and my sobbing subsided it was agreed that I could have some pain medicine.  My wonderful nurse put in an IV with an extra big needle ("just in case we need to get you fluids really fast") that felt like sliding a carving knife into my wrist.  More tears.  Didn't really have much control at this point.  She gave me morphine and I started to feel less pain.  And shake.  Thankful for some relief.

The OB doctor was called and arrived a while later.  There's a lot of waiting in the ER because you don't have appointments.  It doesn't matter that you're freezing cold, shaking, and laying in a pool of your own blood.  You have to wait because everyone is busy doing the best they can to take care of you.  Overall I was very happy with my care, but that didn't make the experience quick and painless.  Guess what we got to do when the OB doctor came?  Another pelvic exam.  He was much better with the speculum, but I still sobbed and writhed from the pain of how tender everything was down there.  Then I started feeling a heavy weight on my chest and struggled to breath.  I couldn't get a deep breath, either from anxiety, exhaustion  asthma, or all of the above.  Our nurse leaned over me and hugged my head saying, "just take a big breath for me honey, it's ok."  I gasped repeatedly and tried but I could just barely get air through.

They told me that they (both doctors were at my feet for this exam/procedure) were able to clear out a lot of the material that was stuck in my cervix and had been able to extract what they thought was the placenta.  But we'd have to do an ultrasound to see if everything was out.  Otherwise I should have a D&C to make sure everything is cleared out and I don't die of infection etc.  Meanwhile I couldn't stop moaning, shaking, and was beginning to think about meeting Jesus.  It was so weird to be completely out of control of my body.  I remember thinking it was weird that I was scared about dying.  I always thought I'd be up for the chance to go home when the time came.  But I was still pretty scared and didn't want to leave Bert.

We asked the doctor if I could use my inhaler to help me breath easier.  He kindly ordered me some Benadryl and a nebulizer treatment.  After those treatments I was finally able to rest.  And my shaking started to get better.  I think it was around 10 am.  So almost 12 hours after when the pain started wrecking me.

Then came an ultrasound (PRAISE THE LORD it wasn't internal).  The tech we had was very kind and cared about what we were going through.  She asked us about Gwen.  She immediately noticed that there was much more to come out and my uterus was no where near empty.  The baby and placenta may have come out, but the lining was still very thick.  Same as before.  I told her that I have a sticky uterus and she laughed.

Sure enough a D&C was next.  I was amazed that I didn't have to go into an Operating Room.  They said they would just use my current IV to help me sleep and do the procedure in my same room.  When the OB doctor came I had one question, "how do you hold my legs up when I'm sleeping??"  This was still bothering me since my last D&C.  He laughed at my question and then said the nurses hold them, and sometimes they even tape the patient's feet onto the stirrups.  Weird.  Bert kissed me goodbye and went outside for my 10 minute surgery.  The doctor had reassured him that there was very little risk because my cervix was already so open that there shouldn't be any risk of infection and they should be able to get everything out easily and quickly.

I remember my feet being taped.  The third speculum of the day - boo.  And the nurses and doctor talking about going out of town for a basketball game or something.  Then, I was out.  I opened my eyes a while later to see Bert standing beside my bed staring at me with worried eyes.  He told me to go back to sleep.  I was warm and dry for the first time all day and night.  I had a lot of drugs in my system and it took me a while to fully wake up.  Bert stayed beside me with those precious worried eyes the whole time.  I felt relieved to be alive and with him.  I felt so full of love for him and glad we got to have more days together.

Eventually they let me leave the hospital, but I wasn't back to normal.  I felt pretty horrible and missed Gwen like crazy.  It was about 12:30 pm when we got back to my Aunt and Uncle's.  I couldn't walk on my own and was extremely weak. They told me in the hospital that my hemoglobin levels were down to 10.8.  (They were 9 after Gwen's birth.)  A regular number for me is around 13.

Everyone was very caring and sensitive towards me.  I think it was scary for them too to see me go through all of this.  I am so thankful for my wonderful family.  And I'm so thankful that my Mom was with me during the first half of everything.  She stayed with Gwen while we went to the hospital which was also a blessing.  God does set the parameters of our suffering and I'm thankful for all the edges where he provided and didn't allow things to go wrong.  Like in caring for Gwen and giving us great people at the hospital.

My healing from this physically has been difficult.  But I am determined to heal.  I haven't been able to care for Gwen which has been very sad for me.  She is such a source of joy in my life.  She has, however, been in good hands and having a great time with cousins and family.  I don't know how long this will take but I am slowly gaining my strength back.  And taking ibuprofen every 4 hours!  Ouch.

I am thankful to be alive, and heartbroken that Ezra's fragile body didn't come home with us.  I'm still thankful for Jesus and that God never left me alone through all my trauma.  He even woke up our dear friend to pray for us at 1:30 am on Friday. The song running through my head in the hospital was a way that God gave me the grace to press on, a reminder of his love and understanding of each pain:

Why should I feel discouraged, why should the shadows come,

Why should my heart be lonely, and long for heaven and home,

When Jesus is my portion? My constant friend is He:

His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me

The Physical Side (Part 1)

I need to write about what happened on Thursday night.  Most likely this will turn out to be pretty personal and not for the faint-of-blood reader.  But I'm not scared to share, so read only if you really want to know.  This is mostly for my memory.  Consider yourself warned.

On Thursday morning we drove 3 hours to my aunt and uncle's home near Fergus Falls to enjoy a third Christmas with another branch of extended family.  I had been feeling well physically besides the occasional nausea, fatigue, etc that was still happening from pregnancy.  We knew I only carried Ezra's body.  I had finally come to a place of being thankful that I got some extra time with him instead of just thinking it was weird to have a dead baby inside of me.  We had a pleasant day with family and enjoying Gwen.

At 11 pm, while watching Holiday Inn, I suddenly started experiencing labor-like cramping.  Probably the best description of that kind of pain is a 'charlie horse' but in your uterus.  It came in waves of pain and I was ok just breathing through them.  I was exhausted from a long day so I got into bed and hoped I could sleep a little bit.  Within 10 minutes I knew I wouldn't be sleeping much that night.  I grabbed an extra shirt, blanket, ibuprofen, and pack of pads and went downstairs to camp out by the bathroom.  I was already bleeding steadily and the pain was intense.

There was an empty twin bed near the bathroom and I laid down on it after wrapping my extra shirt around my waist, just in case I leaked.  I didn't want to stain any sheets!  A short while later, I knew I had to get up and switch pads.  In the bathroom I was shocked at how fast things were going.  Knowing my body, and how slowly things progressed last time, I thought this could take 4-5 days to get through.  But no.  It was clear that my body was freaking out and was trying to start a full clearing out process tonight.  The shirt I had wrapped around my waist was very bloodied and my pajamas were a mess.  I called my Mom, who was sleeping upstairs, and asked her to come down and be with me.

I have always struggled with the sight of blood.  It's one of my most frustrating flaws!  My Mom stayed with me for a while in the bathroom as I breathed through the contractions and let my body work.  Around 2 am,  I called my midwife to ask her about what my plan should be for dealing with this.  She mentioned going to the hospital if things weren't slowing down in an hour or so.  I was shaking uncontrollably and she said that is probably caused by all the hormonal shifts that were happening in my body.

At one point I felt that the tissue of the baby was beginning to emerge.  Before this there were a lot of clots and other yucky looking things, but this was different.  I expected him to come out all at once like my last miscarriage.  I had my hand below me because I really wanted to bring Ezra's body home to bury him under the tree with Joey.  I so longed to just hold his body in my hands and see the way that God knit him together and had sustained his life.  Seeing his body is a way of verifying to myself that he lived!  He was real.  This was the moment that I was longing for, even though it was terrifying at the same time.  It would make everything about his life and death real.

While my hand was below me to catch him, minutes passed.  Contractions hit me over and over and still he wouldn't emerge all the way.  It was so frustrating.  And after looking at my hand filled with blood a few times and feeling the blood pour over my hand without bringing a baby along, I started to feel dizzy.  My ears went numb and my vision started going.  My mom was right there, and I passed out into her arms while sitting on the toilet.  I was so scared.  I remember screaming "help me" over and over.  It was such a horrible feeling to loose control of my body.  Somehow my mom caught me and supported my weight while I sat.  I came around to her voice saying "Rebekah, Rebekah, I have you. You are with me. You are ok."  I started vomiting before I even opened my eyes.  This is one of the many reasons why I wish I could give my Mom and award.  She just held a towel up to my chest and then the trash can while I threw up into it.  I was shaking uncontrollably and really scared.  She helped get off the toilet and sit on the freezing ground.  Then while I cried on the floor I felt her wiping the blood off of my fingers, palms, and legs with wet wipes.

She told me I couldn't sit on the toilet like that anymore because I was losing blood flow to my legs.  She somehow got me cleaned up enough to lay back down in the twin bed, with a fresh pad and a towel wrapped between my legs.  She was so calm it made me feel better even though I was still in pain and feeling shaken.  I eased myself onto the bed and Mom went to wake up Bert.  I felt like I needed him with me to continue to face the night ahead and recover from passing out.  He was so great and let me lean on him.  It helped a lot.

From then on I was doing trips to the bathroom every 15-30 minutes to refresh pads, with my Mom right beside me.  In between bathroom trips the three of us would sit on the couch and try to talk about something cheerful while I breathed through my painful contractions.  I couldn't let myself lay down because it was too hard (or depressing) to not be able to actually sleep.  Any woman who has gone through a long labor knows, part of the challenge is fighting the tiredness to get the job done.

After a series of super painful contractions I passed the tissue of the baby.  I could tell it was a heavier mass than the clots and just knew it was him.  Mom was worried that me looking for him would make me pass out again, but I had to look.  Seeing him meant too much to me.  I got one glimpse of a rounded gray form.  And then I couldn't see him.  He was too far back.  I tried to get to him with a plastic fork and he kept slipping further and further back.  I couldn't believe it.  After a few tries I felt the words, "God is saying no."  "No."  You don't get to see him.  You don't get to hold him.  You have to wait until heaven.  This is not part of his plan for you.  No!  I could barely accept this was really happening.  I never considered that I wouldn't be able to get to his body.  I sobbed into my mom's legs and she cried over me.  Then I stood up to wash my toilet-water-hands and nodded for her to flush the toilet.  Heartbroken.  I remember being glad that even though I couldn't hold him, I got to know his name.  Ezra.  So many tears for you.

I told Bert back on the couch and we cried.  Then we continued on through the hours of pain and more blood.  I didn't know how much more I could take and started talking about going to the hospital.  It was 5 am, and 3 hours past when the midwife told me to "give it another hour."  I called her again and she said as long as my head felt clear while standing up I was probably fine.  She said things should start slowing down after passing the tissue of the baby and they probably wouldn't do much more for me in the hospital than was already being done.

Bert got a movie set up for us on his laptop for distraction and I leaned on him and listened to Bing Crosby singing in "Going My Way."  I was still consistently having to get myself up for the bathroom every 15-30 minutes and meanwhile was overflow bleeding onto a couple of maroon towels that we had discovered in a cabinet.  My mom was a champion of always getting up first when I said, "I think I need to go again."  She was up and willing before me every time and somehow was accomplishing laundry of my bloodied clothes in the meantime.

I felt my vision start to fade again while I was on the toilet and asked Mom to get Bert.  We yelled for him to come in and they both helped me up and out of the bathroom and then I passed out on the floor into Bert's lap.  Again.  I woke up crying.  I said, "I can't do this anymore.  Can we go to the hospital now?"  They both said yes and we started making arrangements.  Bring me pants.  Get some clean clothes and a hair binder.  Call ahead.  Borrow a car to drive.  etc.  I was relieved and felt sure that as soon as we got to the hospital, they would give me an IV of pain medicine and everything would be ok.  Too bad that's not how things turned out...

So here's what happened (so far)

I scheduled my 10 week appointment for Wednesday, December 19th and really really hoped we could hear a heartbeat by then.  I would be 10 weeks and 5 days after all, and they say that 10 weeks is usually when you can start hearing it.  We were expecting to joyfully hear the heartbeat in the very room where last time we got sad news.  And it was going to be redemptive (an Ephraim experience if you will, Genesis 41:52).  Then we would be off to California to see our extended family and rejoice in a new pregnancy with family we don't get to see enough.

Instead, Gwen, Bert, and I waited as the midwife searched and searched for a heartbeat.  Our midwife said my uterus felt small for 10 weeks, but that didn't necessarily mean anything.  She scheduled me an ultrasound at a nearby office (they don't have one in the midwife office) for a couple hours later.  At the beginning of our appointment we learned that our previous 6 week ultrasound report mentioned a possible subchorionic hemorrhage.  But it wasn't a serious concern.  It was normal to see things on early ultrasounds that resolve naturally and never turn into concerns.  Our midwife said with the lack of detectable heartbeat and the possible subchorionic hemorrhage, it would be best to verify everything was ok by ultrasound.  We were thankful that we'd only be waiting a couple hours, and not overnight to find out.

We dropped off Gwen at Ivy's house, because it was our date night anyway, grabbed a bite at Noodles, and went to get our ultrasound.  Still hoping, praying, and trusting that we'd get good news and get to see our baby moving around.  They look like babies at 10 weeks.  With head, rump, and little limbs that visibly move.

During the ultrasound (ha! I used to think 'internal' ultrasounds were scary and uncomfortable. Now I could care less) she located the baby and he was cute.  Little head and rump, but no moving arms and legs that we could see.  Then she asked me to take couple deep breaths to look for blood flow in the baby.  There was definitely blood flow everywhere else, except for the little gray baby body.  Then she charted the heartbeat line across the bottom of the screen and there weren't any bumps on it.  Nothing.  I covered my face with my hands and started sobbing.  Total shock.  The tech finished about 30 seconds later, handed me a washcloth to cry in because she didn't have any kleenex, and then she said "I'm so sorry" and left the room after giving us instructions to wait in the lobby.

Bert wrapped his arms around me while I sobbed and gasped, "no! not again. i can't do this again." Over and over.  And then somehow I turned it off and got dressed, buckling my belt in front of the bulletin board full of ultrasound pictures of big, happy, alive babies.  It said "BABIES ON PARADE!" with a big silhouette of a pregnant belly on the paper background. I wish I could think of words to give justice for how much I HATE that bulletin board.  It seemed like the cruelest thing possible in that moment.  And way too familiar since I also hated it the last time I was in that room with a dead baby inside.  Seriously, I might write them a letter of complaint.

In some room, somewhere, the ultrasound results were viewed by a radiologist who wrote up a report and sent it to my midwife, who then called me on the private lobby phone at the ultrasound office.  Bert and I were sitting there numb with shock and grief when she called.  We were facing the question, "What do we do now?"  We had not even acknowledged that question or made tentative plans because we were sure we'd get good news.  The midwife affirmed my hesitations about still going to California, saying it may be very difficult and uncomfortable for me if my body starts miscarrying while we're there.  So we decided not to go which was very heartbreaking for such an important and highly anticipated trip.

The midwife mentioned that the baby had a crown-rump measurement meaning it was big enough to be measured and hadn't started "being absorbed" back into the lining as some younger embryos do.  It measured to be around 8 weeks old, so it had probably already been dead for over two weeks.  (I thought back to how even though I still felt very pregnant, it had been almost exactly two weeks since I last threw up.)  The midwife recommended that I see an OB to discuss my "options" and gave lots of comfort and kindness during our phone call as I dealt with the shock of having to do that again.  In the same room.  With the same voice on the same phone.  She said how she had been so excited for me about this pregnancy and emphasized how this was so difficult to go through again.  I need to thank God more for the HealthEast midwives.  They are such a grace to me.

Calls were made to parents and sisters and we got big, wonderful hugs and tears when we went to pick up Gwen at Ivy's.  How can anything be better than tears?  I'm not asking for words.  I'm not asking why.  I just need tears sometimes.  So when someone shares that with me I feel so very loved and grateful.

God blessed us with a really compassionate woman at Delta who didn't charge us any fees for needing to reschedule our plane tickets.  She kept apologizing and told Bert to "tell your wife to be strong" because she was a mother too and knows how hard it is. Bert cancelled our CA hotel.  And he emailed our small group to cancel our Christmas party we were supposed to host the next day.  (Bert is my HERO.)  Then we took a deep breath to digest that this was really happening and somehow ended up sitting in our hallway crying together.  It was precious and painful as we grieved the fact of two sons we won't raise here.  Or hold.  Or call their names out the back door to come in for dinner.  Or play with their sister.  Or swaddle in hospital blankets.

Now it's been five days since that night.  Christmas Eve.

My heart is heavy with many things... grief, numbness, comfort,sadness, joy, and thankfulness that Jesus was born.  There is still darkness here, but it's not for long.  He is King and will one day truly wipe away all these tears.  And if he hadn't been born there wouldn't be a happy ending to this story.  My sin is enough to condemn me, but my Savior gives me HIS perfect life in my ledger and God welcomes me into his family forever.  Where I will see my babies again.

Here's what I am struggling with now.  I am still pregnant.  I still feel pregnant.  I still get nauseous in the morning and throughout the day.  I still crave naps.  I still have other unmentionable pains and extras.  I still wake up in the morning feeling the baby's weight on my bladder.  And then I remember he is dead.  It's multiple times a day I simply think, "dead baby."  So now I am the pregnant girl with a dead baby inside of her.  My brain knows, but my body is clueless.  I feel insecure about how that must seem to other people (which is admittedly silly).  It's like I have a big emotional shift, but my physical experience (whatever that will be) is lagging behind awkwardly.  I both like it and dislike it.  It's comfortable to not be empty, but uncomfortable to know this pregnancy is not going anywhere.  I'm over 11 weeks now, and have little hope for my sticky uterus to have success on its own with its poor track record.  So mentally I have constant questions about what will happen and when and how long...

So will you pray for my mental and emotional patience and peace?  We are going to ride out the holidays and start talking about medical interventions in early January.  But sometimes I feel a little crazy in the waiting.  So I'm trying to take thoughts captive, am keeping a thankfulness list, and need to stay in the word. And that's what I need most right now, so I'm out.

Thank you for your prayer, care, and tears.  

I wish I could say THANK YOU big enough and loud enough. 

It means to much to not be alone on this path.  You are a part of God's grace to me in this.

Ezra Joseph

On Friday, October 19th I was sitting on the couch with my Patriarch's Bible study spread over my lap, reading about Leah and Rachel.  They were desiring to have babies.  I felt a new sympathy for them this time around.  I, too, desired a baby and was still heart sore from the baby that should have been in my womb if it hadn't died over the summer.

Then I read Genesis 30:22:

²² Then God remembered Rachel, and God listened to her and opened her womb. ²³ She conceived and bore a son and said, “God has taken away my reproach.” ²⁴ And she called his name Joseph, saying,“May the Lord add to me another son!”

At that moment I was praying to the Lord that he would give me another son.  Then I distinctly felt these words, as if spoken but not audibly: You are already pregnant with Ezra Joseph.  

I asked Bert if he thought that could be true.  I knew I didn't think those thoughts on my own.  I wouldn't have dared to think them.  The words just dropped in and I received them.  He recommended that we have child-like faith and believe it.  So we prayerfully did.  I refused wine at a party and started eating extra protein.  And when I got a positive pregnancy test two week later I was joyfully not-surprised.

I also agreed to finding out the gender of the baby since I already knew it was a boy.  It might as well be public.  One night Bert remarked, "so we have to name him Ezra right?"  And I answered, "Yep, doesn't seem like an option to me."  

about the name Ezra Joseph...

Ezra was (secretly) declared our boy's name when we were pregnant with Gwen.  We love it.  It means "God is my help."  In fact, when I was pregnant with Gwen, we called the baby "Gwen-Ezra" in private.  I had some hesitation about using this name.  In the past year Bert's cousin (who lives far away and we see rarely) named his son Ezra.  Also, it is a very Biblical sounding name which might not be perceived as "normal."  So it was nice to feel like the name wasn't an option since the Lord had given it to me so clearly.

Joseph is a different story.  One I feel ready to tell.  We think of the first baby we lost in June as Joey.  He was to be born just after Christmas, and his name is both to honor my Uncle Joey (born at Christmas) and Joseph from Genesis (the story of goodness being brought out of evil).  I was given another sweet experience from the Lord a few weeks after he died.  I was at the YMCA on a treadmill near windows when across the parking lot a young boy with orange-red hair looked straight at me.  I had been watching him get out of the car and do a little dance by the back of his van.  He was probably 5 years old.  When I realized he was staring at me I waved to him and smiled and then he waved back and went back to his dancing.  Then I felt the words, "That could be what your baby looks like."  I then started to think of the baby we lost as a boy and not just a baby.  Reading the book Heaven is for Real reminded me that when God makes a baby, he makes a person.  It was right for me to think of the baby as a person in heaven, and the visual I got from the boy that day deeply blessed me as I grieved for him.  A little boy who looked just like Gwen.

So in a way, Ezra Joseph was a name that honored his brother in heaven.  Now both of my boys are in heaven.  We are heartbroken for them, but thankful that they are very much alive.

I know these words will seem far-fetched to some.  But it's my story and I feel compelled to tell it.  And maybe it would sound doubtful to me too if it hadn't very much happened to me.  I didn't specifically ask for these "words from the Lord" but He is a kind, loving, and relational God.  And he cares for us primarily through his Word the Bible, but also through his ever present and comforting Holy Spirit.  And this is basically a few chapters from my story in how the Holy Spirit is active is getting me through the path he's chosen for me.  I am grateful.

All of this would have been saved until Ezra's birth announcement, but since we learned he has died, I feel it's appropriate to share it now.  Maybe to some it will seem extreme to name a life that is so young, and in a body so very fragile.  But Ezra's name was received more than chosen.  And I believe that when the Lord creates a life, however small, he creates a soul that will live forever.  He welcomes those souls into his presence in heaven.  And I am grateful that God chose to give us a name for the life I will always long for this side of heaven.  We miss you already Ezra.

Matthew 19:14: but Jesus said, 

“Let the little children come to me and do not hinder them, 

for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven.”