to ache

Last night I sat nearly naked on a cold, hard hospital bed while a stranger, an emergency room doctor, explained to me that the baby I thought was growing inside died five weeks ago and that my body was just beginning to let him/her pass. As he spoke, I felt numb. I had just been poked and examined in the most uncomfortable ways only to learn this terrible news. I don't think any words escaped my mouth except "Yes, I understand." What else are you supposed to say in a moment like that?

I was eleven weeks pregnant. The baby died during the sixth week. When I found out I was pregnant, I was overwhelmed with the thought of having two babies within a year and a month of each other. Obviously this pregnancy was not planned. However, with each passing week, I began to look at it as a miracle because it meant I would get to avoid all the hormone shots and drugs to get pregnant again. Tim and I began to make plans to accommodate the new baby, and we were growing anxious to learn the sex of the baby. We were beginning to be really excited.

So the news deflated my already fragile body and spirit. I am heartbroken. I feel that dull ache that extends to every limb in my body every time I begin to think about it. I know the physical pain will pass as the miscarriage ends, and I know that the emotional pain will subside with time, but for now--I just ache. I need silence. I need time to think.

I know there is a reason for everything. While the doctor methodically spoke last night and I felt my stomach knot up, I also felt a glimmer of hope. No, I don't think I will receive different results from my doctor's appointment tomorrow, but I do have the hope that this little baby will be with our family after this life. I felt God's love last night in that hospital room. I feel it now. There isn't much more to say. Please understand when I say I don't want to really talk about it. I have written what I feel people need to know.