Our family just had a really tough week. Nick and I have been trying to have another baby for a few years now. I was shocked to finally get a positive test result on September 11.
Shocked because what precipitated me taking a test wasn’t a missed period. It was a period that wouldn’t go away. When I saw those two pink lines, my immediate thought was this was either a miscarriage or a miracle. I was relieved to at least know pregnancy was still a possibility for us.
I went to the doctor that day for an ultrasound and HcG test to confirm the home test. They weren’t able to see anything on the ultrasound, but my HcG level was at 900 - which confirmed the pregnancy. I went back two days later for another HcG test and it more than doubled to 2400, which ruled out a miscarriage. We were starting to feel more confident that this was the real deal. I was still bleeding a bit and cramping on my left side. We chalked it up to normal pregnancy symptoms and tried to take it easy over the weekend.
On September 18, I dropped Charlotte off at pre-school and went to the chiropractor. As I was walking out to my car, I felt the pain on my left side explode. It spread to my upper thigh and into my lower back. I started sweating and felt faint. Somehow I drove to where Nick was having a meeting. He hopped in the car and drove me toward the doctor’s office. On the way, I called the doctor and she told us to go straight to Methodist Women’s Hospital ER.
Another ultrasound in the ER confirmed a fear we had tried to push out of our minds. This was an ectopic pregnancy - our baby had implanted in my left fallopian tube. I needed to have surgery right away to prevent a tubal rupture and internal bleeding. I was told that babies do not survive ectopic pregnancies…and without medical intervention, neither do mothers. This surgery would result in the loss of our baby, who was growing quickly and already had a heartbeat.
I only knew this child for a week. But losing it still broke my heart. This was a little person, with a soul. A sacred gift given by God. My job was to take care of this baby, protect it. But here I was going into a surgery that would result in my baby dying, while my life was preserved. It felt so wrong and so unfair.
Nick, my mom and I prayed over the baby and said goodbye. I was whisked off into surgery with the vision of my baby being held in God’s arms as the anesthesia took hold.
A few weeks after Charlotte was born, it occurred to me that children really aren’t ours. They are on loan from God and he takes them back on his time - usually long after we as parents are dead and gone. Whether they are here with us for a month, or a lifetime...whether we get to hold them in our arms or only feel them in our bellies…we have a duty to love, cherish and recognize the gift that they are.
As we said that final prayer over our baby, peace swept over me. I couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of my mouth. I was thankful - even in my heartbreak - that I had been chosen to be this child’s mommy for a short time. I felt so much gratitude. And I knew where my baby was headed. Straight into God’s arms.
I’m writing this as my way of recognizing the gift that we were given. We’ll never know if it was a boy or girl. We’ll never know if it likes chocolate and donuts as much as I do…or reading and being creative the way Nick does. But we know this baby was with us for a time, that we are its parents, and someday we’ll meet again.
We named our baby Hope. Now our Hope is in heaven.