I have written what is below as a way to heal some from what I have lost. I know that I’m not the only one, and I hope that it helps others too.

On October 6^th, I took a pregnancy test and it was positive.  James and I were very excited about this, it meant that we were going to be expanding our family and that Jonathan was going to be a big brother.  A couple of weeks later, my mom and I went to see my grandparents for lunch and Jonathan was wearing his new shirt…it said Big Brother on it.  I didn’t tell my grandparents…I just let them figure it out on their own.  My grandma’s response was priceless…”I was thinking it was about time for another”. 

My first check up appointment with my doctor was set for November 21^st at 9:45 am.  James and I got there and were excited.  I had to have my yearly exam done, blah…but other than that, we were thrilled to be there.  After talking with my doctor, we went into the ultrasound room and waited.  When my doctor came back in, she had a hard time finding our baby, much less a heartbeat from the outside.  She decided to take a look from the inside with the ultrasound probe (not fun).  When she couldn’t really see anything, I started to get worried.  We were able to set up and appointment through the hospital for an ultrasound there that afternoon.

When we arrived for the appointment at 1 pm, I was nervous and scared.  James was too…although he didn’t really show it.  He was being so strong for me.  The look on the tech’s face said it all while she was doing her job.  I had to have an ultrasound done from both inside and outside of me.  She asked me if I had ever miscarried before, and I said no.  After it was all said and done, she had my doctor on the phone, and my doctor confirmed everything.  Our baby didn’t have a heartbeat.  I was going to have a miscarriage. 

For anyone who has never had to go through something like this, there are a couple of options…one, have and D and C…two, miscarry naturally…three, miscarry with the assistance of medicine. 

I was heartbroken and sobbing on the phone when she told me the news. I chose to have a D and C, it sounded the safest to me…everything would be controlled and I wouldn’t end up bleeding too much. I felt so bad for James, his birthday was the following day and all I wanted to do was cry my eyes out and scream.

When we got home, I went straight to our room and continued to cry there.  I needed to scream out and ask God why?  Why me?  Why us? Why this child?  I don’t have any of those answers.  I won’t know why…at least not until I get to heaven.  I ended up crying myself to sleep.  James called my mom because I couldn’t talk on the phone.  It pained me too much to have to tell people…especially my mom…what I was going through.

When I woke up, I felt exhausted, beaten up and at the lowest point emotionally that I had ever felt in my life.  I know that God was right there, right beside me, but I just couldn’t understand why this was happening.  That night, friends came over, which was great.  They suffered through me crying and talking about what all was going on, but they did so with grace filled eyes and patience.  I am so grateful to them.

Sunday we went to church.  It was so hard to do, but I know that I needed it.  I needed to be there amongst my church family, even if I didn’t want to hear other people’s stories. Our pastor was wonderful, despite the pain that he and his wife are all too familiar with when it comes to miscarriages.  James told him and he came over to me after he had his microphone all set to go to cry with me for a few moments before he had to go up front. 

Towards the end of the service, one of the ladies came over to me to share her sympathies, and to tell me that her daughter went through the same thing with her first.  While looking back on it now, it’s great to know that I’m not alone in this…at that point; I wanted to scream and run.  It’s not what I needed, not what I wanted to hear.  I guess that day, I wanted to just be a blank face in the crowd, but instead, from those who have personally gone through miscarriages, I received love and grace again. 

Before leaving to head home after Sunday school, our pastor’s wife gave me some great encouraging words, and told me that I could call her if I needed to talk.  I am so grateful for that. I know that it’s not easy to lose a child, but to have lost several, I couldn’t imagine it.

Monday morning, I was on my way up to go walking with one of my best friends when I got a call from my doctor’s office.  Since I hadn’t eaten or drunk anything at that point, I was able to be fit into my doctor’s schedule that day for my D and C.  I was freaking out.  James was at work, my mom was at work and the only one that I was able to know at that point could be with me was my walking buddy.  Fortunately, God opened up the opportunity for both James and my mom to come and be there during the procedure…Jonathan was with his buddy at another friend’s house…playing with another little girl.  How amazing!

For a procedure that was only supposed to take 15 minutes once started, definitely took much longer.  My doctor told me that I put her through her paces.  The procedure took about 1 hour to complete.  I lost a liter of blood and had to be admitted.  I was knocked out for the entire thing, which was a good thing since they were trying to draw some blood to see if I needed a transfusion.  Fortunately, I didn’t in the end, but my arms look as if I have been beaten up, and my wrists are incredibly sore…even still to the touch. 

Monday evening I was released by my doctor to go home, on the promise that I would call if anything started to go funny.  She cleared me to be able to travel for the holiday, which was wonderful since we were going to Indiana Thanksgiving evening. 

Although the rest of the week pretty much runs together, I am so grateful for the support structure that I have gotten a glimpse of this last week.  I really had no idea how wide and far it goes, and I’m sure that it’s even larger that I realize.

Before we left for Indiana, I had it placed on my heart that I had lost a girl.  I shared with James my sorrow and that I wanted to name her.  While we were driving Thursday night, we named our little girl.  Her name is Alethea Joy.  For those who aren’t very up on their Greek, Alethea means truth.  We chose Alethea Joy because, as James has put it, “we are delivered by the truth into joy”.  I know that although I have never seen her face, or heard her voice that one day I will.

This has been an emotional mountain to climb.  I know that I’m not alone. I know that I am not mad at God for bringing my little girl home so soon.  I know that He is holding her, loving her and that He alone has made her perfect.  I know that she will be waiting for me when I pass away from this world and join my Savior in heaven.  I know that she isn’t alone in heaven.  She’s with her cousin, she’s with another friend’s baby, and she’s with my brother; whom my mom lost when I was only 18 months old. 

I do want to emphasize that I am not mad at my God for taking her from us.  While my heart aches to see her and to be able to tell her that I love her, I know that she won’t have to suffer through what this world throws at us everyday.  I know that she’ll be waiting for me. 

Emotionally, I’m doing alright.  I’m getting a little better with each day, each hour, and each minute.  I know that I will never forget my Alethea Joy.  I know that I will be looking forward to meeting her someday.  I know that my Savior heals all hurts, just as He will mine.