To tell a story well, sometimes you need a little background…
I was three months pregnant with my first child and more excited than you can imagine. Kevin and I had been married nearly 5 years and we were ready to add a baby to the mix. Unfortunately, life had dealt us a huge blow the month we found out I was pregnant. Kevin’s mom had terminal lung cancer, the doctor had given her 6-9 months to live.
D’Lynne (short for Debra Lynne) was not a smoker. In fact, she wasn’t a drinker either. She was one of the most faithful, prayerful, gentle people I had ever met. She had the Bible nearly memorized and she was quick to share it with you, yet slow to judge anything you said or did. She was an amazing mother-in-law, I felt like she loved me as much as she loved her own children and that was a lot. All of Kevin’s siblings had children by this point and we were the holdouts. We had careers to pursue and first houses to buy, we were taking our time. So when we found out we were pregnant and that D’Lynne was dying all in the same breath, we hoped beyond hope that she would meet this baby before she went to be with her sweet Jesus. Turns out, her and our baby would meet, just not the way we thought.
My first ultrasound was all around pretty good. I was 11 weeks and everything looked okay. I remember being shocked at how much like a baby it already looked. However the midwife seemed concerned that the baby’s heart rate was high. I didn’t really understand that, as I was new to this whole process. She scheduled me to come back in about 3 weeks for a follow up ultrasound. My mom was with me for the appointment and in hindsight I remember vaguely feeling concern radiate from her as well, but again I couldn’t really figure out why. So, we left the office and went back to normal life.
I was starting to show a little and everyone but the mailman knew I was pregnant. I couldn’t keep my mouth shut about it, I was really excited about this tiny bright spot in the middle of so much pain over D’Lynne’s diagnosis. Three weeks later we headed back to the office for another ultrasound. This is where things get fuzzy. I laid down on the table, Kevin was at my right staring at the monitor. The tech took all of about 20 seconds before she looked alarmed. At first I couldn’t figure out what the problem was, the baby looked perfect. His/her profile was beautiful, hands and feet and a perfect little belly were in view. Unfortunately I was the last in the room to notice what was obviously missing, a heartbeat. Before the doctor came into the room, I remember Kevin had already migrated to my other side and was now intently focused on me and not the monitor. He saw what he needed to see. I was in shock, the baby measured something like 13 weeks 4 days and I was 14 weeks exactly. I couldn’t figure out what happened in those three days? Was it sudden? Gradual? My mind was swimming in grief.
Honestly the next thing I remember I was sitting in the doctor’s private office. He was a stranger to me, the midwife had left the picture and now I was dealing with this man who was telling me my baby had died. I couldn’t even speak. He said something about scheduling a procedure, I am pretty sure Kevin was listening but I couldn’t even see straight I was crying so hard. How could this be? Hadn’t we had enough terrible news? We walked to the car - I have no idea how long it was before we spoke. I called my precious friend Robin, a mother of three and a fellow miscarriage sufferer, I think I said something strange to her like ” I guess we have something more in common.” Kevin called my family and eventually his. We got home and I sat on the couch like a zombie. At the time we had two dogs, both beagles and both totally disobedient. They didn’t care that what we had been through, they just wanted to bark until we took them for a walk. So we did. We walked to the college by our house and I remember thinking that my sorrow was all consuming. I wondered how I would ever come out of this pit.
The next day I called in sick to work and my mom came over. She called the doctor’s office and insisted that they schedule the “procedure” immediately. No one, including me, wanted to see me walking around like this - knowing that my baby was still inside of me. Due to the fact that I was far enough along that miscarrying on my own would be dangerous, the procedure itself was not an option. Later that day, Kevin drove me to the hospital and after many tears, convinced me we had to go inside. The D&C is an outpatient procedure and I got checked in, had my IV inserted and then proceeded to wait. Pitocin was dripping into my veins to ready my body for this ordeal and I was fairly inconsolable. In fact, by the time I was placed on the table, I was hysterical. The doctor was amazing to me. He brushed my hair and told me it would be okay - he said he would personally see to it that when I got pregnant again everything would be okay. He even said, ” I bet money that I will deliver your next child and it will be perfect.” As nice as that was, all I could think about was this baby, my first baby and my first experience with pregnancy end here, on this cold surgical table.
That was April 15, 2003. I would have been due September 25, 2003. I could write a book, and maybe someday will, about what life was like in the months in between my loss and my due date. However, this is not the post for that.
In life, we have no idea what is around the corner next. One day, things are good and the sun is shining and the next you wonder if it will ever stop raining. Yet, God is the same. He was the same God when I walked into that ultrasound room, expectant and joyful, as He was when I walked out of surgery two days later. He is the one constant, through pain and joy. Seeing him through the grief takes trained eyes and great faith in the essence of who He is. That is not something I easily possess.
Debra Lynne Stone went to be with the Lord on September 21, 2003. Four days before my due date. As we sat in Chandler, Arizona watching her take her last breaths I was aware of God’s timing. I couldn’t imagine what life would have been like had I still be pregnant with our first baby. Kevin would have had to make a choice to be with his dying mother or be by my side during the delivery of our first child. I would have missed precious last moments with her. God has a plan.
Some of our grief was comforted by the fact that when D’Lynne passed I was 14 weeks pregnant with what would turn out to be a complication free pregnancy. In March of 2004, with Kevin’s Dad by our side, Isaac Thomas Stone was born. Healing came in the form of a 9lb, 20 1/2 inch little screaming bundle. Nothing was easy between September and March, D’Lynne’s absence was sorely felt. Yet, with Isaac some of the pain was washed away and replaced by the joy of new life. Isaac, whose name means laughter in Hebrew, had indeed brought that back to our lives.
What does all of this have to do with the fact that I am pregnant again? Well, no matter how wonderful my pregnancy with Isaac was, the next two pregnancies after him would end in much the same way as my first. I remember sitting in the doctors office, talking with a new doctor because my old one had retired. He kept saying that he was sure there was nothing wrong because I had a healthy pregnancy (Isaac) and that the genetic tests I had recently completed wouldn’t show anything. I assured him that Isaac was a miracle and we couldn’t count that pregnancy because that was all God. He rolled his eyes at me like any good scientist. Just then the nurse came in with the results and he looked them over. He said quickly, “well maybe you were right.” The tests has come back positive for a mutation called Methylenetetrahydrofolate reductase (MTHFR). Please know the irony of that acronym was not lost on me.
All of this led to my pregnancy with Joshua and twice daily injections of Lovenox to head off any blood clotting issues possibly caused by MTHFR. My nervousness about loosing this pregnancy was at an all time high. Even with the medication I was mostly a mess the entire 9 months. Yet somewhere, deep inside, there was a voice assuring me that this boy was meant to be. Even though I was on the drugs, some part of me felt that God was the one sustaining this life, not the Lovenox. I don’t think I ever told anyone I felt this way. On the outside I bought the treatment process hook line and sinker because it was something tangible for me to hold on to, in the hopes of a positive outcome.
Joshua Kenneth was born on March 8, 2007. My clotting factors were normal within minutes of giving birth and I was told I didn’t have to continue the medication. I looked down at the beautiful blond haired angel and literally fell in love instantly. I was done having kids and this would be my baby.
That is, until the test said “positive” exactly two years later on March 8, 2009.
More next week on my decision not to take Lovenox with this pregnancy…
