Broken road

I had a midday ultrasound at one of the biggest hospitals in the city. It was at least an hour away from where I lived so I always took a book to read on the long ride. I didn’t really like that I had to travel so far but I was 10 weeks pregnant and my obstetrician had decided I needed a high risk antenatal program because of my ‘bad obstetric history’ and this was the closest to where I lived. I was anxious but hopeful. I was required to have serial ultrasound scans, hormone measurements and insert progesterone into my body. I hated the progesterone but I did it anyway. I read my book and listened to music on the ipod, completely oblivious to the heartbreak that awaited me at the hospital.

A few hours later…’Sweet heart, we are so sorry. We can’t hear any heart beat today’.It was July 10th. I was lying spread eagled on an ultrasound bed staring with complete disbelief and lack of comprehension as the doctor and the sonographer both explained. I had done everything I was asked to. I had even accepted a copy of one of the previous scans at 8 weeks just after the smiling sonographer had suggested we could put it in the baby’s album. I gave up my coffee once they said I should cut down on caffeine. Anything not to lose this one.

I withdraw when I am in  pain. So for days, the tears didn’t come. I had been booked for an evacuation 3 days later. I walked around like a ghost. My husband’s birthday was in 2 days time and this completely ruined it. Flash back to 6 months before. I had finally joined my husband after 3 years of ‘love across the ocean’. We were finally living together as a couple should and it was simply beautiful but I still missed my mum and my brother and was very lonely. I had just my husband and his family. No friend or family of my own.

The night before the evacuation, I broke. I didn’t just cry. I howled and howled like an injured dog throughout the night. My husband couldn’t get me to stop. Where was my God? How could he let this happen to me again? I still had a room filled with baby things from my stillbirth son. What was wrong with my body? Why couldn’t I bring a baby out alive? Did God see me? Did he hear me? Would I ever be a mum? I wanted my mummy so bad. I would call her just to cry out my heart. I hurt everywhere. My breasts hurt. My heart hurt.

So the poking and probing started. The doctors had tons of tests for me to do to find out what could be responsible for the losses. I wanted to know too. It was endless but at the end, they found nothing wrong. All tests came out normal. I received the news with mixed feelings because if they couldn’t find what was broken, how could they fix it?

3 months later, I was pregnant again and God decided it was his own time to fix me. He made it beautiful and perfect in his own way and at his own time. He made me a mum. My sad stories are now scars and no more wounds. No more clouds.

The sweet is a little sweeter because we have tasted the bitter. So don’t give up. Try again. It just might be right this time!