Featured, Gestational Carrier, Surrogacy, Uncategorized

Of the Fear-Filled Morning

It began with a trickle.

But the trickle was pink. And that’s not a good color to find on your bedsheet when you’re pregnant.

But when I felt the rush of fluid while heading in the hospital doors, touched my soaking pants and came away with fingers wet with red, my intermittant nervous tears turned into full weeping. It was too late. I just knew it. At nearly 15 weeks, this baby was gone.

When I continued to see an overwhelming amount of reddish pink on the ER bed sheets, the weeping renewed itself. The nurses didn’t know what to say, because by all accounts, it didn’t look good.

Only minutes after getting settled in bed, a doctor wheeled in an ultrasound machine to assess the situation. I didn’t even try to look at the screen. I didn’t want to see it again. I didn’t want to be going through this again.

But then my husband gasped as he saw movement in black and white and we both began to hear the distinct swish-swish of a baby’s heartbeat. And a strong one at that. The baby was still alive! I continued to cry, but the tears held fresh meaning. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing and seeing. A little baby alive.

The grim look on the doctor’s face did not immediately assuage my fears and it was a long morning of examinations, grim looks, fear, and few answers.

When we visited the OB only a couple of hours later, he, too, was surprised by what the ultrasound showed. The baby, still kicking and surrounded by plenty of amniotic fluid – a sight he was sure he wouldn’t see. By what he’d heard and seen previously, he had been certain the fluid had been lost and the baby wouldn’t be far behind.

Without answers, he still has not offered us much hope.

But for now the baby is alive.

And we have a hope that is an anchor for our souls.

From the moment we were being wheeled into the ER, I heard a verse in my head we’d studied only a few days before in Isaiah, one that reminds God’s arm is not too short to save. He is able in any situation. And, while we remember that His being able to heal and His choosing to heal do not always coincide, we know He’s with us.

He is always good.

 

UPDATE: It is now a week after this terrifying morning and, after visiting with a specialist and viewing a much more in-depth ultrasound, we have some answers and, finally, assurances that all should continue well. We were diagnosed with a subchorionic hematoma – which is, essentially, a bleed on the placenta. The ultrasound showed the bleeding is no longer active, which is a cause for rejoicing, and, for the timebeing, I have been asked to take it easy – no heavy lifting (which causes much sadness for my three-year-old, but she’s coping) and no strenuous activities (I’m so sad I have to give up running . . . that was sarcasm, in case the tone didn’t come across). The ultrasound also showed a very active, healthy little baby growing quite nicely and quite ready for a round in the boxing ring. We are beyond thankful to God, the giver and sustainer of life, for carrying us through this and for answered prayers when it seemed all was lost.

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