Loss

Today marks 13 years since that horrific day. I had desperately hoped for a miracle but none came. It was the grand finale of a two week nightmare. Not prepared for the pain that surged through my body as I vomited uncontrollably.

Wait, let me back up. Thirteen years and two weeks ago I was pregnant with our first child. Excitement flooded over us as we went in for our very first ultra sound.

Bruce and I chatted with anticipation in the doctors waiting room. I rubbed my 21-week full belly and pondered if this bundle of joy would be a boy or a girl.

My name was announced by the nurse who held the door open. Bruce helped me peal myself off the chair. Intertwining his hands in mine we followed after the nurse. The room was dimly lit, a chair and a trash can in one corner. A long doctors bed and an ultra sound machine, that held the main glow of room, was on the other side.

The nurse gestured for me to get onto the bed. Taking Bruce's hand I holstered my way up. Stretching out my frame I laid back and lifted up my shirt to uncover my rounded belly. The ultrasound technician slopped the freezing gel onto my enlarged stomach and pulled out the transducer.

As he slowly went across my stomach, he'd stop and then he'd make a note. An intent look fell across his face and he turned the screen towards himself. This process went on in silence for about 10 minutes. He excused himself and came back a couple minutes later with a woman. He brought her to the screen. As he went over my stomach they whispered and pointed at the screen with their heads closely together.

Never had I experienced an ultrasound before but I knew something wasn't adding up. Speaking up I asked.

"What is going on? Is everything ok?"

The hushed tons came to a halt and they turned their attention towards us. The woman cleared her throat and spoke up. She introduced herself as the main doctor on-call and began explaining our baby was retaining fluid.

"What does that mean?" Bruce asked with concern.

"Your daughter has hydrops." She stated mater of factly. "Which is a condition in which large amounts of fluid build up in a baby's tissues and organs, causing extensive swelling. Your child isn't going to make it."

Instantly the yogurt I had had that morning no longer was settling correctly. Desperately I pointed towards the garbage can. Bruce grabbed it and I began to upchuck my breakfast.

Noooooo. . . this couldn't be happening. Only minutes before we were talking about baby names and now.

Our daughter . . . Our first born. . . She wasn’t going to make it. My mind was spinning.

The doctors asked us to come to another room. As we waited outside this next room I felt my heart racing and I sat wringing my hands as I silently cried out to the Lord.

A few minutes later and we were ushered into an office with a large desk sitting in the middle of the room. A bookshelf lined the back wall. Certifications and photos hung on both of the side walls. The man behind the desk motioned for us to take a seat in front of his desk. He began speaking as we slumped into the firm chairs.

At first I wasn't understanding what he was talking about.

"Would you like to do a D&C today? It will be a quick process with little pain."

"A D&C? Wait . . . What? You mean an abortion? My child still has a heartbeat! She's 21-weeks old." I could feel my emotions were rising.

"Well your child isn't going to live. You can wait a day or two but there isn't a point."

I felt numb. We asked a handful of questions but the tone didn't changed. They were certain our child wouldn’t make it and they wanted to schedule a D&C for that day.

"We will wait to make a decision today. Our daughter still has a heartbeat. Thanks." Bruce stood up and put out his hand for me. Thankful for the support I grabbed it and rose from my chair.

As we walked out of the room I could feel my knees were shaking. This couldn't be happening. We were desperate. As we headed to our car we immediately started crying out to the Lord! We needed a miracle.

We reached out to prayer warriors, to our pastors, to our friends. We knew God still did miracles. We believed that God could still show up. Days turned into weeks. We went into a new doctor's office praying we'd continue to hear our daughter's heart beat and that a second opinion was all we needed.

The technician was so kind and gentle. She warmed up the gel. Gently placed it on my belly and looked as heart sick as we felt when she announced our 23-week old baby had passed. No more heartbeat, no miracle.

Tears welled up and began to spill down my cheek. Bruce held my hand and we just sat in silence. The tech gently squeezed my shoulder and let me know she'd get the doctor. Once again we were led into another sterile room. Moments later and we came face to face with the man that would deliver our dead baby girl.

He gently shared what would happen next. After prepping my body so I could deliver our baby girl naturally we left the office. The doctor had said it could potentially take a day or two until my body would go into labor and he wanted us to come to the hospital the next day. Shock flooded over me and I wanted to escape.

We headed to a movie theater to try and escape the intense emotions that loomed in the air. The hours seemed to slow down. Time felt like eternity. The next day we got ourselves settled in the hospital room. My mom and I chatted, everything felt surreal. Nothing made sense.

Soon the doctors were in, hooking me up to pitocin and giving me a painkiller. Within 30 minutes I began to vomit. My vomiting increased. My contractions began. Breathing became difficult as I vomited in-between contractions. Chaos swirled around me as I vomited and screamed in pain. My energy was draining. I wanted an epidural.

As they got me in position to stab me with the massive needle I felt a need to push. I screamed out that I thought she was coming. They stopped the procedure and got me in pushing position. Minutes later and our daughter was out. My body went limp. The doctors continued to push and probe my body for the next 10 minutes or so.

My vomiting finally subsided and I had nothing left. They asked if I wanted to see our daughter. I shook my head no and curled onto my side. It was over, I was exhausted both emotionally and physically. I couldn't see her, I couldn't face any more pain. I fell into a deep sleep.

When I came to I felt confused. Had it been a nightmare?

Beep . . . . Beep . . . The hospital sound permeated my ears. No the nightmare was my reality at that moment.

"Babe, are you ready to see Chara?" Bruce gently asked.

"No."

"I really think you'll regret it if you don't."

My heart raced. Was I ready? I knew she wasn't going to be pretty. I knew the fluid had encompassed her body and she would now be swollen to the point of unrecognizable. Was I ready to see her?

Reluctantly I said that I'd see her. They brought me a box and there she lay inside. Our first born. Our daughter, Chara Amaris Sanders.

Thirteen years later and it's all still so vivid. Tears still stream down my face as I recall the journey.

So why tell this story? Why rehearse such pain? Why process out loud?

Because someone that is reading this right now is struggling. Someone has lost a sweet child and they are silently breaking into a million pieces. They don't know if they will ever get to the other side of the pain they currently are experiencing.

You will!

And you will not only survive but you will thrive!

In the midst of the pain you can find the ONE (JESUS) that brings the ultimate comfort. And the comfort He gives you one day you will be able to comfort others with. 2 Corinthians 1:4

For His presence is close and He sits with you in the midst of the pain. He walks with you in the unknowing and the heartache. Does it mean you don't feel things? No, you'll still feel it all. But you will have His presence that brings the ultimate healing and helps you process the anger and the confusion.

I still don't completely understand why we never got to raise Chara Amaris but I do know through the intensity of these moments I felt Jesus. I experienced His grace and I know He is still good.

And today I celebrate the life of our first born, Chara Amaris! My husband, our four beautiful children and I all miss her and look forward to seeing her in heaven.