It was late July 2011 when I felt different. I wasn't nauseated, but I felt a change within myself. I was not due to have a period for another week, but I started to suspect that I was pregnant. I was not surprised at the notion, though we had not "planned" it. We have never planned any of our children. We have been open to whatever God wanted for us. Not to say that there hadn't been times in the past in which we "avoided" because we thought it might not be the best time to conceive another child (ie when Justin was out of work), but even then, ultimately we were open to God's Will. We never have used NFP or any other "method" for that matter.
On the day I was due to start my period, I took a home pregnancy test. It was positive. We were elated. It's always so exciting when you know you have a brand new life inside of you. We started dreaming of springtime, of April, when our new baby would be born. We have never had a spring baby, and it was terribly exciting. Sure, there were "scary" parts to think about, mostly just the fact that I was working full time, and Justin was the stay at home parent. We worried about him getting a job before the new baby came. All of those "worries" seem so trivial to me now. And even then, before I knew what was going to happen, I knew they were trivial. I've always lived by the saying that God never gives you more than you can handle. And, as my family has grown, and people raise doubt on "affording" "so many" children, I have grown to love the saying that each baby comes with a loaf of bread under each arm. It's true. It will ALWAYS work out.
I immediately had a feeling this baby was a boy, which was almost odd to me because another boy would mean that our girl-boy-girl-boy streak would be broken. However, I really trusted my gut, and told Justin we were having a boy. I have always sort of just KNOWN the gender of my babies soon after finding out I was pregnant. I was not wrong with the four I have on Earth. I suppose I'll find out if I was right about my babies waiting for me in Heaven when it's my time to meet them. :)
Friday, August 12th, I woke up spotting. At first, I didn't pay any attention to it, because we had just had intercourse (twice) the night before. And, although, in past pregnancies, I haven't spotted every time afterward, there were a couple of times it happened, so I assumed that was why. I went about my day as usual and didn't worry about it.
Around lunchtime, Justin and I talked about names, secretively away from the children. I suppose I should mention now that we had not told anyone I was pregnant. It had been a glorious three weeks since we had found out, and we didn't want to spoil our happy thoughts with the possibility of rude comments about our fifth child. We also figured that I would soon get morning sickness (which has always started, for me, around the 6th or 7th week) and that would tell everyone the news in itself. That day we tossed a lot of names around, but we kept coming back to Ezra. Silas was another. And we definitely decided on Alexander as a middle name. All of our children have family names as their middle names, and we decided to name this child after my favorite cousin on the Arnett side.
By afternoon, I started to worry. The spotting had not stopped. It hadn't gotten worse, but it was still there. I laid down on the couch and rested. I thought that maybe I was overdoing things, so I propped my feet up and did nothing. By evening, I was panicking. Still, just spotting, but I knew something was most definitely wrong. I remember that I did not pray that God saved my baby. I knew, even as scared as I was, that that almost seemed too selfish. I prayed fervently that God gave me the strength to accept and bear His Will, what ever that may be.
I went to bed early, and woke up at 4am for work. I was bleeding. I sobbed terribly. I did not know what to do. How could this have happened? Why is God so mad at me? I LOVE MY BABY!!! Those were the thoughts that raced through my head.
Justin and the kids drove me to the ER. I had to go in by myself, because Justin had to stay with the kids. We couldn't get a sitter, because no one even knew I was pregnant (save for two friends whom I had sort of mentioned that I thought I was before I really knew for sure. I hadn't confirmed it with them.) I thought for sure once we told certain people in our lives that they would think the miscarriage happened for the best, since we already had four beautiful, healthy children. I couldn't bear to hear anything negative at that point.
It was terrible being there alone, and I know it was just as hard for Justin to have to send me in alone. Maybe harder for him. The doctor examined me. My cervix was open. Miscarriage was unstoppable. They did an ultrasound. My baby still had a faint heartbeat, but there was nothing they could do. I was only seven weeks along.
I feel very blessed because the ER doc and nurse were so understanding and sympathetic. The nurse shared with me that, although she has six living children, she went through three miscarriages in between births. She told me that she knew that not everyone would understand, but she knew what it felt like to love your baby from the moment you know they exist, even if you only have them to hold inside of you for a few weeks. The doctor shared with me that his wife had recently miscarried -her fifth time. They had no children at all at home. My heart breaks for them.
I spent two hours in the ER, and went home. They said that everything would happen naturally, no drugs or overnight stays required. That it would be "like a period" and I would physically, be just fine again. They said there was no way they could tell why it happened, but that sometimes there are mismatched chromosomes, and possibly that was why my body spontaneously expelled the baby.
All I could do was cry and hold my four children at home. We told them what had happened. CHiara nd Zeke cried. They mourned their sibling, too.
We named him Ezra Alexander. I will love him forever. I greatly anticipate holding him again!
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