As much as I’d like to say I’ve moved into the next chapter of my life over the last few weeks, I’ve actually been busy with family while maintaining only a few small pockets of time here and there to glean what I can from our circumstances. I’ve done a bit of reading, studying, and praying. But also, I have had a medical emergency and received some unfortunate news.
And so the saga continues:
I went into a sort of labor on March 12th and was rushed to the hospital after what looked like I had, well, a natural miscarriage (yes, post-op, post-miscarriage). I prayed and prayed on the way to the hospital that I was not becoming septic, and to my great relief, it looked as though the surgery had just been a bit incomplete and some tissues had just been missed. My body knew what to do with what was left, and later that day I felt more like myself than I had in weeks.
During my follow-up doctor visit a week later, I was told that the lab work that was being done on me had come back looking possibly “abnormal”. I was assured that the further analysis was more to err on the side of caution, and that I would likely be hearing back within a few days.
A week and a day later, after I started to wonder if I’d imagined the whole thing, I finally got the call. The results were positive for a partial molar pregnancy (which occurs in less than 1 in 1,000 pregnancies – yes folks, we’ve won the scary pregnancy lottery!). Here is what I understand of it as of now: This is a chromosomal issue that often leads to parents finding out while the baby’s heart still beats and having to make a tough decision (which I’m so thankful was not the case for us). The baby sometimes develops severe malformations, but what’s worse is that the placenta begins to grow too aggressively and can kill the baby (which I’m guessing is what happened in our situation). If the baby survives, the mother has about a 2% chance of survival. But it doesn’t end there. Even after the pregnancy ends, the placenta can continue to grow. This abnormal growth of cells is what’s called Gestational Trophoblastic Disease (GTD), and it is a pre-cancerous condition which usually requires cancer treatment. Although, as we have read, the odds are in our favor, because it looks like only 5% of partial molar pregnancies develop GTD.
I am now required to be closely monitored with weekly blood draws until the pregnancy hormone is mostly out of my system. Then I must continue the blood draws on a monthly basis to make sure the hormone doesn’t begin to increase again (which would indicate GTD). This whole process will take a little over 6 months at the least and up to a year.
And until this is all over, we cannot try for another baby.
I have kept my head above the surface for a little while now, and I was beginning to think that perhaps it was because much of the really deep sorrow was already lifting. Not so. A few days ago I was out grocery shopping and suddenly realized that I had not been out on my own since shortly after my surgery. What made me realize this was the weep fest that came on during my drive home.
See, I had encountered a newborn baby in the store shortly after hearing its sweet gurgles and cries. The reality of my longing for what that new mother had hit me hard. With this fresh on my heart, on my way out of the store I had noticed the flowering trees in bloom everywhere and the signs of Spring accompanying the beautiful blue sky. But my heart was not ready to give up Winter yet – the season where I had first marveled at the excitement of a new baby in the joy of the Christmas season…where then my grief would perfectly mirror the dark grey skies which bowed to a fresh, bright covering of white snow, in that strange dance between pain and joy. Stopping in to the automatic car wash, the disorientation I had briefly felt as the contraption encased my car reminded me that the last time I had been to the car wash was when I had been in the thick of morning sickness and had to close my eyes through the session. Oh, the roller coaster I had yet to undergo.
Coming to terms with the fact that I will not only not have an infant in my arms in August but for an undisclosed amount of time has snapped me back to that raw state of agony. But Zach and I both felt somewhat prepared. Neither of us wanted to fully admit before hearing the news that we both somehow sensed that this test would come back positive. And now, with this new component added to our lives, we will continue our trudge through the deep valley, bending to our need for the hope and joy that only the Father can provide.
Don’t get me wrong. We are incredibly grateful that there’s still hope for a child in the future, and I am so utterly encouraged by those parents I know who have struggled through things so much harder than this and still proclaimed the goodness of God through it all. But I also understand that my suffering is necessary in order that I might too grasp all that God has for me to learn and experience through it.
And as I study what his word says about suffering, I feel I can almost reach out and touch the true meaning of “sovereign”. Though I realize that I’ll never fully grasp how big my God is in this life, I have never before seen his majesty so clearly.
In the book “When God Weeps”, Steven Estes has this to say:
Why do we doubt? Faith is hard – God hides, says Psalms. He plays his hand close to the vest; he never shows all his cards. “It is the glory of God to conceal a matter” (Proverbs 25:2). We can’t see the good flowing from our heartaches. We may see some – perhaps we’re a bit more patient since arthritis slowed us down – more sympathetic to single parents since our marriage collapsed….But the good we can tally, does it outweigh the bad that we see? No. Eden’s lost innocence opened sluice gates of sorrow deep beyond telling. It will take heaven to dry it all up – to provide the total picture that will ease our hearts for ever.
No, the good does not outweigh the bad…that we see! And this is only accounting for the good that we can tally. Even if we can look back at a hard time in our lives and recognize the good that came out of it, we still can’t necessarily see all of the wonderful things that our heavenly father was working through it. We may not see any of the virtue in some tough times. As for me, the single fact that I draw so much closer to him is a virtue in and of itself. So I can at least hold onto that.
I can sense the tempter’s suggestions – that had I not allowed myself to draw away from him in the first place I never would have had to go through such pain – that God must not be very just if it were his decision to allow my baby to die. Suggestions that I can know all of God’s ways. His schemes have never changed since that day at the apple tree with Eve.
But I understand that God is not confined by time…not confined by uncertainty…not confined by the boundaries of this physical realm. He knows every thought I have ever had and ever will have. He knows every choice I’ve made and will ever make, for better or worse. He knows my heart far beyond what I know of it, and he knows just how to mold it. He knows just how to use it for good, and that is exactly what I asked him to do when I asked him to dwell in my heart forever. Every day of my life was already written in his book before I ever came to know the first. I am always a work in progress, and I choose to make progress in stride with the one who created me every blessed day of my life. And after these short, trying times are over, I will once and for all have a completed heart, free of holes, free of folly, free of imperfection, and free of pain. What in this world can top that?
What I wouldn’t give to live in such revelation all the time. But as the journey continues, there will be more mountaintops filled with elation and fullness…and there will be more valleys filled with grief and brokenness. To know my need for him and his love for me is what will always draw me back.
My Blessing To Bear 