That Awkward Moment
There is no easy way to resume life after a crisis. And I don't entirely know how to "resume" where I was or continue where I left off or even answer a simple question like, "So how was your trip?" without great pause and much uncertainty. That awkward moment where you have to decide between the truth and some fluffy answer that pretends you're fine, everything is fine. Because you can't do both. "Oh it was great! Saw the Sistine Chapel and had a miscarriage!...What?"
We went to Italy for 14 days. We went to Rome, Florence, and Venice. Mid-way through our visit to Florence, I experienced bleeding which lead to much pain; I was having a miscarriage. I was probably around 6 or 7 weeks along. After a grueling 8 hour wait in a hospital waiting room, I was given a bed to lie on while we waited because I was in too much pain. It was a shared room so John could not come with me. I had held it together most of the day but I just lost it when I laid down on the bed and the older woman in the neighboring bed outstretched her arm and took my hand to comfort me. I spoke no Italian and she spoke no English but her actions spoke volumes. Afterwards, I was ashamed I hadn't done something to thank her or comfort her in her own discomfort. When we were called to finally see a doctor after waiting so long, I was so desperate to get out that I forgot my surroundings entirely. But her actions will always stand out in my memory; she was the hands of God on me.
I'm still not entirely sure what happened. Through our visit with the doctor we gathered that we lost the baby. And we wept. We were also told that surgery was necessary. I don't know how severe my situation was...if I had an ectopic pregnancy or something else entirely. I don't know if I'll ever know. Much was lost in translation or just lost in language entirely.
Things happen much slower in Italy. The surgery that was supposed to happen that night didn't happen until the following afternoon. We stayed the night on a hospital bed and I was so comforted to have John with me that night. I was on a saline drip for at least 16 hours after not eating 8 hours before that. I don't know if they really understood that my stomach was already empty but I still felt like that time in the waiting room was God's surgery prep time for me so that my stomach remained empty and I had no adverse effects from anesthesia. All the time I was without food, John was also without food and without complaints. God gave me a gem of a man.
One of the biggest things that stuck out to me was the compassion at the hospital. Every medical personnel was so very compassionate, gracious, and understanding. It was far far more than I could have ever hoped to receive in the states. When I requested to lie down during blood tests and being given an IV, they never questioned it or scolded me or rolled their eyes while making a noise of disgust for wasting their time (like most American medical personnel I've experienced). One anesthesiologist teased me after admiring my tattoo by saying, "How can you be afraid? You have such a big tattoo!" But she was happy to insert my IV with me lying down.
John finally had to leave my side in the morning to check us out of our apartment. We had no way to extend a day and were already granted extra time to check out by the deadline so I knew he had to go...but it was still difficult to know I'd be heading off to surgery alone.
I passed the time by sleeping as much as I could. I was finally prepped for surgery and taken down after one final ultrasound. I remember nurses kept saying throughout my stay, "Do not be afraid." And while it might sound like a little thing and maybe even a touch of bad translation...it was a phrase so familiar to me from the Bible. Any time an angel visited someone, usually their opening statement was, "Do not be afraid." And those words felt like they were straight from God every time they were spoken to me.
Most of the medical personnel spoke very little English but I was grateful my anesthesiologist spoke English well and was very comforting as she administered anesthesia and I was put under. The first thing I remember as I woke was having them sit me up and the entire surgical room erupting in oohs and awes as they admired my tattoo, having not seen it before. It was a funny moment and a nice way to wake up. In my groggy state, I was asked what it meant. I tried to explain and I'm sure it came out very jumbled and then I was taken back to my room. I experienced some pain but it was minor and passed within a few hours. When I arrived at my room, I remember being disappointed John wasn't already there. But then in the corner of my eye (I remained flat on my back for some time), I noticed a coke bottle that hadn't been there before. I was relieved to know he was in the building. As they were moving me to the recovery floor, they spotted him and we were reunited. He brought me flowers.
I was placed in a room with a little old lady who was very sweet but hard to communicate with as she knew zero English. She was a popular woman; she would receive at least one phone call every hour and received many relatives as visitors. I slept after John left in the evening and I remember waking ever so slightly to hear the room FULL of people, all speaking rapid Italian. Italian dinner time is between 7-9 so they visited their grandma for the dinner hour. I slept through most of it but it was nice to see how well cared for she was. The next day around breakfast time we shared some oranges with her and you would have thought we gave her a kitten. She was so tickled.
After much argument and delay and the use of Google translate on John's phone, I was discharged the following NIGHT. I am still convinced they would have kept me another day or two. Or week. I was on no meds, no fluids, eating just fine, walking around, feeling good, no pain. But they were still very hesitant to let me go. I think they mainly wanted to cover their own butts dealing with a foreigner which is understandable.
A few things that stick out to me as blessings: we had a card for free Wifi for a limited amount of time which I used with my phone. It was supposed to expire the night before my surgery but mysteriously continued to work throughout my stay at the hospital so I was able to send emails to my family to update them on the situation. The night before my surgery, I slept well and had no unpleasant dreams. This is mind blowing as I normally have a very active dream life and when things are going south in my life or I have excess stress, they present themselves in my dreams. Not this time.
Despite telling them several times and being asked about any allergies, I was prescribed penicillin. I was very, very thankful that the box I was given said it in Italian instead of by its generic name which had no resemblance to penicillin. Otherwise, I would have ended up right back at the hospital. So I did not take it but was refused an alternative without a new prescription.
We lost a few days in Florence due to the whole ordeal and it ate up the beginning of our time in Venice as well but we were able to still go, catching a late evening train. I will write more about the rest of the trip but I will say that Florence was like medicine to the soul; the perfect place to heal and recollect.
Where am I now? It's hard to say. I am still processing all of this. I am still unsure what exactly happened and what exactly was done to me during my surgery. I know some. But not all. Which is a little scary so I try not to think about it too much. My doctor here in the states was reassuring and seemed to think everything was all right.
Most people know about the miscarriage as I shared publicly about our situation on facebook and asked for prayer but to those who don't, I entirely do not know how or if to approach it. It's like...I want to share but I also just don't want to talk about it. But on the other hand I DO want to talk about it. It's a strange and confusing dilemma.
The aftermath of this entire experience has left me with an emotional roller coaster, probably consistent with my hormones being out of whack and trying to go back to normal. One second I'm indifferent and the next I want to punch someone. The next I'm a weeping mess on the floor and the next I'm fine...and then I'm so angry I'm shaking. Just when I think it's over and I'm normal again, the cycle begins again.
I know that God was with me even before I set food in that hospital and stayed with me every moment...as he always does. I know that God used this and will continue to use this for great good and growth as painful as it has been. I also know our baby is with him and he can be trusted above all else. I know God used my mom's two miscarriages to give me comfort, knowing she truly understood what I was going through, and I now too know what she went through herself. And through this hurt and loss, I am yet again amazed at the wonder and miracle of life and creation and find myself entirely confused why anyone would choose this. Why anyone would abort a pregnancy and willingly go through the surgery I went through (often necessary after an abortion) and even more, by choice. I can't understand it. And I don't think people who do choose it truly understand what they are doing.
I think my baby was a boy. And I imagine him grown now, because you can grow that fast in Heaven, running and laughing and enjoying his life in a way life down here never would have done justice. Still...I wish I could have been his Mommy longer. But I have peace knowing he is sitting on the knee of my Savior where I'll meet them both someday.
The biggest miracle through this entire experience: when I first noticed I was spotting, I wept and immediately went to the book of Job. Chapter 1 verse 21 says, "He said, 'I came naked from my mother's womb, and I will be naked when I leave. The Lord gave me what I had, and the Lord has taken it away. Praise the name of the Lord!" and this was after finding out he'd lost everything, including all of his children. I prayed that prayer over and over and over and over. I prayed to God to keep anger toward him from my heart. And I prayed earnestly that this was HIS child, whether born into this world or taken early. Through all of this, I have not felt anger toward God. I have, however, felt much anger toward people. And anger toward this fallen world where something like this happens...often. And we're working on that. But I do not have anger toward God. Praise the name of the Lord.
People have repeatedly told me I am a very strong woman. And I'm honestly tired of hearing it because it's empty words (although I know it was always meant in the kindest, most loving way and I don't ignore that). I am not a strong woman. I fall apart and am currently falling apart. I've thrown things in anger (but never at anyone!) and can be a downright baby when things are going badly. People love to tout that I'm strong because I've gone through deployments...so I must be a really tough woman. To that I say...and what is my alternative to going through the deployment? Running away? Divorcing my husband? Does our "strength" really equate to how much crap we have to go through?
The truth is we are all weak. He is strong in us. We have to deal with what we are dealt. And God is not this hard-hearted jester with a deck of scary cards. LIFE is the jester. God is our life preserver. We have to deal with what we are dealt. I have had to deal with deployments and will have more to deal with in the future. I have had to deal with a miscarriage. And the only way I got through either of those things was with God's constant presence and constant outpouring of life, love, and mercy.
I am no strong woman. She does not exist. We are all on a level playing field whether you like it, believe it or not. And this is a war you won't survive without God.
And that's all I have to say.
We went to Italy for 14 days. We went to Rome, Florence, and Venice. Mid-way through our visit to Florence, I experienced bleeding which lead to much pain; I was having a miscarriage. I was probably around 6 or 7 weeks along. After a grueling 8 hour wait in a hospital waiting room, I was given a bed to lie on while we waited because I was in too much pain. It was a shared room so John could not come with me. I had held it together most of the day but I just lost it when I laid down on the bed and the older woman in the neighboring bed outstretched her arm and took my hand to comfort me. I spoke no Italian and she spoke no English but her actions spoke volumes. Afterwards, I was ashamed I hadn't done something to thank her or comfort her in her own discomfort. When we were called to finally see a doctor after waiting so long, I was so desperate to get out that I forgot my surroundings entirely. But her actions will always stand out in my memory; she was the hands of God on me.
I'm still not entirely sure what happened. Through our visit with the doctor we gathered that we lost the baby. And we wept. We were also told that surgery was necessary. I don't know how severe my situation was...if I had an ectopic pregnancy or something else entirely. I don't know if I'll ever know. Much was lost in translation or just lost in language entirely.
Things happen much slower in Italy. The surgery that was supposed to happen that night didn't happen until the following afternoon. We stayed the night on a hospital bed and I was so comforted to have John with me that night. I was on a saline drip for at least 16 hours after not eating 8 hours before that. I don't know if they really understood that my stomach was already empty but I still felt like that time in the waiting room was God's surgery prep time for me so that my stomach remained empty and I had no adverse effects from anesthesia. All the time I was without food, John was also without food and without complaints. God gave me a gem of a man.
One of the biggest things that stuck out to me was the compassion at the hospital. Every medical personnel was so very compassionate, gracious, and understanding. It was far far more than I could have ever hoped to receive in the states. When I requested to lie down during blood tests and being given an IV, they never questioned it or scolded me or rolled their eyes while making a noise of disgust for wasting their time (like most American medical personnel I've experienced). One anesthesiologist teased me after admiring my tattoo by saying, "How can you be afraid? You have such a big tattoo!" But she was happy to insert my IV with me lying down.
John finally had to leave my side in the morning to check us out of our apartment. We had no way to extend a day and were already granted extra time to check out by the deadline so I knew he had to go...but it was still difficult to know I'd be heading off to surgery alone.
I passed the time by sleeping as much as I could. I was finally prepped for surgery and taken down after one final ultrasound. I remember nurses kept saying throughout my stay, "Do not be afraid." And while it might sound like a little thing and maybe even a touch of bad translation...it was a phrase so familiar to me from the Bible. Any time an angel visited someone, usually their opening statement was, "Do not be afraid." And those words felt like they were straight from God every time they were spoken to me.
Most of the medical personnel spoke very little English but I was grateful my anesthesiologist spoke English well and was very comforting as she administered anesthesia and I was put under. The first thing I remember as I woke was having them sit me up and the entire surgical room erupting in oohs and awes as they admired my tattoo, having not seen it before. It was a funny moment and a nice way to wake up. In my groggy state, I was asked what it meant. I tried to explain and I'm sure it came out very jumbled and then I was taken back to my room. I experienced some pain but it was minor and passed within a few hours. When I arrived at my room, I remember being disappointed John wasn't already there. But then in the corner of my eye (I remained flat on my back for some time), I noticed a coke bottle that hadn't been there before. I was relieved to know he was in the building. As they were moving me to the recovery floor, they spotted him and we were reunited. He brought me flowers.
I was placed in a room with a little old lady who was very sweet but hard to communicate with as she knew zero English. She was a popular woman; she would receive at least one phone call every hour and received many relatives as visitors. I slept after John left in the evening and I remember waking ever so slightly to hear the room FULL of people, all speaking rapid Italian. Italian dinner time is between 7-9 so they visited their grandma for the dinner hour. I slept through most of it but it was nice to see how well cared for she was. The next day around breakfast time we shared some oranges with her and you would have thought we gave her a kitten. She was so tickled.
After much argument and delay and the use of Google translate on John's phone, I was discharged the following NIGHT. I am still convinced they would have kept me another day or two. Or week. I was on no meds, no fluids, eating just fine, walking around, feeling good, no pain. But they were still very hesitant to let me go. I think they mainly wanted to cover their own butts dealing with a foreigner which is understandable.
A few things that stick out to me as blessings: we had a card for free Wifi for a limited amount of time which I used with my phone. It was supposed to expire the night before my surgery but mysteriously continued to work throughout my stay at the hospital so I was able to send emails to my family to update them on the situation. The night before my surgery, I slept well and had no unpleasant dreams. This is mind blowing as I normally have a very active dream life and when things are going south in my life or I have excess stress, they present themselves in my dreams. Not this time.
Despite telling them several times and being asked about any allergies, I was prescribed penicillin. I was very, very thankful that the box I was given said it in Italian instead of by its generic name which had no resemblance to penicillin. Otherwise, I would have ended up right back at the hospital. So I did not take it but was refused an alternative without a new prescription.
We lost a few days in Florence due to the whole ordeal and it ate up the beginning of our time in Venice as well but we were able to still go, catching a late evening train. I will write more about the rest of the trip but I will say that Florence was like medicine to the soul; the perfect place to heal and recollect.
Where am I now? It's hard to say. I am still processing all of this. I am still unsure what exactly happened and what exactly was done to me during my surgery. I know some. But not all. Which is a little scary so I try not to think about it too much. My doctor here in the states was reassuring and seemed to think everything was all right.
Most people know about the miscarriage as I shared publicly about our situation on facebook and asked for prayer but to those who don't, I entirely do not know how or if to approach it. It's like...I want to share but I also just don't want to talk about it. But on the other hand I DO want to talk about it. It's a strange and confusing dilemma.
The aftermath of this entire experience has left me with an emotional roller coaster, probably consistent with my hormones being out of whack and trying to go back to normal. One second I'm indifferent and the next I want to punch someone. The next I'm a weeping mess on the floor and the next I'm fine...and then I'm so angry I'm shaking. Just when I think it's over and I'm normal again, the cycle begins again.
I know that God was with me even before I set food in that hospital and stayed with me every moment...as he always does. I know that God used this and will continue to use this for great good and growth as painful as it has been. I also know our baby is with him and he can be trusted above all else. I know God used my mom's two miscarriages to give me comfort, knowing she truly understood what I was going through, and I now too know what she went through herself. And through this hurt and loss, I am yet again amazed at the wonder and miracle of life and creation and find myself entirely confused why anyone would choose this. Why anyone would abort a pregnancy and willingly go through the surgery I went through (often necessary after an abortion) and even more, by choice. I can't understand it. And I don't think people who do choose it truly understand what they are doing.
I think my baby was a boy. And I imagine him grown now, because you can grow that fast in Heaven, running and laughing and enjoying his life in a way life down here never would have done justice. Still...I wish I could have been his Mommy longer. But I have peace knowing he is sitting on the knee of my Savior where I'll meet them both someday.
The biggest miracle through this entire experience: when I first noticed I was spotting, I wept and immediately went to the book of Job. Chapter 1 verse 21 says, "He said, 'I came naked from my mother's womb, and I will be naked when I leave. The Lord gave me what I had, and the Lord has taken it away. Praise the name of the Lord!" and this was after finding out he'd lost everything, including all of his children. I prayed that prayer over and over and over and over. I prayed to God to keep anger toward him from my heart. And I prayed earnestly that this was HIS child, whether born into this world or taken early. Through all of this, I have not felt anger toward God. I have, however, felt much anger toward people. And anger toward this fallen world where something like this happens...often. And we're working on that. But I do not have anger toward God. Praise the name of the Lord.
People have repeatedly told me I am a very strong woman. And I'm honestly tired of hearing it because it's empty words (although I know it was always meant in the kindest, most loving way and I don't ignore that). I am not a strong woman. I fall apart and am currently falling apart. I've thrown things in anger (but never at anyone!) and can be a downright baby when things are going badly. People love to tout that I'm strong because I've gone through deployments...so I must be a really tough woman. To that I say...and what is my alternative to going through the deployment? Running away? Divorcing my husband? Does our "strength" really equate to how much crap we have to go through?
The truth is we are all weak. He is strong in us. We have to deal with what we are dealt. And God is not this hard-hearted jester with a deck of scary cards. LIFE is the jester. God is our life preserver. We have to deal with what we are dealt. I have had to deal with deployments and will have more to deal with in the future. I have had to deal with a miscarriage. And the only way I got through either of those things was with God's constant presence and constant outpouring of life, love, and mercy.
I am no strong woman. She does not exist. We are all on a level playing field whether you like it, believe it or not. And this is a war you won't survive without God.
And that's all I have to say.
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