Thursday, October 14, 2010


I have been a bad blogger.  I haven't written on here for awhile...I have been dealing with some personal tragedy and just now feel ready to talk about it.

Lee and I lost a baby in July.

And I am still so sad.

We found out that we were pregnant in June, the week of our 5 year anniversary.  Surprised, but overjoyed, we began to prepare our lives for the change that was coming.  We had been planning for months to celebrate our anniversary in sunny Mexico.  Traveling while pregnant was an adventure, and a guide on part of trip dubbed the baby "Adventure Baby".  I couldn't wait to get to my OB-GYN and start learning about the baby's development.  Hearing the baby's heartbeat was overwhelming, and seeing that perfect image on the ultrasound picture was the most profound moment.  At our first ultrasound, the doctor mentioned that the baby was measuring a week behind.  She told us that it was probably nothing, that I had maybe ovulated late or gotten my dates wrong, but cautioned us not to announce the pregnancy until we hit the second trimester.

I loved being pregnant.  I began to plan the next nine months, imagining what each upcoming event would look like pregnant.  I made plans to change my school schedule and made adjustments with my boss for my job.  We told our families, closest friends, and small group at church.  Everyone celebrated with us.  My sisters nicknamed the baby "Baby Bieber" and bought tons of presents.  I loved the secret of being pregnant, the joy and sense of fulfillment, the new purpose I felt as a mother.

On the last Saturday in July I began spotting.  I knew immediately that something was very wrong.  We were at a small party at some friends' house, and we left abruptly.  As soon as we got into the car I collapsed.  I knew already that the baby was retrospect I think I had known for awhile.  My doctor happened to be on call and put me on bed rest until Monday morning.

I laid awake Saturday and Sunday nights gripped with fear and desperation.  I bargained with God.  I cried.  I cried harder.  I cried even harder.  My family came over and held me while I cried.  People told me not to give up until we knew for sure...but I felt like I knew.  I prayed for a miracle, but knew that God's miracles look different to us sometimes.

On Monday the doctor confirmed what we already knew.  The baby had actually been gone for a few weeks.  So instead of being at 13.2, the baby measured 8.3 or 8.4.  I am still overcome with the image of my sweet child on that ultrasound screen.  We made the choice to miscarry naturally, and I went home with a prescription to hurry that process along.

The next few days are too terrible to mention.  Lee had to go to work (he works 24 hour shifts), and my mom and sisters stayed with me while everything happened.  The pain was awful, and my mental state was....well, awful.

We held a service for our little girl the next week.  We laid her to rest in a peaceful spot in the country on Lee's family land.  It was beautiful and perfect.  And devastating.  I didn't think that I could leave her.  How could I walk away from her?  As we placed the dirt over her and positioned the stone, I leaned on my incredible family.  My cousin Britni brought flowers for each woman to place on her grave, and it looked like she was well loved.

It's been almost three months since we lost our sweet Nora.  I think about her everyday.  I am trying to move forward in my healing, but still feel like I am treading water.  Everything is ten times harder than it used to be.  I don't care about school this semester and am performing terribly.  I am avoiding many social situations.  The rational side of me believes in God's perfect plan and knows that life will go on.  The emotional side of me is sidelined by my feelings of failure and loss.

I don't want her to be forgotten.  I want her to matter.  I want there to be purpose in my loss.

1 comment:

  1. Hi Katherine! Thanks for stopping by my blog the other day from SR. But I want to say an even bigger thank you for sharing this very personal story. After 3 years of trying several months of fertility treatments, my husband and I are 12 weeks pregnant. Infertility has caused a pain and fear that will be with me for the rest of my life. But most importantly I have learned the importance of burdening with others. There are no words to cheer you up or witty statements to heal your pain. But please know that even over cyberspace there is someone that feels your pain and hurts with you. Hugs to you.