Somebody spoke to my dad about a loss they experienced. They described it perfectly. When someone goes into the emergency room, a lot of times they leave with a visible fix to their wounds. Casts. Stitches. Arm slings. Wheelchairs.
What about the people who go in and out looking the same? What happened to them? What about them is broken?
This woman went into the emergency room because something was wrong. But she came out looking the same. So most probably assumed she was fine.
But no one knows.
They don't know she's bleeding and wasn't suppose to for nine months.
They don't know that she was told to go home, get rest, and flush a child that was very real to her down the toilet.
They don't know that she and her husband are mourning a loss without the closure of a service, memorial, or funeral. They can light a candle in remembrance, but have to do so secretly in their home so they don't have to explain why.
They don't know that her heart is broken and her hopes are diminishing. What is suppose to be a joyous occasion will always leaves doubts of fear in the back of their minds. A positive test will never be as exciting as it once was.
To me, she explained it perfectly. How true it is that people don't know. Then it hit me. I don't have too much experience with God speaking to me. Maybe I'm a horrible listener. But He yelled this time.
"Bron. How can what you're going through serve any purpose of you don't talk about it?"
And then I got it. I've been learning recently how important our words are. Both audible and not. If God used words to SPEAK the world into existence, they must be pretty important, right? What was He getting at there? We live in a world that thinks your actions and behavior is the only thing that makes you "good." Those things are great, but how about your words? Notice a lot of the magical movies we watch consist of wands and snapping fingers to make something happen? God used His words to do the same thing. I don't remember reading about wizardry in that part of Genesis; so, let's focus on what matters.
I decided to put together a bunch of words to try to explain to you what happened to my husband and I in hopes that my words will help you understand what's happening to someone you know who might not have the words right now to tell you.
This has happened to us 3 times and I know what you're probably thinking.
Hopeless.
Not gonna happen.
Adoption.
Other ways.
I get it. I've heard it. Right now, that's not where my heart is at. I personally know women who've lost DOZENS of children and still went on to have healthy, full term pregnancies. So, please, do me a favor. When someone tells you what they went through, try not to bandage them with your worldly solutions. No matter your purest intentions.
I believe that God has used our latest pregnancy to reveal to us what we needed to do. Because of my history,
I received multiple ultrasounds. I've had quite a few before throughout my lifetime, but for some reason, they missed something big every time. It wasn't until my most recent and heartbreaking ultrasound that the technician noticed something.
"Has anybody ever told you about your bicornuate uterus?" She said.
I remembered a couple ultrasounds ago the technician saying something about a slight dip in the shape of my uterus, but going on to mention it being "very hospitable!"
So, I told her just that.
She said, "I'm seeing a full separation here."
She zoomed out on the picture to show what looked like two completely separate sides of activity.
"What's that?" I asked.
"Here," she says, pointing to one side of the screen, "is the left horn of your uterus. It's empty now...but here," pointing to the other side, "is the right side where the pregnancy occurred. Normally, those things would be all together, but this line in the picture indicates a septum that divides the uterus in half. I'll send this to your doctor and she will talk to you more about it, I'm sure."
I left so intrigued and so curious. Could this be why my babies haven't made it here yet? Could that be the answer?
My doctor called later that day. I love her so much. She has been a huge key to our positivity and she is so proactive.
She explained that in the ultrasound pictures, it appeared that I have either a bicornuate or septate uterus. I'll have a dye test done later (when I'm ready) to determine how much of a wall I really have. She explains that this means that the baby either doesn't have sufficient room to successfully implant or to grow. Maybe both.
And then she says what I was hoping she would.
There's a fix.
There's a solution.
A simple procedure that will remove the septum and make the uterus whole.
Most people would assume we would fly there, get the procedure done as soon as possible and try again. But healing takes time and we want to give ourselves that time. We want to give God that time to work in us and do what we need to do.
We have faith that we will have a baby in our arms soon and have as many children as we want (nothing crazy, folks, don't get excited now.)
But for now,
Pray.
Believe.
Share.
Someone you know is going through this.
They are silently mourning a life that only they know.
They are putting the pieces of their hearts and marriage back together.
They are trying to remember that sex is fun and enjoyable; not just a tool used to "try again."
They are trying to hold it together when someone hugs them extra tight and holds it for two seconds longer because they know.
They are avoiding the topic and quietly begging you to be extra sensitive around them.
They are kicking themselves for almost wishing someone else would experience what they have so they'd understand.
They are dying inside because someone died inside of them.
They just don't have the words.
