I have a uterus. I have given birth to four daughters. I have miscarried one child. I am pregnant with our fifth daughter. I guess that means I get a voice when it comes to women's reproductive health, according to whomever thinks one needs these things to have a voice. I will respectfully use my voice after taking the time to listen and observe. I owe it to my daughters and their futures. I'm not here to change your mind about what you think or believe. I will not tolerate rude, condescending or passive aggressive comments, but I'm here to have respectful and kind discussions. Mainly, I share my personal experience surrounding pregnancy for perspective.
1. I've miscarried. In 2017, a doctor wrote paperwork that labeled my miscarriage a "missed abortion." In my grief of realizing our baby no longer had a heartbeat, the word "abortion" heightened all my emotions. This miscarriage was not the same as an abortion because I didn't choose. There was no choice involved in terminating that child's life. I took the paperwork to the OB coordinator with questions, and she verified that this was the correct terminology. I had to take that paperwork to another medical company to have blood work drawn to check my hCG levels.
After waiting for a couple weeks, I bled so much that I had to have a D&C for my missed abortion. When I woke from that procedure, I was in a recovery room with other people lying in recovery beds. I wept. I wept loudly, as any mother who no longer carries a physical, born-into-the-world, child would. For me, his or her life was just as real as the daughters I have the joy and honor of raising today. This dead child was ripped from my uterus to save my life. I never held him or her; I never said goodbye.
From my perspective as a mother and a patient, the medical field needs to make a distinction between a miscarriage and an abortion. They are not one in the same. One originates with no choice on the woman's part, in which the fetus simply stops growing. The other begins as a choice on the woman's part, in which the fetus could have continued growing but stops growing because of an elective medical procedure. Regardless of where you stand politically, these two situations are completely different. For the future of our daughters and the generations to follow, there needs to be a distinction. Every doctor I have the pleasure of knowing understands the distinction. I had trouble seeing the distinction as a patient. Recently, misinformation is being spread on social media that women who've miscarried are not getting the medical care they need. If that's true, show me research and a legal case, not a meme with a political bent. I want to be informed because I will not be quiet if women suffering from miscarriage are suffering further due to medical care being neglected.
2. Our first daughter was unplanned. The day the OB coordinator called, she asked if I wanted to keep the pregnancy. I'll never forget the quiet that followed. In the silence, I thought of all the women who had been asked that same question—women with circumstances different than my own. I also thought of what it might be like to say no to my first child's ability to exist within my womb and outside of my womb. I broke the silence. "Yes," I answered, nervous and uncertain, but resolved in my conviction that this wasn't a choice I needed to make.
I didn't need a choice. I'd be stretched, and one mark after the other would appear on my belly because of my first daughter's life. Those stretch marks would fade some, but they would never go away, as more and more stretch marks would appear over the years with every pregnancy. I'd lose myself to motherhood in increments, and I found comfort in scripture, particularly in Jesus’ words in Matthew 16:25: "For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it." These are words I'm still trying to understand, but when I think that I'm at the end of my rope in motherhood, I catch a glimpse of what they mean. Pregnant or not, motherhood stretches me; it requires me to die to myself.
3. The fifth daughter that I'm pregnant with right now was also unplanned. We were finished having children. My husband had a vasectomy. He went back three months later, and the medical professionals said he was sterile. Truth be told, he's still considered sterile. I can't wrap my mind around it even as I write these words. All I come back to is another verse of scripture, which the angel Gabriel spoke to Mary after telling her she'd become pregnant with Jesus Christ and telling her that her cousin Elisabeth, considered barren, was also going to have a child: "For with God, nothing shall be impossible," (Luke 1:37).
Becoming pregnant becomes nearly impossible after one is sterilized...less than 1% possible. We found out I was pregnant while vacationing at the beach. We did the math. I was already six weeks along. "There's already a heartbeat," I said aloud to my husband, weeping. I wasn't weeping for joy. I wasn't excited. I was shocked, confused and frustrated. This was not our plan. When I called to schedule an appointment, the OB coordinator asked, "Before we continue, are we keeping the pregnancy?” I didn't allow time for silence. "Yes," I answered. "I'm not thrilled, but yes, we're keeping the baby," I said, being hit by a wave a nausea instead of the beach waves I had come on vacation to enjoy. Now that I’m 23 weeks along, the shock has worn off some. Pregnancy is incredibly difficult for my body, but I'm finally able to say I look forward to meeting our fifth little girl and raising her with our tribe of daughters.
4. Our three daughters in the middle were all planned. Every single daughter, whether planned or unplanned, is of great value in our home and our family. The baby I miscarried is also of great value. With hope, we wait to meet this sweet child (probably our son, according to a dream I once had). Every little life is of great value, fearfully and wonderfully made in the image of God.
In being an author to a book called Every Little Life, I've been humbled to hear stories from women grieving the loss of a child. Within the last year, an acquaintance had to terminate the life of her twin baby to save her own life and the other twin's life. Due to my own grandmother being a twin whose brother died in infancy, I immediately felt moved to send this Mama a book, which felt like a tiny gesture to such a devastating loss. My heart goes out to women who have been faced with the difficult decision to terminate a pregnancy due to life-threatening complications. I can't begin to imagine the pain or the grief or the weight of that decision.
As I remember your story, I wish I could hug you and look you in the eyes and say I'm deeply sorry for your loss, your husband's loss and your daughter's loss. It's heartbreaking and unfair for a child to leave the world before a parent, and it's equally unfair to be in a life-threatening situation in which you likely felt pigeonholed to make a decision no parent should have to make. I trust that one day God will heal all the pain and suffering in our broken world. Until then, know that your babies—the one living and the one waiting in heaven—are held and loved. I will always remember your story, and I will always remember your twins. Every little life matters.
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