"Like a Child Rests"

(shared by a close friend of mine, Sara Walraven)

This hymn has always been one of my favorite songs to sing during Mass. Now it means so much more to our family.

October 16^th, 2014 we discovered our family was going to grow! John was working in the garage when I went to tell him I got a positive pregnancy test. We were both in disbelief because for so many months, this had not been the result. John’s exact words were “Shut up,” followed up by a long hug and a kiss after he read the test for himself. J We were elated and immediately prayed for guidance. I had been experiencing some spotting, but when I was in the doctor’s office and asked them about this, they responded that it was “normal.” God blessed me with a mother’s intuition VERY early on and I questioned that, but having never been pregnant before I left the doctor’s office. The next two weeks were the greatest time in our lives. Our prayers had been answered. Our dogs even knew things were changing. They’re quite the jealous type, but they were so loving and protective over me. What a gift our child was to our family.

Those same two weeks that were so great, weren’t without concern. I had no pain, but every day I had spotting. We use the Creighton Model of Natural Family Planning, and when you see red stickers each day, it’s not “normal.” I made a few calls and became an advocate for our family. It wasn’t without question that we were going to do whatever we could do. An on-call NFP doctor called us back at 9 PM that night to make sure we did everything we needed.  An increase in progesterone supplementation began that night. The prayers continued.

A few of my co-workers knew of our news because when you work so closely, it’s pretty difficult to go to the first few early doctors appointments without sharing the excitement. One conversation in particular will always mean so much to me. It was the calm before the storm. The afternoon of October 28^th, I got to sit with a co-worker and speak of our family, our faith, and our journey. She got to share in hers, speak of her own family, and we bonded over motherhood. This moment brought so much peace in my heart. I stood up to leave, and felt very light-headed. Since our conversation was extended, I hadn’t bothered to stop and eat lunch so I figured it was time to eat. I felt fine the rest of the afternoon, but my spotting had increased. Once again, I had to be an advocate for our family. The doctor said to put my feet up and come in the next day for an ultrasound. John and I decided we couldn’t sit around all evening and wait for the clock to change. We headed to the ER. Still peaceful, yet concerned, we prayed for protection and peace for our family.

“My God I trust in You, You care for me, You give me peace.”

The hospital we went to wouldn’t allow John, my own husband and father of our child, in the ultrasound room due to it being the emergency room. Our hearts were crushed. This whole journey we had been together and now they’re telling us we can’t be? Trying to find understanding, we prayed as they wheeled me out of the room. I continued to pray as the tech did two different ultrasounds. She apologized for the protocol and continued doing her job. She explained how she wouldn’t be able to tell us anything, and that when we were back together, the doctor would share what the ultrasounds found. That made me feel better, but I’ll also never forget the deafening question she had for me during the process. “You’re not in any pain?” My answer being no, but my mind questioned, “Am I suppose to be?” I was wheeled back to John. We waited. We prayed. We were together as a family. As we waited, the registration desk decided to wheel in their mobile computer to collect our insurance and co-payment of $200. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Did you not read why we were in the ER? Did you care? You’re going to get our money, but did you really need to come visit us when we’re waiting for answers? To this day, there are no words.

Shortly after, the doctor came in. John held my hand as he shared the news that our child was in my fallopian tube, and described to us an ectopic pregnancy. He was straightforward and gave us two options. 1) A drug to “dissolve the pregnancy.” 2) Surgery to “remove the pregnancy.” “Could we talk about it?” “You’ll have five minutes because I’ll need to call in the surgical team if you decide that option,” the doctor responded. He remained sitting there. He sat and waited. Those may have been the longest moments of our lives. He never even tried to leave and give us a moment together. We didn’t even know what to think or ask. Shock ran over us so all of these emotions came following the actual event, but I remember them vividly and almost an excruciating slow motion. “Dissolve” and “remove” aren’t really words you want to hear, but nevertheless, that’s what we were given. We decided to have the surgery.

At 1:30 AM, I was taken back into surgery. John was left in the waiting room. I prayed for him as I was wheeled back. Once again he was left to wait. As everyone was prepping the operating room, they were introducing themselves to me by name. I remember thinking, “If any of you pray, please pray for our family, especially our child. God protect these people who are entrusted to care for us.” I couldn’t talk, yet I was shouting that on the inside. The last thing I remember was hearing “Lydia.” That’s when I knew our child was a girl! That’s the name we had chosen for a girl, and I couldn’t wait to tell John that our precious child was the daughter he always would say would be “wrapped around his finger.”

I woke up in recovery, saw John and was able to mourn with him, while rejoice in the gift of our daughter’s life. Unfortunately, not even at this point, did the medical staff acknowledge what we had just experienced. Business as usual. Did I just get my tonsils removed? Prescriptions given for pain, and a recovery plan for three days. Dismissal papers signed. We were released.

The next few days and weeks were difficult. My hormones were all over the place, as were my emotions. I remember breaking down with a fear rushing over me that we had hurt our daughter. I sobbed uncontrollably. I would give my life for my child. I prayed each day that she was caused no pain, but we didn’t ask the right questions during the ER visit because we honestly didn’t know what to ask in the “five minutes” we were given.

It wasn’t until two weeks post-op, that we were given a bit of peace. We were following up at the doctor’s office, and that was the FIRST time we were told there was no heartbeat and Lydia didn’t suffer from the operation. I still will never understand why that wasn’t disclosed, but I pray to God that anyone put in the same situation will be able to ask those questions, and find out about their child. Had she had a heartbeat, it would have mattered to us. That perhaps is for another time. She had already passed away. Thanks Be to God.

The Blessed Mother and Christ were holding us close. They gifted me with a whisper. Lydia’s whisper. “Mom, it’s okay. I’m with Jesus now.” The numerous Hail Mary’s I prayed during everything was comfort and peace. She knew exactly what I felt. The love. The loss. Her example of suffering through her Son’s crucifixion and death has been strength in our suffering with Lydia.

Some days have been easier. Some days have been downright difficult. If we were to have carried her to term, June is when she would have been born. I may not have physically carried her for these last nine months, but it is without question that I’ve carried her every. single. day. That’s what parenthood entails and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. John and I pray for Lydia’s intercession every night before we sleep. We aren’t sure how our family will look in the future, but we pray for God’s will in our lives and for our complete surrender to Him.  

“Like A Child Rests in its Mother’s Arm, So will I Rest in You”

“Now and always, Trust in God.”

St. Lydia, pray for us.