I have a sensitive spot in my heart for couples dealing with the loss –any loss really — of a baby. It’s just the way I have been wired. And it’s also one of the many ways I can relate because my husband and I have dealt with the same loss.
After nine weeks of pregnancy, all my hopes and dreams for a beautiful, healthy boy and/or girl vanished. The embryo was growing in the wrong place. Instead of implanting itself to the wall of my uterus, the fertilized egg stalled in my fallopian tube and began to develop rapidly. It was the most painful experience ever, physically and emotionally. After my laparascopic procedure, in which they removed the pregnancy and ruptured tube (the left one to be exact), the nurse said to me, “There was a heartbeat. The procedure went well.”
A heartbeat is an indication of life. A pregnancy is a blessing. Giving birth is a miracle. You can’t imagine how it feels for a woman to not receive such a blessing from God, to not be given an opportunity to participate in a miracle and celebrate bringing life into this world. You.really.can’t.imagine.what.it’s.like.to.feel.inadequate!
I will never forget what that nurse said and how it made me feel. I felt like God got lazy when He “knit me together in my mother’s womb.” It was as if He missed the part of creation where He was supposed to fix the signals in my brain that should have instructed the fertilized ovum to leave its comfort zone and seek refuge in the “promised land” that is my womb. As far as I was concerned, the doctors were better at repairing than He was at preventing (don’t judge me for my inaccurate and flawed human reasoning).
In the years following my loss, it was tough being happy for expectant moms, particularly those close to me. But over time, it got easier to genuinely feel happy with them. It was the only way I could truly recover and be myself again if not better.
Even though it is natural to have feelings of resentment while grieving, I refused to be oppressed by my emotions. I was determined to feel without reacting; to heal without re-hatching. I can’t say I didn’t slip up a few times. As much as I tried to “be still and know that He is the Lord” through prayer after prayer, I got tested…a lot.
It angered me when people would come up to me and say things like, “You’re not pregnant yet? What are you waiting for?” Their insensitive probing always prompted me into throwing a mental pity party.
It especially hurt when friends and loved ones would offer unsolicited advice on what I needed to do to get pregnant. And to add insult to injury, some of them had the nerve to blatantly inform me that I was either with the wrong guy or I must have done something to upset God.
I know they were genuinely trying to help (or were they?), but the pressure was unnecessary because all it did was make me feel all the more incompetent. Why couldn’t I get pregnant the way everyone else did? Why must I drink a cup of apple cider vinegar diluted in water or a concoction of herbs brewed as tea? Why must I get weekly massages and acupuncture treatments or take fertility pills hailing all the way from some immaculate science lab in London?
All I needed everyone to do was to treat me the way they did before my loss: NORMAL.
I was tired of wearing the label of “woman who lost her baby,” looking into the eyes of pity and lending an ear to cliches (“it’ll happen when you least expect it”) and divine conspiracy theories (“God has something better for you”). Yeah, I lost a baby and yeah, it hurts. However, I don’t want my name to be synonymous to infertility or cursed or forgotten; I want to be treated as a woman simply standing in the motherhood line waiting to hear the Giver of Life shout “Next!” because He sees me, wants to bless me and let me know He remembered me.
That is all I ask. That is all any woman (or man) dealing with loss wants.
In the Book of Romans, apostle Paul instructed the Christians in Rome to “Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep” (vs.12:15). Nowhere in that Scripture does it state to rejoice for or to weep for. Perhaps it is because you can easily make the situation about you if your heart is not in sync with a person. But when you are able to fully relate to someone (not through circumstances but through oneness with Christ), you are demonstrating a unity of mind, sympathy and tender heart.
Anyone can applaud for you even if they are not genuinely happy for you, but not every one can dim their light and celebrate with you. And anyone can give you a sympathy card even if they are not genuinely sad for you, but not every one can put aside their agendas and spend a few hours crying and praying with you.
Therefore, don’t feel sorry for couples dealing with a loss of a baby; feel sorry with them. In other words, put yourself in their shoes — even if it doesn’t fit — and act accordingly.