I have only ever been sick to the point of believing that I
may die twice that I remember. The first was in December of 2009. I was living
in London at the time and caught an incredibly bad strain of the flu. Being
asthmatic, my lungs got really bad. I remember twice thinking “Ok, this is it.”
The other time was in October of 2014. I was pregnant. As I
write that, I feel a physical reaction of pain in my heart.
Those who know me, know that I have always (ALWAYS) wanted
four children. Since I was a child, I knew four was my number. Through various
circumstances, the time has just never been right since we had our third, but
not once did the desire leave my heart. So when I found out I had a 4th
on the way, I was beyond excited. I decided not to tell anyone until I had
passed the 12 week mark so it was a happy secret I was holding with me.
At about 5 weeks, I went to a Ladies prayer meeting where a
good friend of mine spoke. When she had finished speaking, she said “I just
feel I need to ask all the pregnant women to come up for prayer. If you are
pregnant, please come up.” I had a moment of panic. I was comfortable in my
decision not to tell anyone, but this was a prayer meeting. You can’t lie at a
prayer meeting. So I stepped out. Nobody knew and there was a lovely reaction
of love and prayer from the ladies. Looking back, the fact that I was forced to
reveal my pregnancy to a bunch of Christian friends was an act of mercy by my
God. He wanted people to know so they could walk the road with me.
A while after that, my lungs started getting bad. I had
changed my asthma medicine, so I thought that was the cause. Then it just got
out of control. My obstetrician was out of town so I couldn’t ask her what meds
I could take. After 4 nights of sitting up straight in my bed every night, and
nebulising every 2 hours just to get some air in, I decided I couldn’t wait for
my OBG to get back and got hold of a lung doctor. I remember sitting on the
edge of my bed saying to his receptionist “Please, he has to fit me in. I am
pregnant and my lungs have never been this bad. Will he know what to give me
that won’t affect the baby? I don’t want him to give me anything that could
have an effect. I am in my first trimester.” She went quiet. And then said
awkwardly “The doctor will look after you first, and only if possible, think
about the effect on the baby.” My heart sunk. She was right I know. But it was
not what I wanted to hear. I put down the phone. Desperate now. Exhausted.
Scared. I called the elders in to pray for me, and carried on with the
nebulizer. Twice, I had to go to the ER for monitoring and oxygen during that
time. The fear of putting any medication in my body during my first trimester
drove me to the brink and I pushed it to the last second not taking anything.
When my OBG came back, we did a sputum test and it showed
the highest level of infection it can show. She said “You are going on the
strongest antibiotic I can give you. With the results of these tests, you
cannot say no. You’re in real trouble here and we have left it far too long.”
So I took the meds. In retrospect, I should’ve acted much
earlier. The course of antibiotics took me out of the panic zone, although it
would take me months to fully recover from the damage my lungs suffered during
that time.
A week after that, I went for my first scan. Baby was nearly
8 weeks and I was on the cusp of being able to tell everyone. I was very
excited and nervous because I knew what my body had just been through.
As the doctor started the scan, she looked and said “There’s
the baby. Looking good. In the right place. Only one…” I breathed a sigh of relief. Then she went
quiet – “How far along did you say you are?” I told her nearly 8 weeks. More
silence. Then she said softly “This baby is the size of a 6 week old.” My head started to spin while she looked some
more at the screen: “And I can’t pick up a heartbeat.”
I asked her if she could be wrong, and she said “I don’t
think so, but let’s do a blood test today and another one tomorrow and see what
your HCG levels are doing. If they are coming down, then there has been a
demise of the baby.” Demise. I remember thinking what a strange word that was.
“Do you think I was too sick? Do you think it was because of
the meds? Do you think maybe lack of oxygen?” I asked her. She said “No-one
knows why these things happen but the miscarriage rate is 1 in 5 so it is not
unusual.” I said “When do you think the
baby died? About 2 weeks ago?” She nodded. Right in the middle of my sickness,
but before I took antibiotics. So it wasn’t the antibiotics.
As I prepared to leave to go for my blood test, she held my
shoulder and said “I am sorry. This is my third miscarriage this week. I
usually don’t see that many in a week. I hope you are ok.” Miscarriage. I
remember the words having such an impact on me as reality slammed into me like
a truck.
I had the blood test and went to the car. As I climbed into
the driver’s seat and closed the door, I just broke down over the steering
wheel. I wept from the pit of my stomach. As the crying subsided and I got
ready to turn the key to leave, the phone rang “Hi Ms Venter, I am phoning from
the lung doctors rooms. We can see you tomorrow. Do you still want the
appointment?” I decided not to tell them what had just happened and simply
declined the appointment.
From then on, I ended up having about 5 blood tests. My HCG
went up and down for days confusing me, giving me hope and then bringing me
down again. After one spike in the HCG, I thought there had been a miracle and
rushed back to my OBG only to find the baby was still the same size, and had
not grown at all - floating gently in the amniotic fluid, but not alive.
The doctor told me to wait for the miscarriage. I said “Will
it be sore? Will there be lots of blood? Will I be able to identify which part
is the baby?” I really didn’t know anything and just spent day after day
waiting for this event. I was like a zombie during the weeks that followed. In
fact, I had been that way from when I got sick right at the beginning.
Absent-minded at home, inside of my own head, and just trying to stay above
water emotionally. Nick was basically a single parent for the entire time. I
don’t think he fully understood what I was going through but he held the fort.
3 weeks later, the miscarriage still hadn’t come and the
doctor was now saying “We have to get this baby out. We can’t wait any longer
because there is a risk of infection for you.” So I booked for a D&E
operation. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been under general anaesthetic
and I was anxious about that, especially since my lungs were still struggling,
but I didn’t really have an option. The chapter had to end, and it looked like
it wasn’t going to end on its own. So I went in for the op. It went well. As well as one can
expect such an emotionally traumatic operation to go. And that was that.
During the following week, it seemed to me like everyone on
my facebook feed was announcing a pregnancy. Sonar pictures everywhere. And
every photo stung me. I knew most of these babies would be born around the same
time that mine was supposed to.3 July 2015. And I was genuinely wounded.
Yet looking back, God was not silent.
Right after I found out I was pregnant, my middle daughter
said to me out of nowhere “Mom, there is a baby in your tummy.” In telling me
something that I knew to be accurate, God confirmed for me the accuracy of what
she was going to say next and the fact that the next word was also from Him.
A few days after that, she said “Mom, I had a dream that you
had a baby in your tummy. And do you know that thing that hangs at the back of
your throat? I dreamt that the baby sucked on that like it was a dummy and then
it got washed away down the plug.” I said to her “Did Mommy also die in your
dream?” She said “No, just the baby.” I pushed it out of my mind at the time,
but it came back to me later. It brought comfort to me knowing that what had
happened was not random to God. He knew,
and He was in control.
To this day, I don’t know why this happened. But when I sent
out the whats app message on our chatline, my words were: “Baby didn’t make it.
But God is good. He knows what He is doing.” And that is what I stand on. As
Will Marais says “When you are confused by the unknown, go back to what is
known! GOD IS GOOD. GOD IS LOVE. GOD IS SOVEREIGN. GOD WILL WORK ALL THINGS
TOGETHER FOR THE GOOD OF THOSE WHO LOVE HIM AND ARE CALLED ACCORDING TO HIS
PURPOSE!” That’s the known. And I kept coming back to it during that time.
I decided to share this personal experience only because I
came to realize that this is so common. There are many families that go quiet every
year on the date of a birthday that never was - thinking about the invisible
person in the room. The one that was meant to be there, but isn’t. Be it from a
miscarriage or even from abortion, I believe the pain for the woman is the same when all is
said and done. It’s a little person that we won’t meet until we get to heaven.
I remember watching the true story “Heaven is for Real”
about a little boy that dies and goes to heaven and then comes back again. He
recounts things that he couldn’t have known about, baffling those around him.
And then one of the things he says is “Mom, I met my sister while I was in
heaven.” The little boy had no idea that his mom had had a miscarriage, and his
mom started to cry.
So this goes out to those who have their own 3rd
of July. My heart feels your pain. Remember God says “My grace is sufficient
for you, because my strength is made perfect in weakness.” It is when we are
weak, that He is most strong in us.