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Miscarriages are a devastating reality in this fallen world, yet, until very recently, most people did not talk about them. The time period during my miscarriage and subsequent struggles with infertility felt lonely and never-ending. Although deeply personal, I feel my miscarriage story is important to share, so, hopefully, one person might feel like they are not alone. This story is part of a larger story in my journey to motherhood and to blogging. I hope you continue reading with me to see how God has used this event for my sanctification.
Deciding to Grow Our Family
In the Fall of 2013, I started to desire an addition to our little family.
My husband was not on the same page, so I did what every good Christian wife should (not) do…Nag. I got upset that he was not ready, that he had excuses, that he felt it was not yet God’s timing. Never did I ask that God’s will be done. Never did I ask that God’s desires be mine. No, I asked that my husband would give in to my wishes.
The next few months were very difficult for us. I had to switch jobs, to one that was much more emotional and demanding. All of our turmoil culminated in a massive fight that only left hurt feelings.
We both spoke to mentors, privately and as a couple. Our evenings were transformed and we actively started spending quality time together. We dreamed about our future and prayed. Together, we agreed to leave our future family in God’s hands.
April of 2014 was the first month we, “left it up to God.” I still felt a bit of heartache however when my period came. This cycle was painful, physically and emotionally. Fear crept in as the bleeding continued.
I sat next to my phone for hours waiting for the doctor to call me back – praying, crying. Anxious questions such as “will we be able to have children?” ran through my mind. Finally, the phone rang.
“No worries…everyone has an irregular cycle from time to time.” The sinking pit in my stomach begged to differ, and they compassionately gave me an appointment for the next day.
My husband went with me. We visited a birthing center, the place I envisioned delivering our first child. The facility was beautiful. Our nurse-midwife shared her faith with us. We were at peace that this was the right place to be, but I could not shake the sinking feeling that something horribly wrong was happening.
Later that afternoon, I drove to our church to help a couple decorate for their wedding. My husband was also there helping, as he was the best man. It was Mother’s day weekend and the weekend before our 2 year anniversary. This was supposed to be a time of celebration and happiness.
My phone rang. I heard it across our church gym and knew. I think my husband knew as well, as he followed me to a small, quiet, empty room.
You’re having a miscarriage
“Hi, Allyson. I decided to stay late tonight to get your results. Your beta HCG level was 46. I’m so sorry Allyson…you’re having an early miscarriage.”
The rest of that weekend was a blur. I immediately went to the birthing center for a Rhogam shot. The midwife didn’t believe any antibodies had developed yet, but she wanted to be safe. I put on a happy face at the wedding rehearsal and during the wedding the next day, hiding the pain inside. Hiding the fact that my husband and I were trying to stay busy so we didn’t have to go home.
So we didn’t have to face reality.
Our journey to becoming parents was far from over. My miscarriage story is part of a much bigger story of sanctification, redemption, and hope.
Part 2 of my journey to motherhood can be found here.