This post is a continuation of Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, and Part 4.  See also intermission post one and two.

I waited, resigned to seeing this through to the bitter end.  "God!"  I prayed my same old broken, anguished, un-finish-able prayer again, "God!"

"God!"

"God!" 

My brain was trying to choose submission and peace, but my heart was too full to sort that through or even fully recognize the choice.  Or, in better words, my spirit was willing, but my flesh was weak.  (ha-ha)

When the doctor came back in, he did not reveal any news.  Instead, he explained that although ultrasounds were not normally done at this stage, due to my history of miscarriages and my inability to provide even a ball-park estimate of my last period he wanted to have an ultrasound done.  Then he placed his hand on my shoulder and told me, "Don't worry.  This is just to see what's going on."

Right.

I walked down the hall and entered the darkened room.  The ultrasound technician smiled at me and introduced herself as she helped spread a sheet over me.  "Because the baby will be so tiny," she explained, "we'll need to do a vaginal ultrasound today.  Have you ever had one before?"

"Yes."  After my first miscarriage before Liberty and after my second miscarriage after Mercy.  The memories came flooding back.  The darkened rooms, the ultrasound machines, the unknown, the fearfulness, the pain, the grief. 

"God!"

"There's the heart-beat!" she joyfully proclaimed as she turned the volume up on the machine.

The sound poured over me, filling my soul.  I turned to look at the screen and saw a tiny baby attached to a bubble.  Without warning, silent tears slipped down my face creating pools in my ears, and they would not stop flowing.  Thankfully, tears make no sound in the dark.  I thought about whispering goodbye to the little one on the screen, but the Holy Spirit immediately told me that would not be acting in faith so I remained silent.

"Oh," the technician sounded startled.  "Did anyone ever tell you that you have a fibroid?"

"Uh, no?  What's a fibroid?"

A fibroid is a group of muscle cells that grow more densely together than most muscle cells do.  A fibroid inside my uterus means that the uterine wall in that area can be too dense for an embryo to fully attach.  In my case, most likely, many fertilized eggs had attempted to attach over the years in that one more dense spot and had never been able to, but the five that had been tenacious enough -- one before Liberty and four after Mercy -- were unable to survive in their chosen area because the necessary nutrients and other items could not penetrate the uterine wall to supply them with life.

Because no one knows for sure what causes fibroids, we also don't know what causes them to grow or shrink. We do know that they are under hormonal control — both estrogen and progesterone. They grow rapidly during pregnancy, when hormone levels are high. They shrink when anti-hormone medication is used. They also stop growing or shrink once a woman reaches menopause. ~ From www.womenshealth.gov

I digested this information slowly.  "Where is this baby attached?" I asked.

"Not near the fibroid," she answered, and she turned the biggest, happiest grin my way.  I smiled back through my tears and heaved out a gulping sob of joy.  She laughed along with me and rolled on her stool to the counter to grab a box of tissues.  "These always come in handy in this room!" she said.  I accepted her gift, and the two of us grinned at each other while I wiped my still flowing and thankfully back-to-being-silent tears.

The doctor had more to tell me after the ultrasound.  Things like my due date (June 12th), and my potential c-section date (June 7th -- my birthday), normal things that a mom with a miscarriage looming would not need to concern herself with.  I couldn't stop grinning.

Afterwards, I sat in my car facing into the blaring sunshine and thought some more.  Do you know what this means?  It means that I am not defective.  I have not been somehow causing the deaths of my babies through anything I'm doing or not doing.  It has nothing to do with me.  It's just this stupid body that decided to grow a fibroid without asking my permission.  I'm not a bad mom!  Oh the freedom!  Did you know guilt weighs a LOT?

I must have sat in that parking lot for twenty minutes just soaking all that information in.  Finally, I turned the key and started driving.  This is definitely over-the-phone kind of news, especially to a father as hurting as Jeremy.  I called him as I took the highway entrance ramp.

It took him a long while to cautiously digest it all as well.  After many questions and answers and repeating questions and answers he finally asked, "You mean...there's nothing wrong with my little swimmer guys?" the joyful disbelief almost palpable in his voice.  "I didn't drink too much Mountain Dew before?"

"Oh, Jeremy!" my heart groaned for him.  I had never known.  His guilt had been just as heavy as mine.  And it was all unnecessary.  For both of us.  I wanted to gather him into my arms and make it all go away.  For now I'd have to settle for, "Your swimmers are fine!"

But first, I needed to pull over and vomit.

To be continued...

This post has been brewing in my heart for several months now.  I haven't spit it out before because it hurts to put these words into writing and because several of my friends who struggle with infertility read my blog, and I have not wanted to cause them additional pain.  (I love you guys!)  But it is time for me to be honest.

Between the birth of my four-year-old Mercy and now, I have had four miscarriages.  (I truly appreciate your sympathetic hearts, but that is not the reason for this post.)  I don't know that I have publicly shared that information before.  In fact, I know that I have not shared that information.  Only my parents, a few close girl-friends, and a sister or two know about my missing babies.  This is not because I am ashamed or embarrassed, but because in spite of my outgoing, silly personality I tend to keep personal things private.  The truth is, I'm not even now quite sure why I am posting this for you all to read, except that I've been having a nudging that sharing is needed.

Credit to: MCCL Blog (http://prolifemn.blogspot.com)

My friends and former roommates, Alicia, Rachel, and I had discussed several times the importance of being real and up-front about our struggles as people and as women because so often we see from the outside a person's smiling face and joyful words and fulfilling actions and we never realize how much pain is underneath, how necessary our prayers for each other are, how important our friendship and support is to someone else who feels like she must be drowning.  But putting that pain and struggle out there for others to see?  Well, that can be very, VERY hard to do.

Jeremy and I had hoped for a largish family since the time we were dating.  I have eight brothers and sisters, and Jeremy has five sisters so we had some knowledge of what we were talking about.  I had a miscarriage before our six-year-old Liberty was born, but I was so young and it happened so early in the pregnancy that I didn't realize until it happened that I must have been pregnant.  Then Liberty and Mercy came along, and we assumed more would follow.  Well, more did follow, but they didn't make it full-term.  Each miscarriage got harder and harder emotionally, and a few of them were very difficult for me physically as well.  I struggled through so many different emotions that I couldn't possibly identify them all for you, but the main ones seemed to be alternating between anger at God and peaceful resignation of the situation.  You see, I already have two wonderful children, and how could I possibly ask for more than that?  I mentioned earlier my friends who so badly want even one child, and I felt selfish and horrible for desiring three or even four of my own.

In addition to that inner selfishness discussion I was having, I also wanted very badly to surrender to whatever God had planned for my life, and I didn't want to hurt so painfully over my babies and my unfulfilled hopes.  I finally decided enough was enough.  I would stop wanting more children.  I would stop trying to have more children.  I would be completely happy with the two I already had (that part wasn't hard -- Liberty and Mercy really are incredible kids.)  Jeremy, who was struggling through some powerful emotions of his own over these miscarriages, was in complete agreement about not trying for any more.  He wanted more very badly, but he was afraid that somehow he was at fault for the miscarriages (which is funny, because that's exactly how I had been thinking about myself), and he hated watching my pain and not being able to fix it.  Together, we decided:  no more babies for us.

It took me a while to adjust to this new line of thinking, but eventually, I made peace with the thought.  I was starting a whole new life.  My daughters were in school.  I had entire days all to myself.  I could do anything I wanted!  I started working part-time in Human Resources, an area I am passionate about, and I loved every second of it.  I started planning out what the next few years of my life might look like.  It was glorious!

After a while, all that baby stuff in our basement storage area began grating on my nerves.  Why take up space with so many things that we will never use?  A little bitterness reminded me, "So many things that you will never be ABLE to use."  That's it!  I decided.  I'm selling it all.  And so I did.  I put every baby thing we owned into a garage sale, and almost everything sold.  We were left with a crib, a potty chair, two car seats (infant and toddler), and a baby seat for the dining room table.  That's it.  And I was mad that those didn't sell.  What in the world am I going to do with them?

Two months later, I found out I was pregnant.

To Be Continued...