When You’ve Been Told You Will Have a Miscarriage

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I finally got pregnant. I’ll write a post later about why I think it finally happened after two and a half years, but that is not what this post is about. This post is for those of us who thought getting pregnant — and not staying pregnant — would be the only hard part. This post is about what happens and how it feels to be told you will have a miscarriage.

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First: My Story

Four days after getting a positive pregnancy test, I was told it was not a viable pregnancy. I was spotting, and my HCG hormone levels were barely going up in a two-day span.

Doctor #1

The call from the doctor went like this:
“Did you already see your HCG levels in your chart online?”
“Yes…doesn’t seem like great news.”
“No…looks like an early miscarriage.”
“Is there any chance at all?”
“Do you believe in miracles?”

(By the way: If you’re like I was and don’t know a whole lot about actual pregnancy-related stuff — after all, the last 2 1/2 years I’ve been researching fertility, not pregnancy — HCG levels in a healthy pregnancy are supposed to double every two days. Not go up by less than 25%, like mine.)

Worried when I still hadn’t had a miscarriage after another week, and noting that continued monitoring of my HCG levels hinted at an ectopic pregnancy, doctors scheduled an early ultrasound on a Friday night at 5 weeks. They saw nothing.

Doctor #2

The call from the doctor went like this:
“Sorry, but this is not a normal pregnancy. It looks like it’s either ectopic or an early miscarriage, but too early to see anything. If your HCG levels don’t start going down by Monday indicating a miscarriage, we’ll have to give you a methotrexate shot to help your body miscarry the baby. And if you experience severe cramping or bleeding in the next few days, go straight to the ER. You try to have a good weekend, okay?”

Given those options, I prayed for my HCG levels to go down. (If you’re not familiar with methotrexate, it doesn’t sound fun — WebMD info here.)

On Monday, though, my HCG levels didn’t go down. They started to double — almost. Doctors called, surprised. They pulled a 180.

Doctor #3

Much to my shock and excitement, the call from the doctor went like this: “Maybe it just took a while to get going…Stranger things have happened. Let’s schedule another ultrasound at 6 weeks — if you haven’t miscarried by then — to see what’s going on.”

And at my ultrasound this past Friday, my husband and I saw what we thought was good news: A gestational sac and a yolk sac — in the right place! Not ectopic!

Doctor #4

This time we got to meet with the doctor in person, and it went like this: “We should be seeing a much larger sac by now, and a fetal pole. Something is not right. I’m not optimistic for you. We’ll schedule another ultrasound in 11 days to know for sure, but I’d be very surprised if you don’t miscarry before then. I could be wrong, but it doesn’t happen often. Oh yeah — your blood pressure was a little high when you came in for some reason. Let me just check it again. And oh yeah — before you leave, let me give you some paperwork on what to expect when — I mean if — you miscarry.”

(Side note: She forgot to give me the paperwork. I’m taking that as a good sign.)

To Hope…or not to Hope?

I wish I could say that I’ve never given up hope throughout this whole process. I wish I could say that I’m continuing to remain hopeful.

But that just wouldn’t be true.

The truth is, when you share a story like this, people come out of the woodwork to share stories about their friend-of-a-friend’s miracle baby that the doctors said would never make it. And sometimes I even seek out more of these stories online, desperate for a story that sounds just like mine that turned out okay in the end. Sometimes I cling to these success stories, hopeful for my own little miracle story that I’ll be able to share someday.

But other times I’m sick of hoping. I’m weary of hearing these miracle stories. I’m tired of people telling me there’s still a chance; to never give up. Sometimes I want to tell those people that it’s really easy to remain hopeful when you’re not the one who’s been told it would be a miracle if you deliver a baby at the end of this.

And sometimes I feel just like the Shunammite woman, wondering why God even got my hopes up if this is just going to end in misery. Sometimes I feel like:

“Even when I call out or cry for help, he shuts out my prayer. He has barred my way with blocks of stone; he has made my paths crooked.”

Lamentations 3:8-9, NIV

Crooked Paths

When we read about paths in the Bible, we usually think about straight paths. But though I’m trying to acknowledge God in all my ways, my story doesn’t feel like the Proverbs 3:6 straight path. It feels more like the crooked path of Lamentations 3:9. And while it’s comforting to know that I’m not the only one walking a crooked path, it makes me wonder: Where do I go from here? Where does this leave me for hope?

Lamentations

The book of Lamentations gets a bad reputation. Who wants to read a depressing book of lament, anyway? In reality, though, woven throughout the crooked path stories of Lamentations is a story of hope:

“Yet this I call to mind and therefore have hope:
Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, ‘The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.'”

Lamentations 3:21-24, NIV

Walking this crooked path, do I always have hope that this pregnancy will result in a healthy, miracle baby? The truth is: Sometimes yes. Sometimes no.

It’s difficult to have hope all the time when you are placing your hope in your circumstances.

And yet I do always have hope: Just not necessarily in my circumstances. I have hope that I will never be consumed no matter what happens. In my circumstances, I will remember the words of Lamentations, and I will call to mind the Lord’s great love and compassion. His compassions will never fail. They are new every morning. That doesn’t mean God will give me everything I ask for, but it does mean that He will never leave me or forsake me.

And in the midst of uncertainty and waiting, I will borrow the words of Lamentations and say to myself: “The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.”

Update: A week or so after I published this post, I did end up miscarrying. See my post on Finding Comfort After Miscarriage.

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