Sitting in that waiting room was perhaps the longest wait of my life. We were brand new in town and newly pregnant with our 2nd child. Well, we had been pregnant with our 2nd child. By the time I could get an available appointment as a new patient, I was quite certain we had lost the baby. This day was to confirm what I already knew in my heart.
20 minutes after checking in, a nurse called me aside to discuss the results of my test. Except it really wasn’t to the side at all, we were just off from the waiting room and her loud voice could surely be heard by just about everyone sitting nearby. She tossed her blonde hair over the shoulder of her scrubs and looked down at my chart,
“umm. just one thing.– you aren’t pregnant.” she said and looked up at me with this *brand new information.*
“Yes. I know I’m not. I’ve just had a miscarriage.” I said as quietly as possible. (This was my CHILD we were talking about so casually.)
“Uh, No hon. You’ve got a UTI. There were red-blood cells in your test.” She continued flippantly.
“No. I was pregnant and I’ve had a miscarriage. I do not have a UTI.” I said flatly and looked across the room at Lance who saw the need to rescue me and began to get up.
“Ok.” she said, “Well, either way– the Dr will see you when it’s your turn.” She gave me a false sympathetic glance and turned and walked away. I walked over and found the couch beneath me just before my legs gave out.
My sweet guy comforted me and we both rolled our eyes at the uncouth-ness of such a person. And then we had to wait again for a whole hour.
During which I nervously flipped through an old Good Housekeeping Magazine and tried to read an article about spring-cleaning your closet. The glossy, scented pages did nothing to distract me from the shouting thoughts in my head.
“Did I get it wrong? Was the test a false-positive? What about the 2nd test? The 3rd test? All false positives?”
I sat there in my grief which now had the added pressure of utter foolishness added on top.
“But wait? I KNOW I was pregnant. I had symptoms. I felt the loss when it happened?!!!”
By the time I entered the exam room of the kind man who would deliver our Abigail, I was in tears.
I told him what happened with the nurse and he frowned for a long time.
I told him I knew I had lost the baby– and frantically asked him to just please confirm that I had been pregnant. Just tell me the life WAS there. Please.
I had already dealt with losing a baby to miscarriage. I could not handle being told he or she was never there in the first place.
He did. He told me I had lost the baby right around when I thought and that my body was already beginning to heal.
He was kind and apologetic and told me I could try again.
And my smile through the tears came without warning.
Because it’s very difficult to celebrate life (even ever so brief) if we never acknowledge its’ presence.
Four years later, my heart is full to bursting with the love of two little girls– both given to us as gifts. But I still remember. I can’t not remember. I have to remember. Every now and then. Life is still life, no matter how short.
And we do the sanctity of life a huge disservice when we try to be BRAVE and gloss over and pretend we FOCUS on what we DO have all the time— and not ever really, truly– REMEMBER.
Because that child of ours– he exists. In heaven, with the One whose image he reflects. And he already knows things about my God that I have yet to see with my own eyes. And I will not forget. I will remember with absolute Joy and celebration– but I will not forget.