Waves of grief

Everything seemed normal. Just another day. And then the spotting started. That went on for 2 weeks. An ultrasound confirmed that everything appeared to be fine. But the spotting continued. While we were at our clinic on the river, where we work, I experienced a really sharp pain in the middle of the night. Soon after that, the bleeding became heavier. And that continued for weeks, getting heavier and heavier. I was exhausted, getting lightheaded at times. Another ultrasound without answers, taking meds to try to stop the bleeding. But nothing was working. I was being told that it was hormonal. 

God put the thought in my head that it could be a miscarriage. I brought it up with my medical provider. But I was told that I shouldn’t be bleeding so much. One of the worst days, I was out with Peter and 2 of our staff. I went to the bathroom to clean up from having so many clots. We then quickly grabbed a bite to eat. 20 minutes later, I stood up and just felt the gush as clot after clot came out. I went back to the bathroom and knew it was going to be a hot mess. I did the best that I could to let the clots fall into the toilet. However, one fell down my pant leg. Here I am in a public bathroom, thinking, “Now what?” So, I had to scoop it out with my hand and put it into the toilet. Then I had to wait until the bathroom was empty before walking out to the sink with blood on my hands.

Meanwhile, we were to leave for a medical mission trip to Colombia with our team. We went as planned. I continued the meds to try to stop the bleeding. I was completely exhausted, very emotional, but really felt like we needed to continue as planned. While there, the bleeding was getting worse. By the end of the trip, I couldn’t do it anymore. I contacted another doctor and she brought in another doc on my case. Both said that I needed to try birth control and see them the day after we returned from Colombia. I switched the meds to birth control. Each time I would change meds or change doses, it would help to slow it down for 2 or 3 days, but then start right back up. Massive clots, golf ball to baseball sized, 10 at a time. Nonstop. By now, I’ve been bleeding for 2 months. I felt like it was never going to stop. 

While we were in Colombia, a doctor that we were working with felt led to tell me that God told her that there was something in my uterus. I started crying. I shared how we had been trying for 4 years and so far nothing. And that actually, right now, I was bleeding for months and being told that it was all hormonal, but that they wanted to make sure it wasn’t cancer. We returned home a few days later and went to the appointment. They did an exam and then said to keep taking the birth control and that I would bleed for 2 more months. They told me that if the pain got too bad to return and then they would do a surgery to scrape out the lining. I asked, “When would it be time to return? When do I know that the pain is too bad? Because right now, I am taking all of the pain meds I can and it hurts way worse than period cramps and the meds aren’t helping.” They finally agreed to do a surgery. 

So, that afternoon, I had the surgery done. I was given some meds to help me to dilate, essentially putting me into labor to dilate within 3 hours for the surgery. Meanwhile, I was to continue with the birth control and we were waiting for pathology results. I had all of the side effects of birth control: heart palpitations, anxiety way worse, couldn’t sleep at all at night (and not feeling anxious. Just wide awake every night), feeling like I couldn’t catch my breath. We finally got the results back that I in fact had a miscarriage. During surgery, they had to scrape off part of the placenta that didn’t detach correctly and that was what was causing me to bleed so heavily. A week later, my gallbladder acted up and needed to be removed. It was one thing after the other and I was completely exhausted and drained.

Hearing the waves crashing at the ocean can be such a relaxing sound, when you are safe on land. I have always thought about how grief is a lot like waves. Some waves come crashing in like a raging storm, strong, one after the other. You end up tumbling and don’t know which way is up. Eventually, you can get your bearings and come up for air. Other times, they are gentle and you can just ride them or even float. Grief can feel suffocating, like you’re drowning and can’t come up for air. One hit after another from the waves. Other times, it’s not as overwhelming and it can be bearable. And then compound grief with anxiety and depression, and it’s another level of waves crashing in your life. 

Oftentimes, I’ve thought of depression to be a pit or hole that you’re trying to crawl your way up and out. However, recently, a friend used the analogy that depression is like being in the ocean. There are times that the water is pretty calm and you can easily tread water. Other times, the storm comes in, the water is raging, and it can feel like you’re drowning. This analogy really resonated with me as I continue on this journey of grieving the loss of our daughter, who we named Gianna Hope, meaning God is gracious and trusting in God. 

I want to share 2 excerpts from my journal that I wrote a few weeks after the loss of our daughter: “...emotional pain and healing are way different than physical pain. People can’t see the emotional pain and healing taking place. They don’t understand. They think you look fine. They can’t see the giant hole that is there. And this miscarriage has been exactly that. People think we should be fine after a few days, back to normal. What is normal anymore? How do you just go back to the way you were before? You can’t. A child is in heaven now. We’ll never be the same. We can heal because Jesus can heal us; but we won’t be the same. And it’s not something you just get over. It’s not a stubbed toe that you baby and limp for a few days and that’s it, good as new. It’s not like that. So much healing and ups and downs have to happen. So much to process. So many things trigger it. Right now, there are kids running around everywhere and it’s hard to be around them to be honest. I keep thinking about how I should be pregnant right now. But I’m not. Instead, I’m bleeding again. I’ve bled for 3.5 months of the last 4.5.”

“I know God is good. I know that He is faithful. I know that I need to trust in Him. I know there’s hope for the future. But at this moment, it sucks. It hurts. I still need to grieve the loss of our daughter. I can’t just shove it under the rug and act like it didn’t happen. It did. I had a living daughter inside of me and she died inside of me. There was nothing that I could have done to stop it. If I don’t process this and grieve, it will only make everything way worse down the road. That’s not healthy.”

Why am I sharing all of this and to such detail? There are so many women out there who feel alone, feel like no one understands, feel like they will always be drowning in the waves of grief. But there is hope. You can grieve and worship God at the same time. You can grieve and have hope and joy at the same time. Allow yourself to grieve, to lament. It’s necessary for the first steps of healing. Some days will be bearable or even ok. Others will feel like you got hit in the face with a strong unexpected wave. That’s ok. Don’t try to rush through your grieving process, or compare yourself to others, or give yourself a timeline. There is no timeline. Healing and grieving look different for everyone. Give yourself grace. I’m speaking to myself right now too. You are not alone.