God can’t use your story if you’re not willing to tell it.

That’s what I’ve been saying the past few weeks as I’ve started sharing my story and some of the key defining moments in my life. This next part of my story, though, I’ve never written about here.

I’ve written about our miscarriages, but I haven’t written about the one pregnancy we were able to carry to term. I also haven’t written about how it almost ended in tragedy too. 

My Story: Part 3 (the one where we almost lost my son)

So…here goes. (This post is part 3 of a new series. Do you want to read the first two posts? Here they are: Part 1 and Part 2).

When I was 25 years old, after trying to get pregnant for several months, we finally saw those two lines on an at-home pregnancy test. Like many first time moms, I went out and bought several more tests and took them too. They all said the same thing: “PREGNANT”! We were thrilled.

And also…blissfully naive.

At that time, I didn’t know about the women all around me who were struggling to get pregnant. I didn’t know that 1 in 3 to 4 pregnancies ends in miscarriage. I didn’t know about progesterone levels, hcg levels, secondary infertility, or any of the other words that would become my life a few years later.

At that time, I was oblivious to the fact that something could go wrong at any moment. 

(Boy, it was nice. I so wish I could go back there and enjoy that pregnancy and the naivety I had back then….But, that’s another post for another day).

I was very, very sick through the first trimester. I remember taking dry Cheerios with me to work each morning because somehow, they seemed to help.

As a volunteer at a local pregnancy clinic, I got a lot of training ultrasounds in those months. We looked time and time again, trying to figure out early if it was a boy or a girl.

Eventually, we found out: a boy! My husband and I had a girl name chosen: Brooklynn Marie. But we had no names for boys. Not yet, at least.

At 21 weeks pregnant, my stomach didn’t feel right. I remember thinking, though, that it was just growing pains.

Surely, there wasn’t anything really wrong.

But then I went to the restroom and knew something wasn’t right.

As I drove to my doctor’s office, I remember praying, “Please, Lord, let him be okay. Please let him be okay.” Over and over again, as I drove, I said the same prayer.

And back then, because I had yet to experience God not making everything okay, I really thought he would be fine. I would go to the doctor, and my doctor would tell me there was nothing to worry about.

When I arrived, however, that’s not how things went. Instead of being told everything was fine, I was told to check in immediately at the hospital. My doctor would meet me there.

One quick check at the hospital, and this is what he said: “If  I can’t get your contractions to stop, I’ll have to empty your uterus.”

Not, “deliver your child early,” but “empty your uterus.” 

I knew what that meant. 21 weeks was not far enough along to deliver a living child. If he couldn’t stop my contractions, we wouldn’t go home with a baby.

Maybe the reason I’ve never written about this here is because He did stop them.

God, using my doctor’s experience and the medicine he gave me, stopped the contractions.

Our son ended up being fine. I went on to carry to term and delivered him at 39 weeks pregnant, on my own, without any further complications.

So maybe the reason I’ve never written about it here is because I didn’t think I needed to process it. As an author, I write to process. I write to grieve. I write to make sense of things. So maybe, because this pregnancy ended up being okay, I didn’t feel like I needed to write about it for myself.

But maybe I need to write about it for you. Maybe you are wishing for your miracle and need to know of a time that God came through from someone.

God didn’t fix 4 of our 5 pregnancies. We lost 4 of the 5 babies I have carried.

But there was one where God did a miracle. God healed me and my child when I was 21 weeks pregnant. The doctor didn’t know what caused the complications or why they stopped. But I do. God stopped the contractions. 

And someday, I’m convinced that He has big plans for my son….the one miracle child we were able to carry to term….I can’t wait to see what He has planned!

More of my story to come. Stay tuned!