We are honored and excited to have Joni as our extraordinary guest blogger today! Here is her story, in her own words.
“I have set before you life and death, blessing and cursing:
therefore choose life, that both thou and thy seed may live:”
I have four beautiful children. I’ve been pregnant seven times. The first miscarriage
was between my third and fourth children. I was only eight weeks pregnant. I was
devastated. No matter how far you are into a pregnancy, the moment you see the
positive test result, it is your baby, your child. Even though you never met that child
or held them in your arms, when pregnancy ends in miscarriage it is the death of
your child. And it sucks.
When I was pregnant with my fourth child, I thought I wanted to be finished. I
thought our family would be complete. I had one daughter and two boys. I was
hoping for another girl. It was a boy. I knew I wasn’t done.
So, three years later I wanted to try one more time for that little girl that I was just
so sure was supposed to be part of our family. My husband was happy with the four
we had. I talked him into trying again. Nine weeks into the pregnancy I miscarried.
My husband was so understanding. He told me we could do whatever I wanted. We
could try again, or we could be done. It was up to me.
I was so positive that there was a little girl that was supposed to join our family; I
knew I had to try again. So I waited the obligatory three months and got pregnant
a seventh time. This time I didn’t tell anyone until I was twelve weeks along. I had
seen the heart beat. My Doctor told me “the chances of a miscarriage now are so
slim”. He was wrong.
At 19 weeks I went in for my regular checkup. The Doctor had just bought a new
Ultra Sound machine. I was hoping to find out the sex of the baby. I just knew I was
finally going to have my girl. Instead we found no heartbeat. Devastated doesn’t
even begin to describe how I felt.
The next day I went in for what was supposed to be a simple out patient D&C.
There were complications. I came close to leaving this Earth. There were blood
transfusions. There was a second surgery 12 hours after the first one. There was a
tubal ligation, ending any chance for another pregnancy. I ended up in the Hospital
for three days. The baby that died was a boy.
When I was in the recovery room after the first Surgery, I knew something was
wrong. I knew I could die. I knew I had a choice. I could give up, stop fighting, and
go “home”, or I could choose life. I knew it was my choice. I got to choose.
I chose life.
But I wasn’t happy. I was angry. Very, very angry. Why would God let me feel so
strongly that there was supposed to be another child, and then take that child away
from me? Why would he have me choose to end any further chance of having a
baby? Why was I so sure there was a girl that was supposed to come to our family
when the baby that died was a boy? So many whys. And then . . . . . . . depression.
Once again, I had a choice to make. I could “curse God and die”, or I could choose
life. I had to choose. Did I believe everything I had been taught since I was a child,
or didn’t I? Did I believe that I could ask Him for help and he would heal me? Once
again I chose life. Only this time I leaned on Him for help, and I started to feel a little
It took a very, very long time to really feel better. I don’t think miscarriage is
something you ever truly get over. It will always be a little hole in your heart. The
babies you lost will always be your little “angel babies”.
I wish I could say I knew all the answers to all of my whys, I don’t. I just know I
wasted a lot of years hanging on to the anger, trying to find answers. Sometimes we
aren’t going to get the answers in this life, and sometimes that’s hard to accept. We
just have to try to look for the joy along the way instead. We have to choose life.
Even though I never gave birth to that baby girl I thought was supposed to be part
of our family, I got something better. I have seven beautiful grandbabies, and six of
them are girls. I choose life.
Hope On. Journey On.