Not what you were expecting next in the story, huh? 😉
Yeah, me either.
God was certainly up to something, though.
I just wasn’t sure exactly what.
Let us review: Why did we halt our adoption?
The simplest answer is because we cannot afford to pursue adoption and surrogacy at once.
*For more on why we before 3 weeks ago we never dreamed surrogacy would be an option, and how we were both finally at peace with moving forward with our adoption plans, please see Part 1.
*For more on the Facebook message I received 3 weeks ago from practically a perfect stranger that would rock anyone’s world, please see Part 2.
*For more on our surprisingly spirited 1st reaction to that message, please see Part 3.
*For more on the questions we both had, and the emotional struggle I went through, once the surrogacy option was presented to us, please see Part 4.
*For more on the initial, God-filled meeting I had with the woman who strongly felt God may very well be calling her to be our surrogate, please see Part 5.
*For more on the extremely disheartening news we received the day after I met with the woman who appeared to be an angel sent by God to carry our biological child, please see Part 6.
*For more on the strange, but strong, intuition I was feeling just a little over a week after our dream of surrogacy seemed to be slipping from our hands, please see Part 7.
*For more on all the signs that just weren’t going away and ultimately pointing to my intuition being most likely true, please see Part 8.
It was Monday, April 1st.
I woke up at 5:00am dripping in a cold sweat.
My first thought was, “I don’t feel as pregnant anymore.”
Next thing I know I feel like someone is standing over me stabbing my abdomen with a pitchfork.
This wasn’t the way my usual monthly visitor announces her arrival.
Something was very, very wrong.
I mumbled something to John about not being able to sleep (which I’m not even sure if he heard), got out of bed, went to the bathroom and was relieved – yet worried – when I didn’t see any blood. I wasn’t starting my period, so what was going on? I made my way to our family room. I pulled out my old, but newly bound (thanks to my hubby) Bible and turned to I Samuel 1 – that old familiar text I had wept over so many times before in the past 3 years. This time, though, the cries of Hannah hit me in a way they never had before. I had read that text hundreds of times before, but never once did it hit me like it was in the early morning hours of that day.
I turned on the song I had wept to for 6 hours (of the 12 hours total I cried) just a little over 2 weeks before and, at times, prayed for the Lord to spare our child. Other times I prayed for the Lord to take away my insanity and just leave me alone. I fought with myself bitterly for several minutes.
Was I pregnant?
Was I not?
Was I pregnant but in trouble?
Did I need mental help?
Was this what it felt like to have an emotional breakdown?
As I poured over the Scriptures, I began to weep.
In that moment, I was Hannah.
I got on my hands and knees and cried out to the Lord.
Unlike Hannah, I did not pray for a child I hadn’t conceived.
I prayed instead for the one I believed in my heart I already had.
It was 6:00am – an hour had passed.
I needed to get ready to leave for Columbus. The cramps had let up a bit, but I was still in a lot of pain.
I headed back to the bathroom and I saw it. Blood.
Blood on the toilet paper. Blood in the toilet.
My heart sank.
My plans to take another pregnancy test that morning had been hijacked.
John was awake at this point. I told him what was going on and that I thought I might be miscarrying. He assured me I was just finally starting my period. Things were fine. I wasn’t buying it. He clearly had other things on his mind, though I could tell he was conflicted. He had a very busy day ahead at work. His new co-worker was starting that day, which was going to make his day rather abnormally hectic. Consequently, he wasn’t planning on going with me to Columbus. As the minutes passed on, though, and I wasn’t getting ready as quickly as normal, he finally asked me if I was OK to drive or if I needed him to go.
He asked several times what I wanted to do, and every time I said “No, I’m OK. I’ll go.”
I wasn’t OK. I knew it, and I think he did, too. In my mind, though, I had to protect him from the news I felt I knew I was going to get. In my mind I had no choice but to go and face this alone. I had to be brave. After all, being a bother or a burden to him has always been my worst fear.
As I gathered my things to leave, and gave John a hug and kiss goodbye, I couldn’t help but say, “Please don’t be mad at me, no matter what happens.” He assured me that he loved me, that things were fine so I had nothing to worry about, and proceeded to lock the door behind me.
As I pulled out of our driveway on that dreary Monday morning, I knew I had a long day ahead of me. I think I also knew life would never be the same, no matter what they told me.
For the time being, though, I knew I needed to still call my transplant team on my way down and let them know what had been going on, that I still needed a HCG blood test to determine if I was (at least at this time) indeed pregnant and had no business getting a chest x-ray in the current state I was in.
As I drove down a rural state highway I knew like the back of my hand while my cramps continued, and a familiar song came on the radio, my eyes filled with tears.
All I could manage to say over and over again was
“What are you doing, Lord, and why are you doing it?”
Part 10 to come.