All my life I have wanted to be a mommy. Of course there were other professions thrown in there ( ballerina, school bus driver, teacher) but it always came back to being a mommy. I married my high school sweetheart, Larry, after dating for 4 (long) years and we decided to start a family after being married for about 10 months. On my 21st birthday I took a pregnancy test that was positive. I was thrilled! Our baby would be born in November before all the holidays. What perfect timing, we would be together with extended family members and they could all meet our little one.
Weeks passed and I was feeling great. Larry and I were talking about baby names. I was thinking of how to decorate the nursery. My sister started calling the baby 'Alex' because she didn't like to say 'it' and Alex could be a boy or girl name. I was falling in love with this little person I hadn't even seen yet. Then one day at work when I went to the bathroom there was blood. Not a lot, but blood none the less. I went home immediately, called the doctor, and then laid on the couch for the rest of the day. And worried. What was happening? Was this just spotting or something worse? How could I cope if I lost my baby?
The Doctor ordered an ultrasound for me. And the bleeding got worse. I was terrified. My husband drove me to the hospital and we were taken to a room where they did the ultrasound. I undressed and was panicked by all the blood I saw. The room was dim and cold and the technician said nothing as she preformed the ultrasound. When she was done she said she was sending the information to my Dr. and he would call at the hospital to talk with me about the results. She said I could get dressed while we waited. I went to the bathroom first before getting dressed. When I looked in the toilet I wanted to scream "NO, NO, NO!!" This couldn't be happening to me.
Larry and I waited in a small room with 2 stools and a phone. When my Dr. called he delivered the news in a gentle voice but that couldn't diminish the devastation. He said to me "I'm sorry, but it's over." He went on to explain I had what is called a blighted ovum. When they did the ultrasound they found no baby. I asked him if there had ever been a baby and he said their probably was one but it died soon after making it's way into my womb. For some reason my body went on thinking I was pregnant for weeks after my baby had died.
We left the hospital and I cried all the way home. I made some phone calls to family members to say what had happened and then went to bed. Larry took off work the next day to be with me and I was very thankful. We went to a nearby farmers market to try to take our minds off of what was happening. There we ran into a close family member who knew I was miscarrying. We made small talk but she never mentioned what I was going thru and that hurt. A lot.
Other people said things like "You're young, you still have time to have babies" or "There was probably something wrong with the baby anyway". Yes, I was young and yes I had time to have more babies but since this was my first pregnancy I was worried. Now I knew I could get pregnant but I had no idea if I could carry a baby to full term. It still makes my blood boil after 6 years when I think of how people said "There was probably something wrong with it". Implying that I should be grateful that I miscarried. Now, I know these people meant well and they probably didn't know what to say. But that IS NOT a good thing to say to a grieving mother. What I wish people knew was this: You don't have to say anything. Just be there. Or send a card or flowers. Drop a note saying "I'm praying for you". These are the things that meant the most to me. I have a dear friend who at the time of my miscarriage was struggling with infertility. I can't tell you how many times we just cried together, for ourselves and each other. That was healing for me. Thru the love of my friends I felt the love of Jesus.
When November 11th rolled around I had a hard time even though I was expecting again. This was the day my first baby was due. But I took much comfort knowing my baby was safe with Jesus in Heaven. I knew God had a plan for me and His ways are higher than mine. I had to learn to trust Him with my future children. And God has been good to me. I am blessed to have a 5 year old daughter, a 4 year old son, and a 2 year old son. And come June we will add baby #4 to our (sometimes) chaotic mix!
I might not ever understand why God chose to let me suffer the pain of miscarriage. But this I do know: God's plan is sovereign and His timing is right on. The hard part is trusting Him but I've seen Him prove himself over and over. And so I pray that I continue to trust Him and that you will too.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Monday, December 7, 2009
Cara's Story (tubal pregnancy- 8 weeks)
The Day My Baby Was Delivered to Heaven
My Story
I always wanted to have 3 babies…and possibly adopt a 4th. In my own thinking I really wanted to take a baby back to the states with me next fall. I live across the world in another country as a teacher with my husband and two children. I knew a lot of family wouldn’t be able to make it to the actual hospital even in the states to welcome a baby, so I thought bringing a little one home with me would just give everyone more time to spend with the little guy. So, thus began my mind-preparing process to have my next baby.
I knew that to have a baby before I went home next fall would mean that I would have to get pregnant very quickly, and my prayer was that it was all in God’s plan. I asked a few people to pray with me, but just a few weeks later I came to the realization that baby #3 was not going to make it before going back to visit family in the states. I was sad, but I really just trusted that God would give me the baby in His perfect timing, and that I really shouldn’t worry about it so much.
My friends came to visit from America, and I was able to even spend the night with my good friend Erin, and she even specifically asked me if I was pregnant. “No. I am not. I really hoped to be, but it looks like it might be a while.” She asked if I was sure that I wasn’t pregnant. Well, of course I was sure. I mean, every visible, physical sign pointed to the fact that I was not pregnant.
After they left, my body began acting very strangely, but I just chalked it up to stress and figured things would sort themselves out over time, but things just didn’t get better. My third week of bleeding in that one month—I knew that something was wrong. I was really scared, but I just didn’t have any clue what could be going on. I looked up some stuff up on the internet—hoping to get peace of mind, but everything I read seemed really serious. The top diagnosis based on my symptoms (according to the web) was a tubal pregnancy, but how could I be pregnant? I took a home test, and in my limited 2nd language translation of the test I assumed it was negative, but the next day I went to the doctor in a larger city. I just really wanted to feel the comfort of having a doctor from America that could give me the news in my heart language. (Wednesday, November 18th)
Again, I was asked the same question. “Do you think you could be pregnant?” And I said, “I really wanted to get pregnant, but it just doesn’t seem possible with all of the bleeding.” He recommended that I take a pregnancy test there in the office. I took the test, and before he came in I heard him whispering to the nurses (not knowing what he was saying), but I felt something was wrong. “Well, your test came back positive….” I immediately began crying. I knew that things could not be ok, and he had already explained to me that if the test was positive, it could be a possible tubal pregnancy. I knew what a tubal pregnancy was, and I knew that it would mean that the baby would not live and that there was a very real possibility of an emergency situation for myself. (If you want to know more about tubal pregnancies, please see the end of this story.)
He did every test that a doctor can do in that situation…a pelvic exam, blood test, an ultrasound. Things did not look good, but we really thought more than likely I was having a miscarriage. The blood test confirmed also that I was pregnant, but my hormone levels were low—which meant that the baby was not ok. The ultrasound was inconclusive because of how early along I was. I left leaving with 3 options in my mind. My baby could be healthy; my baby could be dying; my baby could be trapped inside the fallopian tube. Of course I hoped that tests would later confirm that the baby was ok, and that the hormone levels were just way off. And I know that my God is one of miracles, and I just thought this might be one of those times where He would choose to work in that way.
I didn’t want to scare anyone so I chose not to tell anyone other than those who I had initially asked to pray. I just really wanted to have a clearer picture of what was going on before I put everyone on alert. Then Saturday, November 21st I received the 2nd blood test results. These results came back with even a lower hormone level, and at this point I knew I had a miscarriage. I told my friends where I live, and my family back home. However, I just wasn’t really ready to talk about it. It was too tough to even let the words fall from my lips, so those that I did tell, I told through email. We went to a wedding that day, but I just couldn’t stop thinking about it all. When I got home from the wedding, I sobbed—that is the best way I know to explain it. I just couldn’t understand how I could have felt the need to have faith in a miracle but not be given one. Joel, my husband, was a huge support to me and reminded me of God’s love for me and how it was no accident. God knew everything about the baby—including the day He would take him back to Heaven. And I rested (as much as I could) in knowing that God is good and that he had spared me a lot of a pain by not having to go through a tubal pregnancy. At least God had taken the baby naturally and it didn’t involve me making any decisions myself.
My American doctor requested that I have just one more blood test—more than anything just to put all of our minds at ease. I felt like it would give some closure, and so on Monday, November 23rd I went to have the last blood test. Later in the afternoon (about 4pm) I went by myself to pick up the results. I just remember walking up to the window to get my report and saying, “God, I trust you.” And when I looked at the paper I couldn’t believe what I saw. The number had increased, but it was still at a very low level for pregnancy. “How could the number go up?” I had to take a seat and just stare at the paper for a minute. I couldn’t believe what I was looking at. Is there a decimal point missing? Did the lab make a mistake? After I caught my breath, I walked outside to call another doctor that I had been keeping in touch with. I could tell by her long pauses on the other end of the phone that she was concerned. She then told me that it really could be a tubal pregnancy. She asked how fast I could make it out of the country, and I told her that I could go right away. I called Joel to pack our bags and get ready to make a quick exit out of the country. And all along I was racking my brain… “how could the numbers go up?”
We took a boat out of our city and were at the Baptist Hospital by 8pm that night. The doctor who I had been referred to see saw me in the hospital at 9pm that night. She did an ultrasound and another pelvic exam. She felt that it could be possible that it was a tubal pregnancy, but even she was not sure. It is one of those things that is just hard to know for sure, but she was certain that if there was a baby—it was not in the womb. “Where is my baby hiding from me?” I thought. “How many places can a baby go where a doctor can’t find him?” That probably sounds silly, but even then I just wanted to think that God had already taken my baby. I didn’t want to think of any more agony.
I was admitted to the hospital that night and I think I slept a little better that night just knowing that I was at least in the hospital if something went wrong. The next morning I had 2 more ultrasounds and a blood test. Blood test #4 still showed that I was pregnant, but again the levels had dropped just slightly. Later the doctor came to the room to tell me that from all of the symptoms and because of some things that they saw in the ultrasound (but still no baby there), they concluded that it was indeed a tubal pregnancy. I was crushed. I was given 2 options. I could take an injection that is a drug used to fight cancer that would begin to kill the “tissue” and the baby might pass from the tube. However, I would have to be closely monitored, and it would be possible that a second injection would have to be given. There was no guarantee that the injections would work, and there was still a possibility that the fallopian tube could rupture and I would have to undergo emergency surgery—and possibly even go into shock. This emergency surgery would have involved actually cutting the abdomen open. If I chose the injections, I would be closely monitored for a minimum of 8 days.
The second option was to have a surgery in which the doctors would make 3 small holes in my abdomen and do the surgery by seeing everything through a camera. There were also risks involved with the surgery. One small mistake could have damaged a major blood vessel, my bowels, etc. And I was reminded that any time a surgery is performed there is always a risk of death. The chances are small, but it is still something that they have to warn you about. The surgery would involve being monitored for about 4 days.
I couldn’t decide. Both options seemed absolutely heartbreaking and full of risks. I told the doctor I would probably do the injection, but I just really wanted to talk to Joel first. The doctor had booked the surgery for that night, but she cancelled when I told her that I would most likely choose the injection.
After I talked to Joel, I changed my mind. I could not imagine 8 more days of laying in bed worrying about every ache and pain—wondering if it was life-threatening or normal pains of losing a baby. And I couldn’t imagine having 8 more days of bleeding—a reminder that my baby was slowly dying. As much as I was scared of having surgery, I just felt that it made the most sense. There were no guarantees that the injections would work, and I just needed to have some comfort and closure as soon as possible.
I informed my doctor of my decision and the surgery was scheduled for 3:00pm on Wednesday the 25th.
That day of my decision the chaplain came to visit my room. Normally I don’t like to ask for help (I am stubborn), but I just laid it all out there on the table for her. I really felt that God brought her in my room to help. It was awkward to talk about with a stranger, but it helped talking about it. Before she left she asked if there were any last words that I wanted to say to my baby. I started crying and told her that I had already done that. It was quite ironic that she asked me that, because I had thought of it myself before when I thought I might be miscarrying. I had been lying in bed that day resting and I felt that God told me it might be my last time to get to say what I wanted to. And in that moment, all I could say was “I love you.” I was too emotional to say anything else, but I couldn’t imagine losing a baby without having ever told him that. Of course the baby is small and nowhere near understanding, but it was something that I think every baby needs to know.
That night I sat in my bed and just felt so much grief. I knew that I was being asked to deliver my baby into God’s arms, and as much as I wanted to willingly give what was His anyway…back to Him, it really hurt. The nurse came in and was taking care of my roommate and she closed the curtains around my bed. She walked out of the room, and for some reason I looked up at the ceiling and I noticed how gracefully, big, and perfectly the ripples were moving on the curtains-and in those split seconds I thought how odd it was that two separate panels were moving together as one. But those thoughts were in fractions of a second. And then a still small voice that made my body jump it was so real, “I am HERE.” And I don’t know if I said it audibly or if I whispered it my heart but I said, “I know you are.” And the voice said…. “I love you!” And I said, “I know.” Then I immediately hid my head under the blankets—not sure why that was my response—but maybe one of fear and awe of Who was speaking to me. Then I spent some time journaling just how I felt and what I wanted to say to my little one on our last night together. I remembered what the chaplain had said about talking to my baby, and if for no other reason I wanted to just be able to know that I said goodbye. But those lines were written with many tears and lots of pauses. I knew that there was a very real possibility that we might both be delivered to Heaven’s gates that next day. I knew that I had a husband who needed me and 2 children who needed a Mommy, and I prayed that it was God’s will to keep me around for them. I trusted God completely with what was going to happen, but I just hoped for my family’s sake that what He was going to do was let me be a Mommy for my 2 oldest kids. I am not sure how I was able to sleep that night, but I know that I had some help.
Everything that last day had been hard. Every time I ate a meal, took a shower, or did anything… I just really felt like it was the last moments with my precious baby. When I thought I had miscarried it was very sad, but it was also very sudden. But with the tubal pregnancy I knew that baby was more than likely-- alive and I knew that the next day that life would be gone.
The next morning seemed like a long wait leading up to the surgery, but I really don’t remember much. I do remember them coming in to get me and Joel and the kids leaving so that it wouldn’t be so scary for Isaac and Autumn to watch them put me on the transport bed—I imagine that would have made them feel a little worried. The chaplain accompanied me to the operating “waiting room” and tried to keep my mind off things as much as possible. It was a little weird being with a stranger in those moments, but I was glad to not be alone. I was very nervous about what was about to happen.
Of course, I wasn’t in the operating room long before they had put me to sleep, and with all the questions they were asking me I wasn’t able to think too much about what was about to happen.
When I woke up, my doctor was there standing over me—telling me that the baby had indeed been inside the tube and I think I asked her more than once, “Am I ok?” But at that point I didn’t know any details. She told me I was ok, and that was all I knew.
She did not come to my room that night, but while Joel and the kids were waiting with me for her come—the nurse told us that they had to remove my entire left fallopian tube. I was in shock. I really had no idea. When Joel and the kids left that night, I just began to grieve all over again. I had said goodbye to my baby in that hospital the night before and as I sat there at that moment, I felt all alone. My baby was not with me anymore. It was tough—even though God had really given me peace by this point that while it was a hard decision—it was the right one.
I was pretty tired from a long day of grief, etc. I had mentioned to Joel earlier in the experience that I was actually glad to have a roommate in my room because it just made me feel like I wasn’t all alone. But that night my roommate (the 2nd one) had been discharged, so I really was all alone. However, I was also very tired. It was not difficult to fall asleep.
That night while I was sleeping, I kept feeling like someone was in the room (kinda like when you know someone is staring at you—even when your head is turned away). I would wake up and look over at the chair, but no one was there. And at one point, I heard a deep and very calm breathing. It was soothing, and I thought there must be someone in there with me. Later the nurse came to check on me (while still in the night) and I asked her if I had gotten a new roommate and she told me “no.” I immediately knew that the breathing I heard was real but it hadn’t been an actual person. And then I fell back asleep. And while my eyes were closed …my mind saw a little boy (a lot like Isaac but about 8 years old). The little boy was sitting in a chair across the room with his knees folded up to his chest, and he was just watching me sleep. I immediately opened my eyes, and no one was there…nor was there a chair. But I just knew that in God’s own way He was keeping me company even though I was all alone. For those of you who believe in God’s sovereignty and His power—I tell you that this really was real. The world will say that I was drugged or that my mind was trying to help me cope, but I know that I serve an Almighty God who loves me. And He was taking care of me in ways that not even my family could if they would have been there.
I stayed in the hospital one more day just to recover, and the pains that came from the surgery were pretty painful. I expected the wounds to be sore, but I did not expect all the pains from the anesthesia. The worst pains I experienced were from the method that they had used to expand the diaphragm in order to perform the surgery. My shoulders hurt, my chest hurt, and the pain killers just didn’t seem to do much as far as that pain went.
That day I was able to talk to some friends and family on the computer, and it really helped to be able to tell a little of the story. Everyone was so generous with their prayers and their emails of support. It really was something to look forward to each day—to hear that I had been being lifted up by friends and family all over the world.
Reflections
I think the hardest thing is that when something like this happens, you really feel like your world just quits turning for a while. The pain is so personal, and no one really fully understands unless they themselves know what it is like to lose an unborn child. For our family and friends, it is tragic, but because they never saw the baby it is very easy to move on with life and to not really internalize what it all really means. You hate to see anyone else have to grieve, but you just want to feel like everyone else will remember that sweet life. But I have been in their shoes, and I know what it is like to not fully understand. When it is a life that you have rejoiced in and embraced, it is difficult to say goodbye. However, when you have not had the opportunity to embrace that precious life, as much as you want to be a support it is hard to know what to say and it is hard to know what others are feeling.
Because your world stops turning, it is weird that it doesn’t stop for anyone else. People go about their normal days. Thanksgiving continues as planned, and as much as people give their support—no one else is really grieving. And that is difficult to swallow when it is so real to you but so far away from everyone else. You know had that baby lived just a little longer where people could actually gaze into his eyes, the circumstances would be much different.
The doctor told me time and time again, “Don’t worry. You can still have a baby.” As sweet as she could be and as comforting as she wanted to be, she just didn’t understand that in that moment that is the furthest thing from your mind. It is comforting to know that my mother-bearing years are not over, but it doesn’t erase the pain of giving up a child.
Giving up a baby in a tubal pregnancy is just about as close as you can get to placing your baby directly in God’s arms. The choice has to be made; it cannot be made for you. And not making a choice at all means that you and the baby will both be taken from this world. But letting the words fall off your lips to go through with a surgery that will end the life of a baby is not something that anyone wants to think about. It is like pulling the plug on someone’s life without even getting to say goodbye.
The truth is that I know this life was not a mistake, an accident, or even a life that just wasn’t healthy. This was a life that God planned and knew all along would be taken to Heaven before we expected. I rest in knowing that God knew my baby before he was even formed in my womb, and I rest in knowing that my baby will not in the least bit be upset that he didn’t get to experience life here. I imagine that he is in Heaven right now without a worry in the world. He is bowing at the feet of our Father praising Him and His holiness. And I imagine that when I get to Heaven he will recognize the voices of his family and be excited to worship with us together. Giving him up is really hard, but I rest in knowing that he has been delivered to Heaven.
I wrote this as a reminder to myself of God’s hand in all of this. I wrote it that it might be an encouragement to those who have or might possibly in the future lose a child. And I wrote it for those that really want to understand what it is like. I hate to say that before this happened I just never knew what to say in situations like this in the lives of my friends and family. But now I know that they just want to know that precious life will not be forgotten and that we all work as one body of Christ to lift each other up in prayer and support. They just want to know that everyone will not expect a new baby to erase the memory of that which was lost.
Journal Entries
Baby, (night before operation)
I hate that this all had to happen this way. In some ways I know you will be much more comforted soon, but I hate that we have to wait so long. The most important thing is that I know I don’t have to worry about you. Where you are going is the most awesome place—you will be so in awe with our Creator that you’ll never even feel an ounce of sorrow. I wish I could go with you, but your big brother and sister need their Mommy here. They need me and your Daddy to help lead them down the narrow road to where you’re going. I know you would have had a lot of fun if you were here with us, but I also know that this world is a tough place. In many ways I bet you consider it a privilege to get a “quick pass” to bow before our Lord.
For me, your Daddy, and your brother and sister—the wait will seem long. However I bet you’ll feel like you had just started out when we meet you there. We can’t wait, and we hope to bring lots of friends and family with us.
I hope you know that we love you! We do. We love you very much, and you’re about to meet Someone who loves you more! Psalms 103
And for my own memory:
I am a little nervous about tomorrow’s operation. However, I know that God loves me more than the lilies—and provides for them and makes them beautiful as well. So, I don’t want to worry! I know that He is in full control. And I really feel that He wants me to be a Mommy here. However, even if for some reason He has other plans—I know that He will provide for my children and my husband—things that I wouldn’t be able to provide. I love them dearly. Joel is the most amazing husband in the world. We have our differences sometimes, but He truly has shown me what it means to be a servant. Many foreign people tell me that my family is what they dream of, but I think it is much more than that. It is a blessing far beyond what I could have ever imagined!
I love my 2 beautiful children—Isaac and Autumn. They are so good and sweet to us and each other. They too are a gift from God, and I can only plead to God that He will honor our attempts at showing them a life walked down the straight and narrow—and that they too will walk that road one day!
There is a lot left to show them, and I pray that God will give me that opportunity to serve them in that way. But if not, now I have another little one to share with—the stories of the saints and to join with in praising our Maker and Savior.
Tonight I ask that God will give me rest and prepare my heart and body for what is going to take place tomorrow.
Journal Entries (after leaving the hospital)
It is hard thinking of leaving this city—the place that I knew my baby was alive and the place I knew that I had to say goodbye, but I guess every situation needs closure. Leaving here and going back across the border will be the last goodbye. Last night I spent some time just crying and talking to Joel before we fell asleep. I feel a lot better. I really don’t want to dwell on the sadness of saying goodbye, because Joel is right—there really is much to be joyful about. He is right, but I think I have just wanted to guard my heart in remembering this life. In some ways I even think that to “move on” is to discredit how real and sacred that life is. I even started to find myself feeling guilty for even thinking of being able to go on with life as normal. I know that I won’t forget this experience, and I shouldn’t. However, I also should not allow myself to not move on with all the other things that God has for us. I imagine that every Thanksgiving I will remember saying goodbye, but I hope that I also remember how amazing God is. And I hope that I will always be thankful for the way God comforted me and taught me more about His peace.
I am privileged to have been a part of a life that now sits at God’s feet. I hate that I had to go through all of that pain (who would “enjoy” that?), but no one else will know that boy like I will in Heaven. I am thankful for the experience—even though it was scary! I am thankful that God chose me to experience it.
Something To Think About
You might be reading this just to know what it is like, or you might be reading this because you are going through or have been through something very similar. I think God does these things for many reasons. I don’t think there was one reason that this baby died. I think there were many reasons, and none of them were accidents. I don’t think it was just to teach me something or to spare a life that would have been handicapped in some way. I think God is much bigger than that. I think there are many reasons and I think there are millions of ways that He will use this. I hope that one of those ways will be that I can help someone else who is grieving. Every situation is different whether it is a miscarriage, tubal pregnancy, or stillborn. Anytime an unborn baby dies, it is a time of great grief and it can’t be measured on a scale. Whether you knew you were pregnant for 5 minutes or 5 months, it is still difficult—because saying goodbye to one of God’s children is hard to do. But there is peace that is offered. We will all admit that before it happens to you personally, you can’t know what it is like, but for those of us who have experienced it…I think we can be an encouragement to one another in those times of grief. That is what the body is for—for lifting one another up. We all work together to serve our Lord. And when one of the members of the body is hurt or injured, we do our best to make sure that member heals well. It is only when all of the members work together that the task can really be accomplished. If you are hurting, you need to seek healing. And if you are well, you should ask how you can help the wounded to restoration.
What is an ectopic pregnancy?
An ectopic pregnancy is one in which an egg is fertilized and implants itself somewhere other than the womb. Most often the egg implants itself in the fallopian tube with an ectopic pregnancy. That is why most ectopic pregnancies are called “tubal pregnancies.” No baby has ever been relocated outside of the tube and into the womb and survived. There has been one case reported in Europe where a triplet survived in the tube while the other two babies survived in the womb. Other than that, I have not been able to find any other cases where a baby survived inside the tube. Obviously we know that with God anything is possible, but as far as science is concerned 99.99% of babies in the tube do not survive.
What are the risks to the mother?
If the baby does not miscarry it will continue to grow inside the tube and thus rupture the tube. At this point the mother is in danger of going into shock (which would result in emergency surgery) or death.
For more information on tubal (ectopic) pregnancy, see the following link:
http://kidshealth.org/parent/pregnancy_newborn/pregnancy/ectopic.html
What should you do if you are diagnosed with a tubal pregnancy?
Most pro-lifers and Christians agree that you wait out a tubal pregnancy in order for the body to take care of things itself. I agree. Every Christian mother would hope that God would take the baby naturally through a miscarriage, but what happens when waiting and watching does not provide any solution?
In my case, I was about 7 weeks when I found out I was pregnant and at the time I also found out that the baby was either dying of a miscarriage or was not in the womb. I waited for 7 days continually taking blood tests and experiencing abdominal pain and bleeding. After those 7 days it was obvious that the baby had not died of a miscarriage but was also not flourishing as the hormone levels were rising and lowering continually—and overall were quite low.
I made an emergency exit out of the country in which I was living and went to the hospital. There I waited for about a day and a half before going through with the surgery. I am a follower of Christ. I do believe that abortion is wrong. If I thought that in waiting I could have saved both of our lives, I would have done it. If I thought I could save my child at the expense of my own—I probably would have done it. However, I had to make a decision. The doctors were worried about me and were concerned that if I waited too much longer, I could go into shock and demand emergency surgery. I could continue to wait. I could take an injection. Or I could have surgery. Whatever I decided, my baby was not going to survive. There were no good options for me.
I did not want to take the injection because I could not bare the thought of my baby slowly dying. Whatever decision I made, it was not one that I took lightly and it was one that took a lot of thought and consideration about what God would want me to do. For myself, I really looked at things much like “pulling the plug” on someone you love. Everyone wants to hope for a miracle, but sometimes God gives us a peace that it is time to say goodbye. I could have waited and hoped for a miracle, but I knew in my heart that my baby was going to die. I can’t explain that to you, but it was a feeling that could only come from Him—because no one wants to believe that is what is about to happen. For me, waiting was not an option. Yes, I technically could have waited, but I really even think that I would have been disobedient to do so. I do not really know if my baby was alive at that point. I don’t think I will ever know that. I made the decision to have the surgery. I did not like the thought of taking a shot that would slowly kill the baby and mean that I had to endure 8 days of mourning and waiting to see if things went smoothly. That left a surgery which I was scared to death to endure, but I really felt like I was being obedient to follow through with.
Let me make sure you know that I DO believe in the sanctity of life. I believe that life begins at conception. I believe that the life inside of me was my child. I believe that to abort that baby would have been murder. I believe that God knows us before we are even in our mother’s womb. I DO not support abortion in any way.
I do not believe that I killed my baby. I believe that I was obedient to follow through with the decision that God helped me make. I believe that God used my doctors to give me wisdom to leave the country. I believe they gave me wisdom in explaining my options and in highly suggesting surgery. I believe God used my husband in helping confirm that decision was one that God was helping both of us to make.
I do not believe that every situation is the same. God could have told me to wait. God could have told me to do the injection, and I would have done those things to be obedient if that is what He told me to do. But He didn’t tell me to do those things. I chose the surgery. That was the hardest decision I have ever made! However, it is also a decision in which I can firmly say God gave me peace about. I have never felt like I killed my baby. I really feel that I gave God back what was rightfully His. He gave a life and He took it away, and that day the surgery was performed, I handed my baby into God’s arms.
If you are in this situation, I ask that you go before God with fear and trembling and truly seek His wisdom and guidance. If you can wait, do. However, if God calls you to be obedient by giving that precious life back to Him—do it. Know that aborting a baby is killing a life, but giving your baby back to God is not. “Pulling the plug” is something in which no one wants to do, but sometimes it is God’s way of asking us to let go.
There are others on the web that are very clear in stating their views of ectopic pregnancy and that surgery/medicine is not an option unless one knows for sure that the baby has already deceased. They suggest that a mother should wait things out until she can wait no longer. What I think they don’t realize is that waiting is very dangerous because no mother knows exactly how long to wait—unless she waits until the point of unconsciousness. For me, waiting was a week. I don’t know what the limit would have been to wait, but I know that at every pain or strange feeling, I wondered if that was the point to quit waiting. Ectopic pregnancies are not cut and dry. There is not a rule that can be made that applies to all situations. And to suggest that one killed her baby by having surgery or taking medicine is not something that I think is very wise to say. To say that they made a wrong or right decision is not something that anyone can know. I think God gives direction in those situations, and we have to pray with them that they are listening and following His lead.
The truth is that many of those people on the web have had miscarriages or complications, but they have not had to experience making such a crucial decision. Even if they have had to make that decision, I still say that every case is just a little different. It is easy to say that you would wait in the parking lot to be close to the hospital in case of a rupture. It is easy to say that in no way would you go through a surgery. However, when you are in those situations, I think the only thing you can do is search God’s Word for answers, and also listen to His voice. Can any of us truly say what God would lead us to do in this situation? I pray you never have to make that decision, but if you do—you must listen to what God wants you to do.
I just consider it very unfortunate that some find it their right to dictate what God would or would not say to do in an ectopic pregnancy—especially when they have not searched for God’s direction in such a sad situation themselves. I believe that their hearts are right in standing up for the sanctity of life, and I believe that they want to convey a message to the world that life begins at conception. I agree with them! However, I think there should be some support for the women who have not had the blessing of a miscarriage or miracle in a tubal pregnancy.
Search for God. Search His Word, and listen to His voice.
What happens to infants when they die:
http://www.desiringgod.org/ResourceLibrary/TopicIndex/86_Death_and_Dying/1622_What_happens_to_infants_who_die/
My Story
I always wanted to have 3 babies…and possibly adopt a 4th. In my own thinking I really wanted to take a baby back to the states with me next fall. I live across the world in another country as a teacher with my husband and two children. I knew a lot of family wouldn’t be able to make it to the actual hospital even in the states to welcome a baby, so I thought bringing a little one home with me would just give everyone more time to spend with the little guy. So, thus began my mind-preparing process to have my next baby.
I knew that to have a baby before I went home next fall would mean that I would have to get pregnant very quickly, and my prayer was that it was all in God’s plan. I asked a few people to pray with me, but just a few weeks later I came to the realization that baby #3 was not going to make it before going back to visit family in the states. I was sad, but I really just trusted that God would give me the baby in His perfect timing, and that I really shouldn’t worry about it so much.
My friends came to visit from America, and I was able to even spend the night with my good friend Erin, and she even specifically asked me if I was pregnant. “No. I am not. I really hoped to be, but it looks like it might be a while.” She asked if I was sure that I wasn’t pregnant. Well, of course I was sure. I mean, every visible, physical sign pointed to the fact that I was not pregnant.
After they left, my body began acting very strangely, but I just chalked it up to stress and figured things would sort themselves out over time, but things just didn’t get better. My third week of bleeding in that one month—I knew that something was wrong. I was really scared, but I just didn’t have any clue what could be going on. I looked up some stuff up on the internet—hoping to get peace of mind, but everything I read seemed really serious. The top diagnosis based on my symptoms (according to the web) was a tubal pregnancy, but how could I be pregnant? I took a home test, and in my limited 2nd language translation of the test I assumed it was negative, but the next day I went to the doctor in a larger city. I just really wanted to feel the comfort of having a doctor from America that could give me the news in my heart language. (Wednesday, November 18th)
Again, I was asked the same question. “Do you think you could be pregnant?” And I said, “I really wanted to get pregnant, but it just doesn’t seem possible with all of the bleeding.” He recommended that I take a pregnancy test there in the office. I took the test, and before he came in I heard him whispering to the nurses (not knowing what he was saying), but I felt something was wrong. “Well, your test came back positive….” I immediately began crying. I knew that things could not be ok, and he had already explained to me that if the test was positive, it could be a possible tubal pregnancy. I knew what a tubal pregnancy was, and I knew that it would mean that the baby would not live and that there was a very real possibility of an emergency situation for myself. (If you want to know more about tubal pregnancies, please see the end of this story.)
He did every test that a doctor can do in that situation…a pelvic exam, blood test, an ultrasound. Things did not look good, but we really thought more than likely I was having a miscarriage. The blood test confirmed also that I was pregnant, but my hormone levels were low—which meant that the baby was not ok. The ultrasound was inconclusive because of how early along I was. I left leaving with 3 options in my mind. My baby could be healthy; my baby could be dying; my baby could be trapped inside the fallopian tube. Of course I hoped that tests would later confirm that the baby was ok, and that the hormone levels were just way off. And I know that my God is one of miracles, and I just thought this might be one of those times where He would choose to work in that way.
I didn’t want to scare anyone so I chose not to tell anyone other than those who I had initially asked to pray. I just really wanted to have a clearer picture of what was going on before I put everyone on alert. Then Saturday, November 21st I received the 2nd blood test results. These results came back with even a lower hormone level, and at this point I knew I had a miscarriage. I told my friends where I live, and my family back home. However, I just wasn’t really ready to talk about it. It was too tough to even let the words fall from my lips, so those that I did tell, I told through email. We went to a wedding that day, but I just couldn’t stop thinking about it all. When I got home from the wedding, I sobbed—that is the best way I know to explain it. I just couldn’t understand how I could have felt the need to have faith in a miracle but not be given one. Joel, my husband, was a huge support to me and reminded me of God’s love for me and how it was no accident. God knew everything about the baby—including the day He would take him back to Heaven. And I rested (as much as I could) in knowing that God is good and that he had spared me a lot of a pain by not having to go through a tubal pregnancy. At least God had taken the baby naturally and it didn’t involve me making any decisions myself.
My American doctor requested that I have just one more blood test—more than anything just to put all of our minds at ease. I felt like it would give some closure, and so on Monday, November 23rd I went to have the last blood test. Later in the afternoon (about 4pm) I went by myself to pick up the results. I just remember walking up to the window to get my report and saying, “God, I trust you.” And when I looked at the paper I couldn’t believe what I saw. The number had increased, but it was still at a very low level for pregnancy. “How could the number go up?” I had to take a seat and just stare at the paper for a minute. I couldn’t believe what I was looking at. Is there a decimal point missing? Did the lab make a mistake? After I caught my breath, I walked outside to call another doctor that I had been keeping in touch with. I could tell by her long pauses on the other end of the phone that she was concerned. She then told me that it really could be a tubal pregnancy. She asked how fast I could make it out of the country, and I told her that I could go right away. I called Joel to pack our bags and get ready to make a quick exit out of the country. And all along I was racking my brain… “how could the numbers go up?”
We took a boat out of our city and were at the Baptist Hospital by 8pm that night. The doctor who I had been referred to see saw me in the hospital at 9pm that night. She did an ultrasound and another pelvic exam. She felt that it could be possible that it was a tubal pregnancy, but even she was not sure. It is one of those things that is just hard to know for sure, but she was certain that if there was a baby—it was not in the womb. “Where is my baby hiding from me?” I thought. “How many places can a baby go where a doctor can’t find him?” That probably sounds silly, but even then I just wanted to think that God had already taken my baby. I didn’t want to think of any more agony.
I was admitted to the hospital that night and I think I slept a little better that night just knowing that I was at least in the hospital if something went wrong. The next morning I had 2 more ultrasounds and a blood test. Blood test #4 still showed that I was pregnant, but again the levels had dropped just slightly. Later the doctor came to the room to tell me that from all of the symptoms and because of some things that they saw in the ultrasound (but still no baby there), they concluded that it was indeed a tubal pregnancy. I was crushed. I was given 2 options. I could take an injection that is a drug used to fight cancer that would begin to kill the “tissue” and the baby might pass from the tube. However, I would have to be closely monitored, and it would be possible that a second injection would have to be given. There was no guarantee that the injections would work, and there was still a possibility that the fallopian tube could rupture and I would have to undergo emergency surgery—and possibly even go into shock. This emergency surgery would have involved actually cutting the abdomen open. If I chose the injections, I would be closely monitored for a minimum of 8 days.
The second option was to have a surgery in which the doctors would make 3 small holes in my abdomen and do the surgery by seeing everything through a camera. There were also risks involved with the surgery. One small mistake could have damaged a major blood vessel, my bowels, etc. And I was reminded that any time a surgery is performed there is always a risk of death. The chances are small, but it is still something that they have to warn you about. The surgery would involve being monitored for about 4 days.
I couldn’t decide. Both options seemed absolutely heartbreaking and full of risks. I told the doctor I would probably do the injection, but I just really wanted to talk to Joel first. The doctor had booked the surgery for that night, but she cancelled when I told her that I would most likely choose the injection.
After I talked to Joel, I changed my mind. I could not imagine 8 more days of laying in bed worrying about every ache and pain—wondering if it was life-threatening or normal pains of losing a baby. And I couldn’t imagine having 8 more days of bleeding—a reminder that my baby was slowly dying. As much as I was scared of having surgery, I just felt that it made the most sense. There were no guarantees that the injections would work, and I just needed to have some comfort and closure as soon as possible.
I informed my doctor of my decision and the surgery was scheduled for 3:00pm on Wednesday the 25th.
That day of my decision the chaplain came to visit my room. Normally I don’t like to ask for help (I am stubborn), but I just laid it all out there on the table for her. I really felt that God brought her in my room to help. It was awkward to talk about with a stranger, but it helped talking about it. Before she left she asked if there were any last words that I wanted to say to my baby. I started crying and told her that I had already done that. It was quite ironic that she asked me that, because I had thought of it myself before when I thought I might be miscarrying. I had been lying in bed that day resting and I felt that God told me it might be my last time to get to say what I wanted to. And in that moment, all I could say was “I love you.” I was too emotional to say anything else, but I couldn’t imagine losing a baby without having ever told him that. Of course the baby is small and nowhere near understanding, but it was something that I think every baby needs to know.
That night I sat in my bed and just felt so much grief. I knew that I was being asked to deliver my baby into God’s arms, and as much as I wanted to willingly give what was His anyway…back to Him, it really hurt. The nurse came in and was taking care of my roommate and she closed the curtains around my bed. She walked out of the room, and for some reason I looked up at the ceiling and I noticed how gracefully, big, and perfectly the ripples were moving on the curtains-and in those split seconds I thought how odd it was that two separate panels were moving together as one. But those thoughts were in fractions of a second. And then a still small voice that made my body jump it was so real, “I am HERE.” And I don’t know if I said it audibly or if I whispered it my heart but I said, “I know you are.” And the voice said…. “I love you!” And I said, “I know.” Then I immediately hid my head under the blankets—not sure why that was my response—but maybe one of fear and awe of Who was speaking to me. Then I spent some time journaling just how I felt and what I wanted to say to my little one on our last night together. I remembered what the chaplain had said about talking to my baby, and if for no other reason I wanted to just be able to know that I said goodbye. But those lines were written with many tears and lots of pauses. I knew that there was a very real possibility that we might both be delivered to Heaven’s gates that next day. I knew that I had a husband who needed me and 2 children who needed a Mommy, and I prayed that it was God’s will to keep me around for them. I trusted God completely with what was going to happen, but I just hoped for my family’s sake that what He was going to do was let me be a Mommy for my 2 oldest kids. I am not sure how I was able to sleep that night, but I know that I had some help.
Everything that last day had been hard. Every time I ate a meal, took a shower, or did anything… I just really felt like it was the last moments with my precious baby. When I thought I had miscarried it was very sad, but it was also very sudden. But with the tubal pregnancy I knew that baby was more than likely-- alive and I knew that the next day that life would be gone.
The next morning seemed like a long wait leading up to the surgery, but I really don’t remember much. I do remember them coming in to get me and Joel and the kids leaving so that it wouldn’t be so scary for Isaac and Autumn to watch them put me on the transport bed—I imagine that would have made them feel a little worried. The chaplain accompanied me to the operating “waiting room” and tried to keep my mind off things as much as possible. It was a little weird being with a stranger in those moments, but I was glad to not be alone. I was very nervous about what was about to happen.
Of course, I wasn’t in the operating room long before they had put me to sleep, and with all the questions they were asking me I wasn’t able to think too much about what was about to happen.
When I woke up, my doctor was there standing over me—telling me that the baby had indeed been inside the tube and I think I asked her more than once, “Am I ok?” But at that point I didn’t know any details. She told me I was ok, and that was all I knew.
She did not come to my room that night, but while Joel and the kids were waiting with me for her come—the nurse told us that they had to remove my entire left fallopian tube. I was in shock. I really had no idea. When Joel and the kids left that night, I just began to grieve all over again. I had said goodbye to my baby in that hospital the night before and as I sat there at that moment, I felt all alone. My baby was not with me anymore. It was tough—even though God had really given me peace by this point that while it was a hard decision—it was the right one.
I was pretty tired from a long day of grief, etc. I had mentioned to Joel earlier in the experience that I was actually glad to have a roommate in my room because it just made me feel like I wasn’t all alone. But that night my roommate (the 2nd one) had been discharged, so I really was all alone. However, I was also very tired. It was not difficult to fall asleep.
That night while I was sleeping, I kept feeling like someone was in the room (kinda like when you know someone is staring at you—even when your head is turned away). I would wake up and look over at the chair, but no one was there. And at one point, I heard a deep and very calm breathing. It was soothing, and I thought there must be someone in there with me. Later the nurse came to check on me (while still in the night) and I asked her if I had gotten a new roommate and she told me “no.” I immediately knew that the breathing I heard was real but it hadn’t been an actual person. And then I fell back asleep. And while my eyes were closed …my mind saw a little boy (a lot like Isaac but about 8 years old). The little boy was sitting in a chair across the room with his knees folded up to his chest, and he was just watching me sleep. I immediately opened my eyes, and no one was there…nor was there a chair. But I just knew that in God’s own way He was keeping me company even though I was all alone. For those of you who believe in God’s sovereignty and His power—I tell you that this really was real. The world will say that I was drugged or that my mind was trying to help me cope, but I know that I serve an Almighty God who loves me. And He was taking care of me in ways that not even my family could if they would have been there.
I stayed in the hospital one more day just to recover, and the pains that came from the surgery were pretty painful. I expected the wounds to be sore, but I did not expect all the pains from the anesthesia. The worst pains I experienced were from the method that they had used to expand the diaphragm in order to perform the surgery. My shoulders hurt, my chest hurt, and the pain killers just didn’t seem to do much as far as that pain went.
That day I was able to talk to some friends and family on the computer, and it really helped to be able to tell a little of the story. Everyone was so generous with their prayers and their emails of support. It really was something to look forward to each day—to hear that I had been being lifted up by friends and family all over the world.
Reflections
I think the hardest thing is that when something like this happens, you really feel like your world just quits turning for a while. The pain is so personal, and no one really fully understands unless they themselves know what it is like to lose an unborn child. For our family and friends, it is tragic, but because they never saw the baby it is very easy to move on with life and to not really internalize what it all really means. You hate to see anyone else have to grieve, but you just want to feel like everyone else will remember that sweet life. But I have been in their shoes, and I know what it is like to not fully understand. When it is a life that you have rejoiced in and embraced, it is difficult to say goodbye. However, when you have not had the opportunity to embrace that precious life, as much as you want to be a support it is hard to know what to say and it is hard to know what others are feeling.
Because your world stops turning, it is weird that it doesn’t stop for anyone else. People go about their normal days. Thanksgiving continues as planned, and as much as people give their support—no one else is really grieving. And that is difficult to swallow when it is so real to you but so far away from everyone else. You know had that baby lived just a little longer where people could actually gaze into his eyes, the circumstances would be much different.
The doctor told me time and time again, “Don’t worry. You can still have a baby.” As sweet as she could be and as comforting as she wanted to be, she just didn’t understand that in that moment that is the furthest thing from your mind. It is comforting to know that my mother-bearing years are not over, but it doesn’t erase the pain of giving up a child.
Giving up a baby in a tubal pregnancy is just about as close as you can get to placing your baby directly in God’s arms. The choice has to be made; it cannot be made for you. And not making a choice at all means that you and the baby will both be taken from this world. But letting the words fall off your lips to go through with a surgery that will end the life of a baby is not something that anyone wants to think about. It is like pulling the plug on someone’s life without even getting to say goodbye.
The truth is that I know this life was not a mistake, an accident, or even a life that just wasn’t healthy. This was a life that God planned and knew all along would be taken to Heaven before we expected. I rest in knowing that God knew my baby before he was even formed in my womb, and I rest in knowing that my baby will not in the least bit be upset that he didn’t get to experience life here. I imagine that he is in Heaven right now without a worry in the world. He is bowing at the feet of our Father praising Him and His holiness. And I imagine that when I get to Heaven he will recognize the voices of his family and be excited to worship with us together. Giving him up is really hard, but I rest in knowing that he has been delivered to Heaven.
I wrote this as a reminder to myself of God’s hand in all of this. I wrote it that it might be an encouragement to those who have or might possibly in the future lose a child. And I wrote it for those that really want to understand what it is like. I hate to say that before this happened I just never knew what to say in situations like this in the lives of my friends and family. But now I know that they just want to know that precious life will not be forgotten and that we all work as one body of Christ to lift each other up in prayer and support. They just want to know that everyone will not expect a new baby to erase the memory of that which was lost.
Journal Entries
Baby, (night before operation)
I hate that this all had to happen this way. In some ways I know you will be much more comforted soon, but I hate that we have to wait so long. The most important thing is that I know I don’t have to worry about you. Where you are going is the most awesome place—you will be so in awe with our Creator that you’ll never even feel an ounce of sorrow. I wish I could go with you, but your big brother and sister need their Mommy here. They need me and your Daddy to help lead them down the narrow road to where you’re going. I know you would have had a lot of fun if you were here with us, but I also know that this world is a tough place. In many ways I bet you consider it a privilege to get a “quick pass” to bow before our Lord.
For me, your Daddy, and your brother and sister—the wait will seem long. However I bet you’ll feel like you had just started out when we meet you there. We can’t wait, and we hope to bring lots of friends and family with us.
I hope you know that we love you! We do. We love you very much, and you’re about to meet Someone who loves you more! Psalms 103
And for my own memory:
I am a little nervous about tomorrow’s operation. However, I know that God loves me more than the lilies—and provides for them and makes them beautiful as well. So, I don’t want to worry! I know that He is in full control. And I really feel that He wants me to be a Mommy here. However, even if for some reason He has other plans—I know that He will provide for my children and my husband—things that I wouldn’t be able to provide. I love them dearly. Joel is the most amazing husband in the world. We have our differences sometimes, but He truly has shown me what it means to be a servant. Many foreign people tell me that my family is what they dream of, but I think it is much more than that. It is a blessing far beyond what I could have ever imagined!
I love my 2 beautiful children—Isaac and Autumn. They are so good and sweet to us and each other. They too are a gift from God, and I can only plead to God that He will honor our attempts at showing them a life walked down the straight and narrow—and that they too will walk that road one day!
There is a lot left to show them, and I pray that God will give me that opportunity to serve them in that way. But if not, now I have another little one to share with—the stories of the saints and to join with in praising our Maker and Savior.
Tonight I ask that God will give me rest and prepare my heart and body for what is going to take place tomorrow.
Journal Entries (after leaving the hospital)
It is hard thinking of leaving this city—the place that I knew my baby was alive and the place I knew that I had to say goodbye, but I guess every situation needs closure. Leaving here and going back across the border will be the last goodbye. Last night I spent some time just crying and talking to Joel before we fell asleep. I feel a lot better. I really don’t want to dwell on the sadness of saying goodbye, because Joel is right—there really is much to be joyful about. He is right, but I think I have just wanted to guard my heart in remembering this life. In some ways I even think that to “move on” is to discredit how real and sacred that life is. I even started to find myself feeling guilty for even thinking of being able to go on with life as normal. I know that I won’t forget this experience, and I shouldn’t. However, I also should not allow myself to not move on with all the other things that God has for us. I imagine that every Thanksgiving I will remember saying goodbye, but I hope that I also remember how amazing God is. And I hope that I will always be thankful for the way God comforted me and taught me more about His peace.
I am privileged to have been a part of a life that now sits at God’s feet. I hate that I had to go through all of that pain (who would “enjoy” that?), but no one else will know that boy like I will in Heaven. I am thankful for the experience—even though it was scary! I am thankful that God chose me to experience it.
Something To Think About
You might be reading this just to know what it is like, or you might be reading this because you are going through or have been through something very similar. I think God does these things for many reasons. I don’t think there was one reason that this baby died. I think there were many reasons, and none of them were accidents. I don’t think it was just to teach me something or to spare a life that would have been handicapped in some way. I think God is much bigger than that. I think there are many reasons and I think there are millions of ways that He will use this. I hope that one of those ways will be that I can help someone else who is grieving. Every situation is different whether it is a miscarriage, tubal pregnancy, or stillborn. Anytime an unborn baby dies, it is a time of great grief and it can’t be measured on a scale. Whether you knew you were pregnant for 5 minutes or 5 months, it is still difficult—because saying goodbye to one of God’s children is hard to do. But there is peace that is offered. We will all admit that before it happens to you personally, you can’t know what it is like, but for those of us who have experienced it…I think we can be an encouragement to one another in those times of grief. That is what the body is for—for lifting one another up. We all work together to serve our Lord. And when one of the members of the body is hurt or injured, we do our best to make sure that member heals well. It is only when all of the members work together that the task can really be accomplished. If you are hurting, you need to seek healing. And if you are well, you should ask how you can help the wounded to restoration.
What is an ectopic pregnancy?
An ectopic pregnancy is one in which an egg is fertilized and implants itself somewhere other than the womb. Most often the egg implants itself in the fallopian tube with an ectopic pregnancy. That is why most ectopic pregnancies are called “tubal pregnancies.” No baby has ever been relocated outside of the tube and into the womb and survived. There has been one case reported in Europe where a triplet survived in the tube while the other two babies survived in the womb. Other than that, I have not been able to find any other cases where a baby survived inside the tube. Obviously we know that with God anything is possible, but as far as science is concerned 99.99% of babies in the tube do not survive.
What are the risks to the mother?
If the baby does not miscarry it will continue to grow inside the tube and thus rupture the tube. At this point the mother is in danger of going into shock (which would result in emergency surgery) or death.
For more information on tubal (ectopic) pregnancy, see the following link:
http://kidshealth.org/parent/pregnancy_newborn/pregnancy/ectopic.html
What should you do if you are diagnosed with a tubal pregnancy?
Most pro-lifers and Christians agree that you wait out a tubal pregnancy in order for the body to take care of things itself. I agree. Every Christian mother would hope that God would take the baby naturally through a miscarriage, but what happens when waiting and watching does not provide any solution?
In my case, I was about 7 weeks when I found out I was pregnant and at the time I also found out that the baby was either dying of a miscarriage or was not in the womb. I waited for 7 days continually taking blood tests and experiencing abdominal pain and bleeding. After those 7 days it was obvious that the baby had not died of a miscarriage but was also not flourishing as the hormone levels were rising and lowering continually—and overall were quite low.
I made an emergency exit out of the country in which I was living and went to the hospital. There I waited for about a day and a half before going through with the surgery. I am a follower of Christ. I do believe that abortion is wrong. If I thought that in waiting I could have saved both of our lives, I would have done it. If I thought I could save my child at the expense of my own—I probably would have done it. However, I had to make a decision. The doctors were worried about me and were concerned that if I waited too much longer, I could go into shock and demand emergency surgery. I could continue to wait. I could take an injection. Or I could have surgery. Whatever I decided, my baby was not going to survive. There were no good options for me.
I did not want to take the injection because I could not bare the thought of my baby slowly dying. Whatever decision I made, it was not one that I took lightly and it was one that took a lot of thought and consideration about what God would want me to do. For myself, I really looked at things much like “pulling the plug” on someone you love. Everyone wants to hope for a miracle, but sometimes God gives us a peace that it is time to say goodbye. I could have waited and hoped for a miracle, but I knew in my heart that my baby was going to die. I can’t explain that to you, but it was a feeling that could only come from Him—because no one wants to believe that is what is about to happen. For me, waiting was not an option. Yes, I technically could have waited, but I really even think that I would have been disobedient to do so. I do not really know if my baby was alive at that point. I don’t think I will ever know that. I made the decision to have the surgery. I did not like the thought of taking a shot that would slowly kill the baby and mean that I had to endure 8 days of mourning and waiting to see if things went smoothly. That left a surgery which I was scared to death to endure, but I really felt like I was being obedient to follow through with.
Let me make sure you know that I DO believe in the sanctity of life. I believe that life begins at conception. I believe that the life inside of me was my child. I believe that to abort that baby would have been murder. I believe that God knows us before we are even in our mother’s womb. I DO not support abortion in any way.
I do not believe that I killed my baby. I believe that I was obedient to follow through with the decision that God helped me make. I believe that God used my doctors to give me wisdom to leave the country. I believe they gave me wisdom in explaining my options and in highly suggesting surgery. I believe God used my husband in helping confirm that decision was one that God was helping both of us to make.
I do not believe that every situation is the same. God could have told me to wait. God could have told me to do the injection, and I would have done those things to be obedient if that is what He told me to do. But He didn’t tell me to do those things. I chose the surgery. That was the hardest decision I have ever made! However, it is also a decision in which I can firmly say God gave me peace about. I have never felt like I killed my baby. I really feel that I gave God back what was rightfully His. He gave a life and He took it away, and that day the surgery was performed, I handed my baby into God’s arms.
If you are in this situation, I ask that you go before God with fear and trembling and truly seek His wisdom and guidance. If you can wait, do. However, if God calls you to be obedient by giving that precious life back to Him—do it. Know that aborting a baby is killing a life, but giving your baby back to God is not. “Pulling the plug” is something in which no one wants to do, but sometimes it is God’s way of asking us to let go.
There are others on the web that are very clear in stating their views of ectopic pregnancy and that surgery/medicine is not an option unless one knows for sure that the baby has already deceased. They suggest that a mother should wait things out until she can wait no longer. What I think they don’t realize is that waiting is very dangerous because no mother knows exactly how long to wait—unless she waits until the point of unconsciousness. For me, waiting was a week. I don’t know what the limit would have been to wait, but I know that at every pain or strange feeling, I wondered if that was the point to quit waiting. Ectopic pregnancies are not cut and dry. There is not a rule that can be made that applies to all situations. And to suggest that one killed her baby by having surgery or taking medicine is not something that I think is very wise to say. To say that they made a wrong or right decision is not something that anyone can know. I think God gives direction in those situations, and we have to pray with them that they are listening and following His lead.
The truth is that many of those people on the web have had miscarriages or complications, but they have not had to experience making such a crucial decision. Even if they have had to make that decision, I still say that every case is just a little different. It is easy to say that you would wait in the parking lot to be close to the hospital in case of a rupture. It is easy to say that in no way would you go through a surgery. However, when you are in those situations, I think the only thing you can do is search God’s Word for answers, and also listen to His voice. Can any of us truly say what God would lead us to do in this situation? I pray you never have to make that decision, but if you do—you must listen to what God wants you to do.
I just consider it very unfortunate that some find it their right to dictate what God would or would not say to do in an ectopic pregnancy—especially when they have not searched for God’s direction in such a sad situation themselves. I believe that their hearts are right in standing up for the sanctity of life, and I believe that they want to convey a message to the world that life begins at conception. I agree with them! However, I think there should be some support for the women who have not had the blessing of a miscarriage or miracle in a tubal pregnancy.
Search for God. Search His Word, and listen to His voice.
What happens to infants when they die:
http://www.desiringgod.org/ResourceLibrary/TopicIndex/86_Death_and_Dying/1622_What_happens_to_infants_who_die/
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