Spring Cleaning in Harmattan Season (2)

The pain that shot through my abdomen and radiated to my back, that evening, was so sharp that I doubled over. It was impossible to stand up straight. Dear God! I was alone in our bedroom and I couldn't even catch my breath long enough to shout for my hubby. I clutched my belly and curled up on the floor in a foetal position, gritting my teeth and and wincing, unable to focus on anything else but the pain. (You can catch up on Part 1 of this story, here.)

I tried to scan through my day and the day before, checking to see what I had eaten or the various activities I had engaged in, that might be responsible for the pain. We had been really careful since our Big Fat Positive (BFP). I did not exert myself at all and the lockdown made it easy, since we didn't need to go out much. We often took evening strolls as a form of gentle exercise and a good way to get some fresh air after being cooped up indoors all day. My mental scan did not throw up any red flags. My day and the day before had been just as any other day, nothing out of the ordinary.

As I lay there, praying under my breath, I felt some fluid trickle down from between my legs. I knew it was blood. I panicked. The baby! I pulled myself up to my knees and crawled to the bathroom. My stomach growled and I felt this urgent sensation of an impending bowel movement, but nothing came out, except for this small clump of blood clot sitting at the bottom of the toilet bowl. I stared at it for the longest time, too numb to react, but fighting the panic that clawed at my throat and made my ears ring. I had heard that some women bled in their first trimester without harming the baby or threatening the pregnancy. It was time to message my nurse and call Dr. B. They both offered some comfort, but the bleeding, with that much pain, was never a good sign, they said. I was to watch the bleeding and report if it appeared to get worse. I was also instructed to stay in bed and keep my feet elevated as much as possible. It was a Saturday and my 5-week scan had since been scheduled for the following Monday. Monday couldn't come fast enough. 

Perhaps it was the phone call that offered little comfort, or the thought that the blood clot in the toilet was possibly my baby, or the feeling that I had lost something so precious ever before it even had time form. I was only just finally allowing myself to 'feel' pregnant  even when there were no symptoms, as yet. Whatever it was, it opened up the flood gate of tears. Hubby had held me earlier, as I explained to him that I was bleeding. My face had been expressionless. I refused to feel anything, and I simply shared the information with him, as one would share news of a weather forecast. He searched my face as he tried to read my emotions. I wasn't showing any. I pulled myself away and told him I just wanted to sleep. He watched me burrow under the covers and stood for a while before turning to leave the room. 

The tears trickled down my face. Silent tears at first. I did not make a sound. I thought of God, my Father and this scripture came to me -  "He that spared not his own Son, but delivered him up for us all, how shall he not with him also freely give us all things?"- Romans 8:32. These words rose from my heart and wrapped themselves around me in a warm embrace. They had offered such comfort in the years that I had meditated on them. They helped me cement my faith in God's word, assured me that nothing was too 'big' for me to have or accomplish. Nothing too hard that it was not surpassed by God's love for me, demonstrated by the death of his son on the cross that brought me salvation. But I did not want to be comforted. 

There was a heaviness in my chest that I desperately needed relief for, so I threw off the covers and rushed to the bathroom again, gingerly letting myself slide down to the floor, my back against the bath tub. My abdomen still throbbed, but the pain in my heart hurt way more. I pushed the door closed with my foot, and pulled towards me, the towel that hung from the rack at my side. I wanted to scream, really loud, but I also didn't want anyone running in to 'rescue' me. Crumpling a handful of the thick towel in my hands, I buried my face in it and I bawled. Loud sounds from deep inside my belly, muffled by the towel, but strong enough to hurt my throat. I cried for the years we had spent in waiting. Years that would not slow down for us to catch up. I cried for a hope deferred, yet again. I cried for our loss of what was not yet formed but which held the promise of our dreams fulfilled. I cried because I was tired. I was weary and the weariness seemed to seep into my bones. I felt drained. I was oblivious of time as I quieted down and merely sobbed. My temples throbbed with a headache and I could feel that my eyes and lips were swollen.

My mind strayed to Romans 8:32 again. And I became aware once more of the warmth that wrapped itself around me. When I thought about it later, I realized that that warmth of comfort had not left me even as I cried. I leaned into the warmth, more from exhaustion than anything else. And I slid down further until I was lying down. "He that spared not his own Son, but delivered him up for you, Enkay, how shall he not with him also freely give you all things?". I mulled over those personalised words in my heart, demanding an answer that I could relate with, in the face of this loss.

I must have dozed off, because I opened my eyes with a start. There was no disorientation. I knew where I was and what I had been doing. The pain in my chest was no longer there. The headache had dulled a bit and to my utter surprise, I felt, for want of a more appropriate word, comforted. I mean, I still felt incredibly sad but just not as sad as I had been when I had come into the bathroom to cry. 

I picked myself up, went back into bed and slept. I spent the whole of the next day in bed as well. It was a Sunday but I didn't bother to log in for the online church service. Hubby checked in on me over and over again. I assured him I was fine. We had each staked our grieving spots, I guess. He spent most of the day downstairs and I was upstairs with the covers pulled all the way up to my neck. The day dragged and I dreaded tomorrow, when the clinic would either dispel our fear or confirm our loss. 

The next day, we drove to the clinic in silence. I closed my eyes as Dr. B searched and searched the monitor of the ultrasound machine for any sign that could give us hope. She called Dr. J into the room and both of them discussed the screen in hushed tones. Hubby was perched on a chair by my side. Neither of us could see the screen. "We are so sorry". Dr. B said, finally, as she turned the screen towards us. "We can see a sac", she made a circular motion with her fingers on the screen, "but there is no fetal pole inside it". Well, no surprise there ma'am! I thought to myself. But she wasn't done yet. "It appears a large fibroid is growing outside your uterus. We didn't see it there before on all the other scans, that was why I needed Dr. J to come take a second look. Just to rule out fluids or any other issues."

My uterus was no stranger to fibroids and I had had a myomectomy 4 years prior. But if this one was growing outside the uterus, surely it could not be responsible for pregnancy loss? My question was directed at Dr. B. "We really don't know what could have happened. But sometimes, if a foetus is not viable, nature has a way of expelling it early". 

We spent the next few hours getting counselling, getting my blood tested for my hCG numbers, and being booked for follow-up tests at another laboratory. As we sat at the reception, waiting for test results, these words came to me, "Cast not away your confidence, which hath great recompense of reward". I knew a good portion of the scripture, but I struggled to remember the context. I simply held on to the scripture, resting in the knowledge that my heavenly Father's got me.

And so it was, when we returned home from the laboratory on the 3rd day of hCG tracking tests, and a score of 238mlU/ml, all the way down from 1,822mlU/ml, that I set about packing up my 'trusty' box of medicine and appurtenances. It was a confirmed pregnancy loss and an ectopic pregnancy ruled out. There was no point to the drugs anymore. I think a particularly painful part of the box was the fact that we had just paid for and taken delivery of 8 weeks' supply of various expensive medicines and injections to support the luteal phase of early pregnancy. I had decided that I was done. I knew in my heart that I would be a mother, I just was no longer sure that I would have the privilege of conceiving and carrying a pregnancy. Closing that box and throwing it into the closet that day was me closing that chapter, for good. So I thought.

This dry harmattan morning, 2 years after, my 'spring cleaning' turned into a session of praise.  I had spread the contents of the box on the floor, arranging them in a circle. 

  

We had indeed come full circle. Our path on this 15-year journey was not an easy one. Yet, through it all, we were held by His everlasting arms. For years, we sowed our seeds of faith. And just when we thought it was time to close the chapter, our seed germinated. Mark 4:28: "For the earth bringeth forth fruit of herself; first the blade, then the ear, after that the full corn in the ear".  

We would like to share our story with you. Please join us in the next few posts. We'll tell you about our "Corn's Blade".

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