Saying Goodbye (part 2)

“I’m taking you to the hospital.” 

I heard my husband’s voice through the intense fog of my pain. It sounded like he was in a tunnel far away, but he seemed sure. His confidence felt like my rescue.  

 

“I’m going to call Ruby to stay with the kids. You’re going to be ok.”

 

His strong voice calmed me, even while my mind and body screamed in anguish. 

 

“What is wrong?!” I managed to cry out. “What is this pain?!”

 

“I don’t know. But we are going to find out, and we are going to get you some relief.” 

 

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Within a half an hour we were in the emergency department of our tiny hospital in Albertville, France. This was my first time in a French hospital but would not be my last. 

 

It turns out that the pain was from severe bladder spasms related to a urinary tract infection. I’ve had recurrent UTI’s with bladder spasms in the past, but this particular pain was by far the most severe. It was comparable, or even worse, than the natural childbirth I’ve experienced four times now. I’ve had unmedicated childbirths, but I required IV pain meds that night in order to regain mental control. 

 

While the nurse was starting an IV, and the doctor was asking questions, I somehow managed to say in French “Je suis enceinte de neuf semaines.”  / “I am nine weeks pregnant.” 

 

This pregnancy was our first ‘surprise’ pregnancy – one that we hadn’t planned or expected. We had been waiting to tell our family and friends until we could obtain our first ultrasound. We had kept our secret for almost 5 weeks at this point and had finally begun to wrap our hearts and minds around our newest little one. We were feeling excited and hopeful, despite the craziness of our life with lots of little ones, and even more transitions. 

 

The emergency room doctor placed the ultrasound probe on my abdomen and searched for several long and silent minutes. 

 

“Je ne vois rien dans l’utérus. Êtes-vous sûr que les dates estimées sont exactes ?" / 

"I don’t see anything in the uterus. Are you sure your estimated dates are right?

 

“Oui. Je suis sûr.”, I squeaked out softly (Yes. I am sure.)

 

I was suddenly filled with a different kind of pain. My eyes met Jason’s. He had been at my side, holding my hand tightly the entire time. 

 

“He’s gone, isn’t he?”, I asked Jason in a whisper as the ER doc left the room. (I had been absolutely convinced that baby was a boy since the moment I knew about his existence.)

 

“It’s too early to say.” Jason replied. “This doctor isn’t a gynecologist. We should wait and get another ultrasound soon. Just focus on right now.”

 

“But we should at least be able to see SOMETHING. I should be 9 weeks along tomorrow.”

 

“I know.” He said softly.

 

We both knew.

 

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I was released from the emergency room around 6am on March 19th, 2019 -- our sweet Ezekiel's 5th birthday. We had arrived around 1am. In only 5 hours, so much had changed. I had antibiotics and pain meds flowing through my body, right alongside the shock and confusion of loss. 

 

Our sweet Zeke's 5th birthday

The following weeks were full of blood work, ultrasounds, kind words and prayers from friends, meals delivered, help with the children, and lots of tears and physical pain. It took a week after the hospital visit for my body to recognize the miscarriage. This began a 2.5-week process of labor cycles, intense blood loss, and trying to stay engaged through 4 days of French language exams. Jason stayed by my side and held me through it all. 

 

Walking home from school, March 22nd, three days after our first hospital visit. Our precious children are such a light in the midst of darkness. 

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This is not the story we thought God was writing. 

 

“What are You doing Lord?”, we both often cried. 

 

“So is this baby our Gabriel Adler, or is he another son? Perhaps Gabriel is still to come??”

 

We had no idea that our pain and confusion would only grow in the coming months…

 

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We finally decided to name him Beau River. 

Beau = beautiful / handsome in French. Our precious and beautiful wisp that we never held. Received and lost in France. 

River = my favorite place to go in our little Albertville town to connect with God. A sign of Life and Healing all throughout Scripture. 

 

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We had a sweet little ceremony with the kids to say goodbye. We wrote Beau’s name on a rock and buried it with other stones, covering it with yellow flowers. 

      

Nathaniel and I wrote notes on leaves and released them to float down the river. We watched the water take them away. 

 

During this time, and the following months, the song “Joy of the Lord” by Audrey Assad was playing on repeat in our home. When I had access to a piano, I would sing it and sob, clinging to God, clinging to Hope.

 

Mountains ahead of me and valleys behind.

The road may be narrow but Your mercy is wide.

 

Sorrow may linger and last for the night,

But I am never alone.

 

The joy of the Lord is my strength, my strength.

 

I may be weak, but I will cling to the Vine.

I’m pressed but not crushed, for You are making new wine. 

 

Wounds may be opened and weakness revealed,

But I will be healed in the Fire.

 

The joy of the Lord is my strength, my strength. 

 

I have a river of Life flowing out of me.

I have a river of Life flowing out of me.