My compassionate doctor then took me into her personal office for privacy. All of this still feels like a blur to me because I felt this survival instinct of separating myself from reality. I cried and felt as though I was waiting to wake up from this nightmare. I called Andy over and over and over again because he was in the hospital parking deck at the time without service. Perfect? I couldn’t talk, I was the only person in the room, so I prayed. Lord, I know your plan is always best. But this hurts so deep. I may never understand why you let this happen, but I know you will make this right.
Once Andy arrived, with the help of my very capable doctor, we made plans for what was to come. I was going to carry my baby for a couple of days until they could schedule my surgery. A surgery where they would remove my baby from my womb. It’s such a bizarre feeling to know your baby both is and isn’t with you any longer. The day between when I found out my baby was in Heaven and the day of my surgery might be marked as the darkest day of my life thus far. Thankfully, I don’t remember much about it. How bizarre to feel like you’re merely a participant in your own life, like you’re on the outside looking in, and that’s exactly how I felt. I cried for myself, for my baby, for my dream unfulfilled. Jesus wept too. Why has that never really hit me until now? Probably because I’m crying more tears than I’ve ever cried before. But the kind of weeping Jesus did for Lazarus is the kind of crying that I’ve been transformed into doing for my baby too. Thank you, Jesus.