Our Miracle Girl (Part 9)

As Dr. S. and I continued our conversation, the ladies in the room began to trickle out one by one to be with other patients. Thinking as the health professional, his concerns shifted from that of the baby to the health of the mother. He explained, as gingerly as possible, that when a miscarriage occurs, especially later into the pregnancy but without still birth, as mine had been, that although much of the tissue is expelled from the body, some of it is not. It is absorbed back into the body which can take several days to a few weeks. So because this would be my second occurrence, there may be a buildup of tissue which could eventually cause an infection. He suggested a D&C, as he had before, but this time he seemed a little more suggestive that it would be advisable. He has always left the final decision to me in matters that would not put me at any risk of permanent health problems, but whereas the first time, he made his suggestion once, then dropped it at my "no," this time he reiterated the reasons for his suggestion subtly a couple more times.

A D&C is a removal of the remaining tissue of a fetus already deceased to prevent the buildup of tissue, at least as I understand it. Of course, it conjures similarities to certain other things that had surely hurt me the first time. But I felt no moral inclinations against it. My doubt only came back to the PEACE thing I was feeling. I was awash in it, for inexplicable reasons, and it was lasting. Lasting through all these odd conversations and surreal circumstances that had now GONE ON FOR NEARLY AN HOUR. (This will be an important point to remember.) "I'll have to go home and pray about it" I heard myself say, again unaware I'd even had the thought. I just wasn't willing to make ANY decision right now unless it was being made for me, like the words spilling out of my mouth seemed to be.

"O.K." he said. "But I want to check you before you go just to make sure I'm not sending you home with anything going on that I couldn't advise in good conscious." (Remember the tech, and not he, had seen me this time. The original appointment was actually one with HER after my regular appointment with him. He was doing all this on his own time.) So he called in a female assistant and did the check with the same results. The baby was perished. There were no glaring issues, but he wanted to see me again Monday morning when we could check more in depth that everything was O.K. with me and he wouldn't be rushing me into a decision on the procedure so soon after just finding out. I was to go home and "think about it." (Pray.)

Although I was fully expecting to get into the car and finally "lose it" on the way home, that didn't happen. The peace remained. Now, I have had wonderful moments of inexplicable peace that come from the close presence of God, but they seem more like that - MOMENTS. I have had the long-term peace of knowledge of my salvation (because of Christ, and not my own works) for months at a time until I lose that focus and forget to concentrate on what I should. But this was different. It was one of those PERFECT PEACE MOMENTS, lasting for an entire weekend. And it did. I went home. I was neither sad nor joyful. I was even. Not numb, but even. As I recall it, we cooked out that evening in beautiful Spring weather. Enjoyed the sounds of the children playing in the neighborhood, knowing Dalton would soon be old enough to join them. We went to the flea market on Saturday and church on Sunday and caught a baseball game on TV in between.

When Sunday evening came, there was no sense of anticipation - good or bad. I knew I would get up and go to the doctor first thing the next morning, but it wasn't consuming my thoughts. Nor was I ignoring it. It was like rehearsing a typical next day of errands and appointments. My only sense of unrest at all came from wondering what I would answer. Should I have the procedure or not? I couldn't decide. And it hadn't been decided for me. Then again, I don't think I had prayed all weekend. And without realizing it, except for church, I hadn't opened my Bible. I hadn't felt the need to. I was existing in such a strong presence of God Himself; it was like I was living the prayer rather than speaking it, and He was even directing the words. But at 10:00 p.m. on Sunday night, that peace started to falter slightly for the first time and I panicked. I did not want it to go away. I opened my Bible at random and began to read and found this:

"Now therefore go, and I will be with thy mouth, and teach thee what thou shalt say." (Exodus 4:12)

Somehow in that moment, I KNEW that this was a test in faith. I was not going to be getting my answer until the very moment that I needed it.

I'd love to now write that I closed my eyes and slept peacefully the rest of the night. I DID do a lot of praying. Mostly to ask "are you sure you couldn't just give me a hint. I need to know because he's going to ask me and suggest that I do it. And is that O.K? Or do you for some reason not want me to? Because I'm gung-ho to be part of the plan if you're trying to get someone there saved or something. That's awesome! I'll be bold and say anything you want - just tell me what to say!" (Like any of the boldness had been MINE to begin with - ahem.)

So the rest of the night I played Peter. I walked on the water and then I got scared. I was WILLING to do WHATEVER. I just REALLY WANTED TO KNOW what "whatever" was going to be. And then there was the pride. Pride that I was going to help God be a witness to the fine people of R.W. Hospital! That I was focusing on THAT and not my own sad news. I was putting them before my own pain, by golly. Wasn't I good!

Oh, brother!