In the Trial

I Never Wanted My Trial To End

This trial differed from the rest. I savored every step up the steep incline and with each step my trial’s end drew closer. The days were numbered but I never wanted this trial to end.

For me, this was a new experience. In the past, I focused all my energies and attention on bringing trials to an end. Getting to the other side was of utmost importance. Trials hurt, trials made me uncomfortable, trials were not something to be savored.

But this time getting to the other side of the mountain would mean saying goodbye to my little girl.

It wasn’t supposed to end this way.

The day I saw those two pink lines brought a whole new meaning to the word miracle. For seven years I had grieved. Unable to have children, I wrestled for contentment. The depression tried to take me out, I felt helpless and hopeless. Would I never know joy again?

When I reached my rope’s end, I let go of pride and found a counselor to work through the pain. After a years’ worth of counseling, the cloud lifted, my joy no longer depended upon my giving birth to a child.

Less than a year later, I stood patiently waiting to see if two pink lines would appear. Okay, I didn’t stand still I ran up and down the stairs anxiously awaiting the test results.

Faint but there they were, two lines appeared. What do you do when you see two lines appear? I hadn’t the slightest clue.  Jump up and down?  Shout to your husband, “I’m Pregnant!”? Pinch yourself to see if you are dreaming? Look at the test a few more times to make sure the lines didn’t disappear? Take another test or two?

Visiting the doctors confirmed that a baby was on the way. In less than nine months we would be a family of three.

We waited until week fourteen to send out our announcements. The cards flooded in, people congratulated and shared in our excitement. I celebrated my first Mother’s Day as a mommy to be.

Our nineteen-week appointment was scheduled and after some convincing from my husband we decided not to find out the gender of our child. We arrived a few minutes early with great anticipation.

We saw a foot, the cutest foot ever. We heard the heartbeat. We marveled as our little one moved all around. The nurse struggled to get a profile picture; she said our baby was hiding in my hip. It was our first child. We missed the signs.

But then the doctor came in. She kept me busy with questions about my family. I didn’t realize what she was doing. Confirming the nurse’s findings, she stopped rubbing my belly with the ultrasound device. “Your baby has a birth defect that is incompatible with life. There is zero chance that it will survive outside the womb. It has Anencephaly, the brain and skull failed to form. We recommend you consider terminating the pregnancy.”

Her voice went in and out as the shock paralyzed me.

No words can express the feelings in that room. Too afraid to cry, I tried to ask questions. I tried to understand what she was saying. Zero chance? How could that be? I just saw my baby moving; I heard the heartbeat. But more than once, the doctor let us know that there was no hope. I couldn’t look at my husband, somehow looking into his eyes would confirm the news and make it real.

The doctor left the room and the tears began to flow. Holding one another we let out a deep cry.

Overwhelmed, we drove home and cried ourselves to sleep.

Morning came, and with it, the decision to terminate or carry to term. The doctor had made it seem as if terminating was our only option. But…

We chose to carry to term. Not only that, but we decided to take our baby on as many adventures as possible. Flying kites, making s’mores, reading books, walking along the ocean shore, visiting the zoo, riding bikes and so much more! We created memories together.

Some days felt harder than others. The uphill climb included fear, sorrow, brokenness and disappointment but it also had moments of joy, wonder and beauty.

Somewhere along the way, I realized that my climb up this hill differed from the rest. My focus was not on bringing this trial to an end. I focused on the present. I let myself experience the heartache. I let myself enjoy each kick and somersault. I didn’t think about the what ifs or the what nexts. I simply chose to be present. I never knew what the day would bring; but I knew that each day could be my last as a mommy-to-be, so I made the best of each step up the steep incline.

With each step I grew in my love. I bonded with my daughter and I learned to love as a mom. The fears I had in the beginning grew silent as I took steps toward the mountain top. The uphill journey prepared me for the day we welcomed Zoe Faith into this world.

It happened all so fast. Three weeks early and only three hours of labor, Zoe arrived. She never made a sound and tears of joy and sadness flowed. Our constant prayer had been to hold her while she was living and it appeared as if she had not survived the delivery. I held her close to my chest and then we noticed something, she was trying to open her left eye.

We held our breath as the nurse checked for a heartbeat. Yes, she was alive! Her little heart kept beating for two hours. Soaking up every minute of the time we had with her, we adored her little nose and cute cheeks. Memorizing everything about her, holding her hands, I fell deeper in love with my mini me.

Morning came and we knew our time with Zoe had come to an end. Nothing could prepare me for the moment we had to say goodbye. I knew the time would come but never imagined the agony I’d experience. Dressing her in a white little dress with matching hat, swaddling her in a blanket, and kissing her before the nurse took her from our arms.

My time as a mom on this earth had come and gone in less than twenty-four hours. No more kicks. No more adventures as a family of three.

The following days and weeks brought waves of emotions. One trial ended, a new one began. Life after the loss. Once again, I focused on the present. I focused on this part of the journey. I had to say no to the what ifs and the what nexts that tried to fill my mind. I had to let myself feel every emotion. Everything I learned during the uphill climb of pregnancy still applied.

 I couldn’t rush this new trial. I needed to take steps through the sorrow. I couldn’t pretend to be ok. Getting to the other side of grief would not be quick or easy. So, I started up another steep incline.

I continue to journey up this new hill; renewed hope, rejoicing, gratitude and comfort find their way into my life. I’m not alone; God is by myside.

I treasure this new found discovery, trials are not always better on the other side. Trials aren’t to be rushed. Trials still hurt. Trials are not easy. But trials produce love and they create room for discovery.

I considered cutting my trial short but then I never would have known my baby girl. I never would have held her in my arms. I never would have become the woman I am today.

~Jen Stolz