Unwelcomed Friend
My OBGYN retired two years ago. The one who knew my loss and infertility story. The one I didn’t have to retell when she walked into the room. The one that when she looked into my eyes, knew how hard coming every year was for me. The one who watched me process our loss, took care of me through postpartum depression, and recommended the therapist that I saw when the anxiety of loss was overwhelming me.
She knew things most people didn’t, it was all over my chart. How long it took us to conceive the twins. How many times I have cried in her office during those 3.5 years. How I almost died when my placenta abrupted, and how I wept from the depths of my soul when our son died. She knows how many years it has been since our last loss. She also helped me recognize my infertility struggles and tenderly loved me through that. She knows my journey to motherhood. Her compassion was palpable, she even came to both Talon and Emma Grace’s funeral. That touched me beyond words can ever describe.
Dr. Kennedy eased my heart always. She was a welcoming presence when she entered the room and offered tender loving care to me, a mother of loss. She knew my story. I felt known, seen, and cared for. I felt safe going back to the doctor because I knew she would care for more than my body, she cared for my heart.
When seasons changed, she carried me through turning 40 and the weight of the grief that the desert of infertility and the silence of that pain brought forward. There weren’t things she did differently for just me, it was just who she was. I loved her.
I wish I could pretend that carrying the weight of this cross was easy, but every time I have to face a new season or go down a new path, my heart faces the pain in a new fashion. Sadness is here, an unwelcomed friend, and feeling so frustrated that it comes again. I wish it would stop visiting. The tears, come when I least expect they will show up. Even when they are uninvited they make their way into my day.
It’s been a whole decade since our last loss of Christian Ryan at 11 weeks gestation. He was our 3rd loss and my only loss in utero. It was such a silent loss and I think I’m still healing from it. No one knows what to say when you lose a baby through miscarriage. The world doesn’t even recognize that life was indeed loss. It is so sterile and filled with condolences of you can try again. But what if it never happens. For our family that has been a part of the reality. I try to accept this cross, but the pain is still there.
As I sit here thinking about having to go see the new doctor this morning, all I can do is manage to weep. The appointment on my calendar unexpectedly has triggered my grief. I have no desire to see a new doctor, nor do I wish to find a new one. I want my old one back. I’m trying to talk myself into not going down this road of self-pity or maybe a better term is a pity party. I’m really trying to manage this overwhelming emotional moment. It comes in a wave that I feel the weight of and am treading, better yet powering through it. I don’t like the feeling that comes. I wish it would just go away. I would rather not think about it, but here it is and I must face it. I realize I just can’t power through this anymore. I have decided it would be best if I find a new doctor. It’s just a battle that I don’t want to fight.
There is something to be said that we mothers of loss go through in our many seasons. Sometimes we have to look deeper into our hearts at what the Lord is revealing to us. It sometimes comes through questions that my husband asks, like why haven’t you started to look for a new doctor, you felt this way last year. “Out of sight, out of mind, I guess,” I muttered under my breath. Another suffering that I must walkthrough. Another part of my story reminds me of what was lost, and what is continuing to be healed.
I never thought that through the process of healing this would be a part of the journey. Another mountain to climb. I never considered that my OBGYN was a sense of comfort for me. She is an amazing woman and doctor. I had no idea that one day that I would have to find a new one. That makes me sad.
If you are going through that right now, I am sorry. You are not alone in walking through this new season of healing. You may have to make similar decisions when caring for your body and heart. The Lord never asks us to just power through it. I think He will bring another beautiful soul that is meant to take care of both my body and heart when it needs it most.
When a woman goes through the acceptance of losing her ability to conceive as she enters 40, she needs the support of her sisters to say I see you and I get it. Motherhood is the most beautiful part of my story. It has also been etched with pain and doesn’t look glamorous. It by far has brought forward the rose mystified with beauty but betrayed by the thorns. It is part of my path to salvation, purification, acceptance, and heartache that I am always contemplating at the foot of the Cross.
Mother Mary wrap me in your mantle of love.
