I was supposed to get a cerclage several weeks ago. It was totally optional, nothing has changed and nothing really warrants one. In fact, none of my pregnancies (maybe my daughter’s since I effaced early but didn’t actually go into labor until 37 weeks) would have benefited from one. I had one with my son Kaden and it ended up being a disaster both getting in and out. They ended up having to sedate me both times for what should have been a simple spinal.
Anyway, my doctor gave me a choice and I felt like maybe I should, so I went ahead and agreed. After losing three babies, you tend to doubt everything and want anything that can be done. I knew they offered with the deepest concern and best intentions.
I was incredibly nervous all week about it. The morning of, I woke up at 5 (check in was at 6) and slowly started to get ready. I felt sicker as the time passed, my fears just encompassing me. What if it went wrong again? What if they gave me meds that trigger the ciHHV-6 that ended up killing Kaden – and no one understands how that works yet? What if my hip (which has hurt so bad since last time) gets even worse?
I finally sat down on my bed and started bawling. I was so overwhelmed and terrified. My husband kept saying, “You don’t have to, it’s ok, it’s your body and your choice for this.” I felt like I should, I’d been through so much already and handled it. A cerclage wasn’t anything compared to that.
I finally realized I simply couldn’t do it. Maybe another day, but with how freaked out I was there wasn’t any way I was going to be able to handle it right then. I called the hospital and while on hold, a little saying popped into my head. One that I think many of us are kind of programmed with about God and being a Christian.
“It’s ok Diana. God will be with you in this!”
And I covered my face and shook with sobs as I realized – It doesn’t matter. He was there when Kaden was aspirating up blood in a tube. He was there when I delivered my babies over a toilet. He was there when the doctor barged in my room and asked why on earth I was taking up a bed when my babies were going to die. He was there when I held all my kids and begged for a miracle. He was there when I picked up two urns and held two memorials.
It didn’t change what happened.
I had a flash of me being in the operating room, terrified and being put under, things going wrong, and a surgeon watching through the door windows. Just quietly standing there. And he could change it, he could step in and say, “Hold on now, something is wrong…” and just like that, things would be different. He has the skills, the time, the compassion, the absolute power.
And instead, he simply stands and watches.
That’s how I feel about God right now.
I know you might be reading this and desperately want to correct me. To assure me God is there and loves me and has guided my steps after this. I want to assure you I have no doubt of that part. I see His hands on my life so often – but in those instances, I believed. I knew He would heal Kaden. He could and he would.
And He didn’t.
So here’s where I struggle right now – if we pray to God to heal, then we believe – even a small bit – that He can. That He is capable. So when something happens (and yes, I realize Kaden was healed in a different way but I’m not talking about that) and we’re left with a horribly different answer, then what? Why don’t we feel comfortable putting the blame on God for not doing what we thought He could? It’s almost like we change our minds.
“God doesn’t mess with our lives here.”
“We live in a broken world.”
“Bad things happen to good people.”
Then why some miracles? Why not any of my sons? If this little girl lives, then why couldn’t Kaden have?
I know God isn’t going to fix it all. But I still can’t comprehend why there wasn’t a point where He stopped our pain and suffering the second time around.
So I am searching for a way to trust. I fear that I’ll be left again. That I’ll hold another baby and wonder where God went. If He cares. If He sees us and our shattered hearts. I often wonder what my faith will be like if I walk this one more time, or if there’s a point where I’ll stop trusting in a God that lets me go through this over and over again.
I’m on the table. He’s at the door. And I’m waiting with great trepidation, wondering if He cares enough to help.
Diana is owner and editor-in-chief of Still Standing Magazine and blogs her own life story at Diana Wrote. She and her military retired husband have two girls and three sons who passed away after birth; Preston and Julian, identical twin boys who were born at 20 weeks, and Kaden, who unexpectedly had cardiomyopathy due to a rare virus called ciHHV-6. He died in her arms at 3 weeks old.
In 2014 she traveled with World Vision to learn about maternal health and infant mortality in Zimbabwe, and is now working on her Master’s in Mental Health Counseling. You can also find her work on Babble, Liberating Working Moms, She Reads Truth, The New York Times, and The Huffington Post.