My Best Birthday Gift

Flashback to September. Birthday wishes and kindnesses were very sweet.

But my best birthday gift came two days before my birthday, when (honestly, to my surprise) an efficient technician zoomed in the ultrasound view and detected a precious little heartbeat still fluttering away inside.

* * *

After our miscarriage in June, we were thrilled, elated, delighted, overjoyed, grateful, amazed, and humbled to find ourselves pregnant in August. Again, I suspected right away that something was stirring, but it was a gut-wrenching day-by-day wait, peppered with frequent alarm that the movement had stopped, that I would lose this little one again before we even began to know him.

Finally, a positive pregnancy test. I started feeling gross a week later. And almost three weeks later, an ultrasound, which (somewhat to my dismay) showed that I was not yet even 6 weeks pregnant. But, there was a tiny slow heartbeat, barely detectable.

Both my little boys' pregnancies were survived on Zofran, right up to heading to the hospital. So I waited nervously for the "gross" to turn to "incapacitating" ... but it stayed at just a low-grade gross, according to my earnest prayers for the past many months that God might allow me to come through this pregnancy without such intense sickness.

Day by day slowly passed. (It felt like I spent this whole summer waiting for 6-weeks-pregnant to arrive.) The daily grossness was a reassuring reminder of the reality inside.

And then Tuesday night, in the middle of dinner with company.
Blood.

A flood of memories. Reliving the painful days of June in an instant.

After we said our good-byes to our guest, I just sank into our big blue chair, too drained to move. A call to the ob office.  

Rest tonight, and come in for an ultrasound tomorrow, she said. It may not be another miscarriage.

It was a night-long wrestling match between prayers, fears, threads of hope, and the crushing reality that always, always before, blood means no baby.



I called the office twice at 8:00am, and finally at 8:01am they turned off their answering service and I could at least wait on hold. The nurse couldn't find an opening for an ultrasound and needed to call back after she talked to the techs.

I texted family and the friends who already knew about the baby and waited. An 11:00am ultrasound appointment.

I arrived 10 min early and sat in a full waiting room. Minutes passed, and the room emptied little by little. It was perhaps the longest, hardest, loneliest wait I've had in a doctor's office.

And I dreaded hearing my name called. Dreaded the finality of seeing on the screen a still small body, absent of life.

Psalm 121.
Psalm 34.
Psalm 96.
Isaiah 41:10
Jeremiah 29:11
Fragments of verses and prayers and songs.

I was starting to feel woozy, my half bagel for breakfast too long past. Do you have any crackers? I asked the receptionist. I'm feeling light-headed. 

A few saltines later I felt better and ready to face the next step. Even if today is a sad day, I believe there will be happy days ahead. This is not the end of the story.

11:30am.
11:40am.

"Amy," at last the white-clad technician came for me. She did not smile or make small talk. "So, when did the bleeding start?"

"Last night."

I took a deep breath, looking at the large blank screen facing the reclining table, the screen which would soon reveal ... life or death. 

She didn't speak as she began the scan. I watched the screen, trying to pick out a little dark mass which would be our baby.


There it is. 
So still. 
There should be movement, should be a little flutter there.

My heart sank. So still.
No movement.
No movement.

Then she adjusted her instruments, zoomed in on the little mass. And like a miracle, I thought I saw something move.

She adjusted again. And there, as beautiful a sight as I have ever seen, was a quick, rhythmic flutter.

She measured the little peaks and valleys.
167 beats per minute.

My eyes full of tears, my heart full of gratitude.
167 beats per minute.

 * * *

And that, as I knew with greatest certainty, was all the birthday gift I could ask for.