Diagnosis

I lost Brighton one day after seeing a healthy heartbeat on an ultrasound. I remember sobbing in the shower with the distinct impression that my body was killing my perfectly healthy baby. They tell you that's not the case. They tell it's "chromosomal". They tell you there's nothing you could do. It turns out I was probably right though. My own broken body, my own blood, is what's been killing our babies. In all likelihood, they could have been perfectly healthy, happy babies, had it not been for this thing called "antiphospholipid syndrome." And it turns out, it could have killed me too.

Doctors call it "sticky blood". In short, it means my blood clots very easily; too easily in some cases. And if it's not treated during pregnancy, they believe that tiny blood clots cut off blood flow to the baby causing miscarriage. If this doesn't happen, then, as pregnancy progresses, it increases the risk of blood clots forming in arteries and risks stroke and pre-eclampsia, and pre-mature birth.

It's scary, and it's sad, and it's comforting to find this out. We always look for reason in our suffering. We want to know why God has allowed things to happen in the ways that he has. To be able to see that he was protecting me from great harm gives some meaning to the tragedy of it all, though I would of course have risked my life for any of my 3 kids in a heartbeat. But that wasn't his plan. Now we know though. We can take precautions, we can treat it, we can take away most of the danger for me and our future babies, but it won't be easy. Every time that we want to get pregnant from now on will have to be well planned and well prepared for. It will involve 3 different doctors, and 5 medications administered 3 different ways, two of which are contraindicated, and one of which is a daily injection for the entire pregnancy, and a 6th medication if I'm as sick the next time as I was with Keelan. As much as I desperately long to be pregnant again, I'm also dreading it. The joy and excitement will be there, I know they will, but my first reaction will have to be to take a deep breath, thank God for the next precious life, and pray for the strength to face my fears. On top of concern for my next baby's well-being, it feels like it's all riding on these treatments, because it's everything we know to do, and if it doesn't work, I'm afraid nothing ever will, and not only will we not have that baby, we may never have a biological child at all until we meet our children at the throne of Jesus Christ.

But that's exactly where I find my peace in all of the medical jargon, and odds and percentages, and the depths of googling: the throne of Christ. Brighton and Keelan and Addison remind me to keep my mind turned heavenward, towards my true hope for them and for me and for all our future children.Though I am extremely grateful for them, my hope is not ultimately in medical treatments but in the unfailing savior, Jesus Christ. This truth is the difference between crippling anxiety and unnatural peace. No matter what happens, I will have joy and peace in both the happiest and most desperately trying of times, because, as always, everything is in the hands of our God who reigns sovereign over all of his creation; over my life, over their lives, over bodies and blood clots, over placentas and hormone levels, over thyroids and umbilical cords, and every cell in our bodies, and even over death itself.  We are thankful to him for this diagnosis, the treatments that are available for it, and the ability to move forward with genuine hope, regardless of the outcome. To him be the glory, great things he has done, and great things he will continue to do. Amen.