I was beyond excited when we found out we were going to have a second child. Having dealt with infertility issues and other medical problems, I was considered extremely high risk. My obstetrics doctor had scheduled an ultrasound right away so the baby could be monitored carefully. When I went in for the appointment, I was looking forward to getting ultrasound pictures and anxious to hear the baby’s heartbeat.
As the tech did the tests, he had a look of concern on his face. Normally, there’s friendly chatting during the procedure, but not this time. I expected to meet with the doctor next, but for some reason, she never came in. I felt like something must be wrong. The assistant explained that he saw no baby and there was no heartbeat. He told me I had probably had what’s called a missed miscarriage, where the body absorbs the fetus.
Instantly, tears ran down my face. How could I have lost the baby when there had been no symptoms of miscarriage? The idea seemed impossible. It was also incredibly odd that the tech gave me this information instead of my doctor. He told me I would need a procedure called a dilation and curettage, or a D and C, but I couldn’t bring myself to schedule that without a second opinion. Leaving the office, I sobbed uncontrollably in the car. I was so distraught my husband came home from work to be with me. That day, and every day for the next week, I prayed continuously for my baby to be there.
“Pray in the Spirit at all times, with every kind of prayer and petition,” Ephesians 6:18
Spending time researching missed miscarriages only strengthened my belief that I had not lost my baby. When the time came for my second opinion, I could hardly make the drive. Praying all the way there, I hoped to get the answer my heart desired. My faith that God can do all things kept me going. He is the great physician and my trust in Him would not be swayed.
The doctor I was scheduled to see had recently opened a new practice. Even though I had previously met him at an alternate practice, I had not seen him since he’d opened his own office. As I checked in at the desk, the receptionist relayed the news that their office did not take my insurance. That had honestly been the furthest thing from my mind. All I could think was, “what about my baby?” My legs gave out from underneath me and I collapsed in the floor crying uncontrollably. I pleaded with them to help me find out if my baby was okay. With genuine compassion, the office staff and nurses spoke to me with such kindness, assuring me they would try to help me. Someone must have gone to find the doctor because the next thing I knew, I found myself face to face with Doctor G.
A tall man, with large hands and a straight forward style, he had been referred to as a “gentle giant” in a news article which had announced his new obstetrics and gynocology office. Without hesitation, he put a comforting arm around me and told me that no matter what, he was going to help me. He promised that he would work it out with my insurance or he would see me for free if that’s what it took. They were not going to send me away without an answer.
Relief flooded me and I felt an overwhelming sense of calm. God was watching over me and my baby and Doctor G. was going to help us. He performed my ultrasound himself, explaining that he had just gotten the new 4-D machine, and I was one of the first patients to get to try it out. He was trying to keep the conversation light while I waited for him to tell me what I most needed to hear.
Finally, it was time. He said my baby was just fine and he believed the other office just had my timeline wrong. He said it was probably too early to hear the heartbeat before and that the baby was probably “hiding” during the ultrasound. None of that really mattered though. My prayers had been answered, and I believed God had truly given me a miracle. I cried happy tears of joy knowing that if I had not had such a strong belief that I was still pregnant, I would have lost my baby during the D and C they wanted to schedule. It scared me to know how awful that could have been.
When the time came to give birth, it was an emergency c-section. My husband was in a terrible state of worry that I wouldn’t survive the delivery, but I knew God would keep me and the baby safe. When Mason came out, he was blue and made no sound at all. The nurses would not let us see him, and they whisked him away to the ICU. He had a hole in his lung and scored very low on his tests. We found out much later that he also had spina bifada. We named our son, Mason, and I held his little hand through the incubator. I stayed by him for as long as they would allow and just prayed over him, giving thanks and asking God to help him through.
Today, Mason is all grown up and just recently got married. He is studying to become a minister, and has a passion for learning about God and sharing His word. It seems very fitting to me, and I thank God for blessing me with him.
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