When I first learned that I was pregnant, six months after James Isaac's stillbirth, I already had names picked out. Even so, from the very first, I began calling him/her "Little One." I wrote in my journal every day of my short pregnancy, always referring to him/her as my Little One. I had found the name "Panya" in a baby name book. I loved that it was so close to panda and then when I read that it meant "little," the name was sealed--at least if we were having a girl, that was. After losing James Isaac, I was almost desperate for my Little One to be safe.
By the end of my school day, I knew that I was in the process of miscarrying. I had no idea what to do. No one ever prepares us for THIS. None of the baby books, tv shows, or conversations had told me what the protocol was when bleeding so early in a pregnancy. I was unprepared and scared out of my mind.
When my husband and I were both home from school later that afternoon, I told him what was going on. Since it was a Wednesday, he was focused on church--he's a pastor, you know. We agreed that it would be better for me to stay home. We had attempted to call my doctor's office but had not been given any definitive answer concerning what we should do.
The bleeding had grown steadily worse throughout the day and into the evening. I was bleeding through pads almost faster than I could change them. I called my husband at church and told him that I needed him to come home; he sent one of our church folks over with some heavy-duty pads.
We ended up at the emergency room where it was confirmed that I was miscarrying. It was determined that a D&C was the best option.
I remember waking up crying--sobbing--shaking all over with every fiber of my being. I couldn't stop. In spite of being still drugged, my body and my brain knew what I had been through and it was just too much.
Such details are as real to me in this very moment as they were seventeen years ago. It's as if time has not passed. Yet there are other details about that day and evening and into the following days that I couldn't recall if you tortured me in an attempt to get me to give more details.
My Little One--my Panya Ruth--was gone. Praying hadn't worked. Begging hadn't worked. Crying hadn't worked. Wanting desperately with every fiber of my being hadn't worked. NOTHING had worked to keep from happening what clearly was inevitable.
I currently should have a son in his senior year of high school; a daughter as a junior; Samuel a sophomore; and an eleven-year old in 5th grade.
Days like today have gotten easier to get through over the years, but time has not lessened my desperate desire to have ALL my children here with me. I imagine that my "Little One" would be short and stocky, like her mom, with a shy, yet friendly personality--opposite of her mom. I imagine that her favorite color would be pink, but she would hang out with her dad and older brother at any and every opportunity--even if it meant fishing or hunting. So yes, she would wear pink camo--and look absolutely adorably gorgeous! She would have dark hair and brown eyes. She would love to read; she and I would constantly be reading books together and discussing them.
Don't think that I am falling back into depression again. I'm not. Praise the Lord. It is a simple truth that having lost a very much wanted baby has left a hole in my heart--3 holes when I include James Isaac and Anna Rose, as well. These holes heal, but have left painful scar tissue that is irritated most on anniversaries/birthdays and holidays.
So don't worry about, but please do pray for me. The enemy likes to
In the meantime, God has anointed me with His oil of Joy and I hope and pray that I live a life worthy of His anointing.