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Carolina in my mind

Friday at 8:30 AM I gave birth to #4, Carolina Grace. Her soul was already in glory, but we were thankful to see and hold the tiny body she left behind. She was 1.7 oz. and 5.75 inches long, a couple grams and 1/4 inch more than Dora was, and measured 15 weeks 2 days old. Her upper lip looked like mine, and she had the long Gjertsen torso. She appeared to be smiling.

With Dora I felt the strongest of emotions—shock, anger, fear, loss. After James died I felt impatient for heaven. John has shed many, many tears for Carolina, but mainly I just feel numb. I don’t feel angry at the Lord, I don’t even feel very surprised—I’ve known this could happen, and it happened just like it did with Dora, in the exact same timeframe. I wish I felt more—sadness, I guess. Maybe, probably, I didn’t “bond” enough with Carolina during the three months that I carried her. I was preoccupied with Valor and worried that I would lose her, so I didn’t really cultivate my emotions toward that invisible person in my body. I was very thankful and happy to be pregnant…but now, the bleeding ebbs, the “baby bump” is gone, and I feel life quickly clicking back to the “normal” track without tears or heartache wrenching me off course.

It just starts to get easier, to release a child to Jesus. I don’t see them as “mine” so much as I used to, and I don’t fear death so much, either. I have been through enough with Jesus to trust Him even when I don’t understand. This particular path of grief is familiar.

We chose Jonah 2:9b for Carolina’s life verse: “Salvation belongs to the LORD.” It encapsulates our only hope for her, the only hope we have for ourselves, and the only hope for the world. “He who did not spare His own Son but gave Him up for us all” (Rom. 8:32)—God’s powerful compassion for people, though a gift of salvation initiated and fulfilled by Him, is the great love story of the ages. I wish Carolina had a testimony of a long life of joy and pain and growth lived under grace, but she has the testimony of a very short life dependent completely upon the mercy of God for the weakest of the weak. Which is also a beautiful testimony. I just don’t get the benefit of seeing it unfold over a lifetime.

I’m sorry, Carolina, that I couldn’t be a better mother to you. My womb is more a mausoleum than an incubator. I’m sorry if I ate something or did something that hurt your little body, or if something about our body chemistries didn’t mix. I’m sorry that instead of wrapping you in beautiful new baby dresses I had to send you off to a lab to be tested. I’m sorry, most of all, that I can’t cry more over you. I wanted different for you than all these things, and I’m not sure why I don’t feel more heartbroken.

It’s been a week now since I knew she was gone, and numbness has slid into something like peace. There are actually a lot more reasons for hope surrounding Carolina’s loss compared to Dora’s. One huge one is that big healthy boy clattering around my house. (Today at lunch: “Valor, do you know how much Mommy loves you?” Valor: “Oh, cupcake!”) Another encouraging point is the fact that Carolina’s brain was visible on the ultrasound as completely divided, i.e. no HPE (fused lobes) like my son James had (Dora’s brain was not visible). That was a big relief, since we don’t know for sure that we don’t carry an unidentified gene for HPE. You can sort of see her face, and more clearly her brain division, in this ultrasound.

Another reason for hope is that the docs at Pitt Hospital were really proactive about getting tests done quickly. A few minutes after we checked into the hospital and got our room, the fourth-year resident came in and offered his condolences (all the docs and nurses were very good about doing this). He looked at our paperwork and summed up my “obstetrical history” as “pretty poor.” But he listened to our questions and immediately contacted the high-risk doc. This was Dr. L, and he sat down on the side of the bed and said with huge intense eyes, “I’m going to cut to the chase. We need to do an amniocentesis and the lab told me they will take it in the next ten minutes, but after that they are going home.”

Dr. L and the resident did the amnio quickly with the ultrasound machine to guide them, and the nurse said she’d never seen them collect so much fluid. They will try to culture the baby’s skin cells in the fluid to get her DNA. Dr. L also confirmed that Carolina’s brain and body didn’t appear to have any problems, although it’s hard to check the heart without seeing the blood flowing. They took her for some cytogenetic tests immediately after she was born Friday, then after we spent our time together as a family they sent her body to pathology (lit. “the study of suffering”) for a more thorough exam.

Now, we had what I assume are the same tests done on Dora, but I didn’t feel like I had a single doc that was really “mine” or that was going to pull it all together and make sure I had everything done that I should. Dr. L said he wanted to meet with us after the preliminary results came in and again after the complete results, and he actually gave us a 50-50 chance of discovering the cause of Carolina’s death. That was encouraging, but since then when I consider all the tests we did already for Dora that didn’t reveal anything, I think it’s more like 5%. He mentioned that there were some new tests that have come out in the last two years, so who knows. This is my main prayer request right now, that they would discover something new from the tests. And that we’d have the strength to handle it if it is tough news.

God, I trust that You have a good purpose for us in all this (Rom. 8:28), but the less I understand of it the more I have to believe that it’s far greater, and better, than I can understand. So I’m going to wrestle it through with You until I get the blessing (Gen. 32:24-30). I know You are watching to see that Your word is fulfilled (Jer. 1:11-12). I’m relying on You to make something very, very beautiful from these ashes (Isa. 61:1-3). Help us to love You and cling to You with all we’ve got. I trust You.

28 thoughts on “Carolina in my mind”

  1. Abby and John–Many blessings to you. I am so sorry. I’m praying that you learn what you need to know. You are in His hands. Always.

  2. Thank you so much for sharing your heart. You continue to point and show forth Christ in all. Thank you. Our love and prayers continue.

  3. Abby,
    Thank you so much for your open and honest heart. We will be praying for you and your family. Thankful that even in numb times you cling to truth. The Lord has used you and your family mightily. Lots of love to you all.
    The Rex’s

  4. It is always difficult to understand god’s plan in all of this. I lost a sister mere minutes after she was born and now more than a decade later I still haven’t quite come to terms with it.

  5. ((hugs)) I can’t say that I empathize with losing children during/after pregnancy, but I do understand the “numbness” feeling. By the time my brother died of cancer in 2009, I had already become numb due to losing a handful of other close relatives to cancer prior to Josh. Outsiders didn’t understand why I didn’t mourn the way others did — I seldom cried, and even today I rarely feel the classic grief that typically without warning crosses over those who have lost a close loved one. But I think God prepares us over time for these moments. With Josh, I was more numb simply because I knew he wouldn’t suffer and that his body was finally completely healed being in the presence of the Almighty. Yes, I selfishly wished and prayed during his last few months that I would have him here to see his nieces and nephews grow up, but I know that we’ll see him soon enough. As often as you’ll hear people tell you that it’s ok to cry, I’m here to tell you it’s ok to NOT cry — God knows what your heart feels, and He gives you the peace and strength you need for each new day. We don’t necessarily become calloused to pain, but we understand a bit more of God’s mercy and grace each time pain is introduced, and we know that this earthly life is but temporary.

  6. Abby & John,
    We’re standing together with you two, grieving the loss of your precious Carolina Grace and lifting you up to His throne of grace. Your openness and honesty are an encouragement and we thank you and love you.
    C & G

  7. So sorry to think about the sadness you’ve been through, yet a third time.
    Thanks for sharing. Wish I knew which words to say. I don’t have any except I”m thinking of you and appreciate your letting us know how you’re doing.

  8. I first read your story (and that of your children) several years ago via a link on Cakewrecks. From time to time, I’ve checked back in to see how things were going– I find your faith so inspiring, even though it communicated through such difficult life circumstances. I am not married, so children are not on my radar– but I know that you must be such an inspiration to so many who have been down similar roads. As for the rest of us, your faith through hardship and suffering is inspiring all the same– though the suffering is different for each of us, so long as we are on earth, it is something we all face.

    Anyway, I hadn’t stopped by for awhile, but today, it “randomly” popped into my head that I should check out your blog again. Now, I see why. My condolences on the loss of your baby girl–I’m glad that I can pray for you now.

  9. I am praying for your comfort in your loss. I was so excited for you when I first saw Carolina’s ultrasound and started looking forward to your blog posts on her development. I hope some information can be gathered from all the test so you can at least get the answers you need. Hug and kiss Valor from all of your internet family.

  10. I just found your blog via Epbot and read your husband’s letter to Caroline Grace and then this entry. As the tears stream down my face I’m so impressed by your perspective and honesty. I had a miscarriage a year ago last week and wrestled with my own saddness and numbness. Salvation does belong to the LORD and as much as this world tries to convince us that it is our home, it isn’t. Thank you for pointing the way to truth and holding on to His promises even when it hurts. You are an inspiration to me. Thank you for sharing your story.

  11. John & Abby,

    We love you both and we grieve with you over your daughter. We pray that God will keep you close to Him, and place you in the cleft of the rock & cover over you as He comforts & heals you. We pray for wisdom & discernment as the doctors try to find out why Carolina died.

    Love,
    Steve & Renée

  12. It’s a terrible experience we share. I’ll keep you and your lovely family in my prayers.

    ~Mandi (another Epbot reader)

  13. The way you shared your feelings and experience in this post was beautiful. I pray for you and your family and Carolina. Letting her go to Jesus is exactly right – your love for all of your children is evident.

  14. I am so sorry for your loss, but so thankful for your honesty. Your faith is truly an inspiration to myself and, obviously, to countless others who have read your story. I pray that God grants you peace and strength, and a special blessing on your beautiful family.
    -Jes (cakewrecks & epbot reader)

  15. I only know you through your blog, but as I read this post, my heart aches for you and your husband. I send my prayers to you and may you find solace in your faith and your family.

  16. Dear John and Abby,

    We too have a beautiful son named Valor. He is four months old and such a delight! I found your blog nearly a year ago when I was Googling “Valor” while pregnant. I was trying to connect to our little guy – I was so fearful after a loss (our second). At that time, I read through all your posts and fell in love with your sweet, beautiful James. He touched my heart so. I’ve checked back from time to time to see how your Valor is growing. What a big strong boy he is! Abby, be comforted and know that you are a wonderful mother. We don’t know one another, however your love for your children shines brightly in your written words. It’s so hard to connect with a baby when you’re afraid of “losing” them, I know. Valor is our eleventh child (ninth living on earth), and he is loved as fiercely as our first. Praise the Lord for His goodness and wisdom. Praise the Lord that we will be reunited with our children once again and for eternity. May the peace of God surround you both and may you feel His perfect love as it encompasses you. I will be praying for you dear ones.
    Stacie

  17. Abby and Jon,

    I have been following your blog for a couple years and grieve with you over the loss of Carolina. I, too, pray that the tests provide answers, so that you can have some sense of understanding through all the suffering. Even so, I am thankful to see that you can rejoice in the son that you have with you on earth and the three babies that are in heaven. It will be such a glorious reunion when you can finally have your whole family together again someday.

    Blessings,
    Kristin

  18. John and Abby,
    Thanks for sharing your heart with us- my heart breaks as I read it all! The Lord has you in His mighty grip- and will not let you go through anything with Him. Praying for strength, joy, and grace, and patience as you experience all the emotions you are facing.

    Love,
    Lisa

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