On the evening of October 30th, 2009, we were about 6 weeks into our second pregnancy. We had been trying for about a year and a half to get pregnant since we lost our first baby at 10 weeks to a miscarriage on Father’s Day, 2008. So we were very thrilled, but also cautious and nervous.
On this night, we were excitedly getting dressed up to go to a costume/birthday party for some friends of ours. Spirits were high. We were dressed like goofy hillbillies. Suddenly, Michelle called me into the bathroom and said two words that stopped our world, “I’m bleeding.” I couldn’t say anything, but silently sent this question to the heavens, “Why? Why? Why?” Flashbacks of last year’s heartbreaking Fathers Day came roaring back with fresh intensity.
We determined that we should immediately go to the hospital. On our way, Michelle left a message with our fertility doctor letting him know what was going on, breaking into tears at the end of the voicemail.
She hung up the phone and said to me, “I can’t do this again.”
My only reply was, “I know. And the Lord knows.” There was nothing else to say.
As we were pulling into the parking lot of the emergency room, the doctor called back. Michelle described her bleeding between tears. He assured her that this is not uncommon, and nine times out of ten it turns out to be nothing. My immediate reaction was that he was just trying to console her and pulled those statistics out of thin air. This situation was exactly the same as the tragic time when we lost our first baby. And even though I was praying fervently that this time it would be different, I did not believe it would be.
We entered the hospital and were quickly processed and taken into a room where Michelle’s vital signs were taken and where we answered questions regarding the situation. I had to answer most of them because Michelle was too emotional. They took us into the emergency room and closed the curtain. All around us were hurting, broken people — accident victims, a young man with a football injury, coughing, sneezing, beeping noises, doctors and nurses talking and laughing.
Right next to us was a woman who was pregnant. Through the curtain, we could hear the questions and answers regarding her healthy pregnancy. I’m not sure what she was in for, but it was not for complications with her pregnancy. And so we waited and prayed and cried. Several nurses stopped in for tests. We met our doctor. And we waited and prayed and cried some more. They finally wheeled Michelle’s gurney back to the ultrasound room, and I followed with her clothes and purse.
The ultrasound tech came in. She was a pleasant young lady, but she informed us that she was not permitted to tell us anything. She would do the ultrasound, and the doctor would inform us of the results. As she started the test, I watched the monitor, praying for a flicker of a heartbeat, but not believing I would see one. Michelle could not even look at the monitor. The picture was moving around so much that I was unable to decipher anything, let alone the flicker of a heartbeat. Suddenly, the ultrasound tech turned up the volume on the machine. A rapid heartbeat filled the room over the fuzzy background noise.
Michelle asked, “Is that my heartbeat?”
“No,” the girl replied, “that’s the baby’s heartbeat.”
Tears poured down my face as I sobbed with relief and joy. I confessed my unbelief to God and thanked Him for this amazing sound.
From there, we were wheeled into a private room. After awhile, the doctor came in and announced that everything looked fine. And we were released.
On the way home, another driver pulled out in front of me. And as is my standard practice, I voiced my disapproval of his inconsiderate driving. Michelle looked at me and said, “It doesn’t matter. Our baby has a heartbeat.” And she was right. Our baby has a heartbeat.
