Hope

I wanted to write a quick update to let you, my friends, know what's going on with the Frasers at this pivotal time in our lives.

Two weeks ago, to the day, I had a D&C for the miscarriage of baby J. This was a surgery I thought I wouldn't need, but as it turns out, my body held on to a great deal of tissue and there was no other choice. Post surgery, I fell quite ill but was hopeful that energy, strength and healing were finally on the horizon. However, after two weeks of intense pain and a few other factors, two more invasive ultrasounds showed that another D&C is needed.

My doctor, in all her years as an OBGYN performing surgeries and delivering babies, has never had to perform two D&Cs on one patient for the same miscarriage.

It's safe to say I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a bit scared to head back into that operating room, to be wheeled into the white abyss where it's cold and sterile and lonely. I shudder at the thought of walking down the gauntlet that is the surgery hall, where doctors, nurses and anesthesiologists await you, ready to operate. It's a cold hall. The tiles are stark white and the floors are so clean you can see your pale white reflection staring back at you, daring you to turn around and head the other way. But surgery awaits, because you're hopeful for relief and healing, and we were created to be a hopeful people.

And here I sit, chosen by God to be the recipient of two D&C procedures within a short period of time. For some reason I can't quite comprehend or understand yet, this period of pain and emptiness will one day work as a ministry for someone else. Perhaps when all is said and done and the pain medicine is tucked safely to the back of the medicine cabinet, my clear mind will realize that it was all really a ministry after my own heart - a lesson in patience and waiting. A lesson that life doesn't always make plans around your plans, but that instead you are to rejoice in the trial and be filled with thanksgiving that you were picked for this moment, for this purpose, to further HIS kingdom. 

Because quite honestly, if I didn't cling to the hope and faith of my Heavenly Father, I'd fall apart. I'd allow myself to be consumed with the sadness that is the daily reminder that I won't have the ability to swaddle, hold and watch my baby grow here on earth. It would be more like a pity party with only one guest. But I refuse. Do you hear that Satan? Really, do you hear me!? I refuse! I refuse to fall victim to your silly antics because my God is bigger, stronger and more faithful. My God is the God of healing. My God is the God of hope.

And this, all this talk of me being an abnormality in the world of medicine, comes during the first week of Advent, just after the first Sunday. The Sunday of HOPE.

For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you.  - Jeremiah 29: 11-12