The Question We Never Faced

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I have a scar. It’s not pretty, but it tells a beautiful story. Maybe you remember when I gave you the beginning of it—when I showed you my scar—when I acknowledged for the first time that unplanned Cesarean had done more than scar my abdomen. It had scarred my heart.

When I told you I was living with the emotional pain of unplanned Cesarean, I believed that pain might never heal. But then, online and off, we had these great conversations. I’d shown you my heart, and then you showed me yours. You questioned me. You encouraged me. Some of you scolded me. But most of you, at the very least, tried to understand me.

And unexpected though it was, through vulnerability, healing came—and it has put me in a better place now than I was then to tell you this which I share today. You see, there is more to the story behind my scar. That unplanned Cesarean would later become the backdrop to another story much bigger than I. A story of life, of grace, of unanswered prayer, and a story that would determine where we would go from there.

Ultrasound - TwinsIt all began in October 2008 when, just three months following a heartbreaking miscarriage, a pregnancy test revealed that I was expecting again—this time, twins.

From the outset, the topic of my method of delivery was up for discussion—or should I say, NOT up for discussion. Despite the successful VBAC I’d had with my second child 16 months prior, my desire to attempt a VBAC with twins was met with a firm medical resolve that it shouldn’t—couldn’t—wouldn’t—be an option.

A woman of faith, I proceeded through the remaining 29 weeks of pregnancy praying that if it were at all possible, God would make a way for me to at least attempt labor. Difficult as unplanned Cesarean had been for me to face, planned Cesarean was even more so.

37 Weeks Pregnant with TwinsAs the doctor-determined final week of my babies’ gestation approached, I did everything I could within reason to encourage labor to start, believing that to be my only chance of avoiding the dreaded surgery. But my pregnant body held strong, as did my faith, and my turn in the operating room was booked.

I can’t tell you how scared I was as I walked alone into that brightly lit room full of masked strangers. Every step I took towards that cold table was one of both courage and surrender.

Having survived the needles that delivered me numbness, I awaited the knife that would deliver my babies.

My husband was admitted as the familiar tugging of the scalpel at my scarred abdomen began.

Minutes later, from the other side of the curtain separating me from my lower half, the doctor’s voice sounded: “Angela! You have a hole in your uterus…. You have a hole in your uterus before I made an incision.”

Instant, hot tears began streaming down my face as my eyes met my husband’s in an understanding stare.

“The only thing holding those babies in is the amniotic sac.”

Two “It’s a girl!”s later, my womb now relieved and repaired, the doctor appeared on my side of the drape. I’ll never forget the look in his eyes—one of fear and of urgency and of sincere gravity.

The Doctor's Words“Your old scar was completely separated,” he said. “If you would have labored or your water would have broken, we would have probably lost you all….” He went on to tell me that there was virtually nothing left to the bottom of my uterus, the lining of which had thinned to the likeness of cellophane, and that my scar should not be tested again.

This, my last delivery? It was a topic my husband and I hadn’t discussed. The “are we done yet” question wasn’t even in question. We had just assumed we weren’t. It wasn’t that I thought four kids wouldn’t be “enough.” It was that I was of the mindset we would take however many we were given. I hadn’t imagined that number would be realized so early.

Twenty-six and done bearing children. It was a verdict I could hardly think about. In fact, I didn’t think about it for many weeks. I couldn’t. I didn’t know how to process it all.

When Travis and I made the decision to trust God with our family size, we had been thinking in terms of additions. That those additions would one day be stopped just wasn’t a reality—until it was reality.

Eventually I worked through my confused feelings and reached a place of peace. My trust in the God who had loved me enough to scar me found new roots amid new circumstances, and slowly I began to embrace a different vision.

Couples talk about the “are we done yet” dilemma. I have a hard time relating. I don’t know what it’s like to make that decision. It’s a question we never faced.

But the neat thing is, we didn’t need to face it. We had set out in faith to take the number of children we’d be given. We were given four. Blind as I initially was to the beautiful simplicity of that, I see it so clearly now.

Yes, there is more to the story behind my scar. It’s a story of dreams and disappointments, of surrender and salvation. It’s a story much bigger than the scar that tells it, and one more beautiful than I could have borne.

Sibling Love

4 COMMENTS

  1. Oh Angela, that was beautiful! I could relate to some of it, but more so, I remember watching you struggle with these things when you were going through it. I love how you brought to light the emotional scars of c-sections too. Not everyone understands that. I have a group I go to (ICAN) where there are women that will talk, shaking with tears in their eyes about their experience, even though it happened years ago. Thank you for sharing. Beautifully written!

  2. Wow!! Amazing how we pray for one thing and God holds us back knowing how it must be done. So thankful those babies didn’t come how ‘you’ planned. Thanks for sharing this story. I am glad you are finding peace! You’re an extraordinary mom, no matter how many little people get to call you that! XO

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