"The Lord is gracious"

I had intended to actually write a little bit about our trip to Beach Park on Tuesday afternoon to go along with the pictures and captions. I never got a chance to finish.

On Wednesday afternoon, August 30th, Mom stayed with the kids here at home while Dave rushed me to the hospital. Three calls to the doctor's office and hospital had left me with rather poor advice. My first call to the OB/GYN clinic at least ended with my being able to make an appointment to speak to a doctor -- on October 9th ("I'm sorry but that's the earliest he can see you...") It seems that no one -- not even fellow women -- take a woman seriously when it comes to her health and it's always assumed that she's being hysterical. I'm glad I was being hysterical. As Mom pointed out to me later ... the episode on August 20th had crossed my mind more than once and left me with a keen sense that something was actually wrong... And it was exactly that sense that led me to go to the hospital despite the non-chalance of the folks on the telephone.

I was pretty worried about what sort of reception we'd get at the Emergency Room... But by the time we made it to the parking lot it was totally obvious that I was hemorrhaging. The mere sight of me scored us a room immediately.

I should point out now that I didn't know for certain that I was actually pregnant. Yes, I suspected. Four children later -- I admit it was a strong suspicion... But then again something wasn't right about it either. Part of me sort of thought that maybe my symptoms had more to do with me getting older than anything. I had planned on making a doctor's appointment next week to find out for sure... but didn't feel any intense pressure to do so any earlier considering that calls to the office for previous pregnancies left me with as much as a two month wait for an appointment. If they weren't ever in any hurry -- why should I be?

Thank God my doctor happened to be at the hospital that night. I can't even begin to tell you what a relief it was to see him walk through the door.

By the end of my hospital stay it was confirmed that I had had a miscarriage.

We decided to name the baby. Since we won't know if we were expecting a boy or a girl - we just went with my hunch (which I admit is rarely accurate, but still) that we lost a little boy and we named him as we had planned for any future sons: John.

John for my great, great grandfather we got to know through genealogy - John Calvin Clark.

And John for my favorite gospel-writer: St. John, the one whom He loved.

And as Mom pointed out for us... John for St. John Bosco - patron saint of boys, schoolchildren, and young people - who also happens to share a surname with my doctor... (I happen to think my doctor is a fine man as well.)

And, finally, John meaning "The Lord is gracious."

So this post is for John - the tiny little baby we never got to know. I hope and pray that we all get the chance to do just that someday in eternity. Goodbye, little baby... I'll see you then.

Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him. May he rest in peace. Amen.