Suffering

 Note: this is one of my Holy Week posts. And it deals with a lot of heavy pregnancy topics.

"My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? why art thou so far from helping me, and from the words of my roaring?

O my God, I cry in the daytime, but thou hearest not; and in the night season, and am not silent."

-Psalms 22:1-2

There were a few weeks when I did everything I could possibly think of to keep the fetus alive last summer.

It seems almost silly now, thinking of what I tried to do in hopes that maybe, maybe the swelling in her would go down. First, I refused the X-ray at the dentist because I couldn't bear the thought that the trace radiation would do anything to her. (Perhaps it was good I refused it because it turns out I had two cavities that I would not have wanted to worry about back then.) I then cut out sugar, figuring that  the sugar could possibly be causing inflammation of some kind (while knowing of course that her swelling was because of her body, not mine). I bought the most expensive prenatal vitamins I could find at Sam's, hoping that maybe that extra bit of fish oil could give her brain what it needed. I read Psalms daily. I prayed. I cleaned. I parented. I did everything I could to prove that I was worthy of her living.

After a few weeks of that, I had my 16 week checkup. And things were worse. In every way possible.

I ate sugar after that.

Then, having forsaken hope in that miracle, I started googling more about the potential risks to my own life. One thing in particular that worried me was called Mirror Syndrome, which is when my body would start to have the same sort of swelling hers had, and sometimes there were some scary things that could happen as a consequence.

It was one night while I was reading through medical journals online that I saw a picture of a 2nd trimester fetus with cystic hygroma and hydrops that had been delivered. I felt instantly revulsed and could barely glance at the page again.

I have seen pictures of babies born at 16 weeks before. They look a lot like regular babies, just with different proportions than we're used to.

But the baby I saw in this picture was different. We had recently checked out a book about ugly sea creatures from the library, and this baby would have fit right in.

Until then, I hadn't thought much about what the 2D ultrasound images would look like in 3D. But as I thought about it, I realized that the swelling in the neck and torso really would lead to a baby that looked like this.

It was then I decided that I could not ever see the baby inside of me. I wanted to be able to imagine her looking like a regular baby. Seeing her for real would ruin that.

I never did see the baby. And I don't regret it yet. I can still imagine her looking like a tiny little human.

I feel a familiar revulsion when we watch videos about the Savior's crucifixion. It is so hard to watch. It is so hard to see that suffering. Hard to even imagine seeing the nail prints someday.

When I was able to visualize her swollen neck and torso better, I couldn't help but imagine her suffering. If she had the slightest bit of awareness, then she must be suffering. It hurt me to be the direct cause of her suffering. Of course, I also had the power to end her suffering (and my medical risks too), but that would only be possible through short but intense suffering. If I thought too hard about it, the ethics of it all made me cry again.

I also hate the idea that I am the cause of any of the Savior's suffering in the garden or on the cross. Just today I thought about the worst things I have ever done in my life. And I said to myself, "I'm not proud of any of these, but absolutely none of them merit this kind of suffering." I have read the scriptures about Christ's suffering and how we must repent or suffer, and I still do not understand why He went through it.

And still He suffered. I do not understand why He had to suffer so much, but I know He did it for us.

During the last week before my final ultrasound, I realized that I needed to feel love for the baby again. I spent Fast Sunday praying, and that is when I felt the Savior replace my fear with love. Whatever suffering He had taken on 2000 years ago was powerful enough to end mine that day. I spent the next few days confident that she would be just fine, that she would make it to birth and we'd get to deal with her and all of her medical issues and it would be wonderful. But then when the ultrasound showed that she had already passed away, I wasn't sad about that outcome either. I never did see her body, never did see the effects of her suffering, never visited her final resting place. 

But I knew that was okay. After all, there was someone who did see her in her suffering, who was there to meet her in death, who never turned away no matter how repulsive the sight may be.

Perhaps we do not always have the moral courage to face those who are suffering head-on, but Christ does. Perhaps His suffering on the cross was not any kind of penal substitution for us but a merciful acknowledgement of the suffering too many of God's children live or die with each day. And because of His courage in facing immense suffering, we can have faith that He knows how to succor those who suffer, faith that He will strengthen us to no longer hide our faces from the afflicted.

"For he hath not despised nor abhorred the affliction of the afflicted; neither hath he hid his face from him; but when he cried unto him, he heard." (Psalms 22:24.)