Sarah’s Story

My husband and I were so excited to be pregnant for the first time. I still remember the short-lived giddiness and blissful ignorance of the first weeks. And then, at 7-weeks, morning sickness showed up. Rather all day sickness—hyper emesis gravidirum. I threw up about four times a day, could barely take in even 500 calories of nutrition a day, and walking to the bathroom or to answer the door was a momentous feat. I kept thinking it would get better soon. I was almost there, to that magic second trimester. 

I ended up at the ER for fluids twice, and I was losing weight. The second trimester milestone came and went, and I was still vomiting and losing weight. I had lost nearly 15 pounds and was already fairly fit and thin to begin pregnancy. My obgyn scheduled me for weight checks, and I was told that if I declined much more I would be put on a pump. 

My mom went on a mission to the grocery store to get my body and baby some calories. Whole milk would usually stay down and packed a caloric punch, and I also remember her getting a carrot cake that actually sounded good to me. The sickness seemed to intensify and then it was gone at 18 weeks. I was so proud of myself for finally making it out of the cycle of sickness. I was going to eat that carrot cake in celebration after my obgyn appointment. But alas, my doctor couldn’t find the heartbeat that had been there the week prior.

 A sonogram confirmed, no heartbeat. Utter stillness and silence on the screen as the sonogram technician said, “That’s not good.” 

They rushed me to a back room as I cried and called my husband to come pick me up. I was so empty. Literally, my body was devoid of the life it had been carrying. I felt so defeated. I had worked so hard to make it through the sickness only for my efforts to mean absolutely nothing. Everyone kept cheering me on during my rocky pregnancy, telling me that it would all be worth it, and now it didn’t feel that way. The sacrifices my body made had lasting implications and would stay with me, but my baby wouldn’t. 

As my husband and I walked into the hospital to deliver, I remember wanting to run in the opposite direction, and I probably would have if his arm hadn’t been around me. Baby P was born at 4:15 the following morning. 

Birth can be a scary, painful, and weird experience even under normal circumstances, but they always say you forget everything once you see your baby. That didn’t happen for me. Every moment of labor and delivery was seared in my mind. I wasn’t prepared for how he would look at that gestation and with his condition. We didn’t know at the time but he had Trisomy 18 with a cystic hygroma around his neck. I think I relived those moments in my head everyday for a year. 

Afterwards, sleep didn’t come easy. Neither did small talk. Neither did singing or dancing—and I was a professional dancer. I remember getting back home from the hospital and opening the refrigerator only to see that carrot cake my mom had bought with intentions of fattening me up for my baby. For some reason seeing that carrot cake just broke me. It represented all my effort to take control of my situation and fix it. It was all my hope; it was even what was left of my joy. I remember wanting to throw it across the room. It was a reminder of all the things I didn’t have anymore. 

But I did have God, or rather God had me. Having Baby P was such a reminder that we cannot control every aspect of our lives. We can’t be healthy enough, have enough willpower, or do enough good works to earn a good, positive life free of pain. Life isn’t promised to be good. But God is the good in our lives. Come what may, we can rest in His arms knowing that truth. 

After Baby P’s birth, I grieved. And I grieved hard. My dad had passed away when I was 17, and being a busy high school kid about to head to college at the time, I pushed my grief aside. I learned then that if you don’t deal with grief on your terms, it has a way of dealing with you on its own terms. And so I sat and I grieved the year following Baby P’s death. 

I grieved through an early miscarriage just three months later, and I grieved through another pregnancy full of sickness just two months after that. I had worked so hard for an outcome that wouldn’t materialize. I was completely out of effort. I had nothing left to give physically, mentally, or emotionally, but I’m so thankful to have a relationship with a God who let me just rest in His arms. 

We can get so busy trying to fix the problems of sickness, death, pain, and conflict, but the fix to all these problems is already at hand, and it has nothing to do with our effort. When Jesus died as a sacrifice for the sins of the world, and not only wiped all sins clean but also rose again to show there would be new life, separate and beyond the brokenness of this present life, He completed every work to be done. It is finished. 

And so, when my efforts seem futile and thwarted by the brokenness of this world, when I feel like I have nothing left to give, I can rest knowing that He gave it all already. He has fixed the problem of pain and death, and through belief in Jesus I can relish and rest in the fact that God is good. It has taken me years to be able to tell my story without bitterness in my heart, but I am so thankful for the healing I found resting in His arms, both body and soul, and for the truths I learned from my firstborn.

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Sarah Padilla is a mom, wife, and dance teacher from Magnolia, Texas. She’s been married to her high school sweetheart, Kyle, for nearly eight years. They have a two-year-old son named Kirk and two babes in heaven.

We would be honored to share your story as a Hope Mom on our blog. On Saturdays we feature Hope Moms’ stories in order to showcase God’s faithfulness even in the midst of such deep sorrow. If you would like to have your story shared on our blog for this purpose, learn more and submit here.

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