Hope and a Future

by Madison Lemoine

...after you have suffered a little while, 
He will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast.
1 Peter 5:10

I never thought that God would use suffering to grow my strength. 
I never thought that God would have to work to restore my faith.
I never thought this would be my story.

I grew up in the Lutheran church.
I understood my salvation and attended church services, but there wasn’t much depth to my faith.

Fast forward a few years and I’m dancing for Lamar, dating my high school sweetheart, with my faith on the back burner. Then, I got pregnant. 

While I was working to transition from college student to mom, my faith became a priority.
I started digging into God’s Word and seeking answers to questions I had. 

Jace was born, and two weeks later, I had an emergency D&C.
During the operation, I hemorrhaged, nearly causing me to have a hysterectomy. 

After recovering, my husband and I talked about going to church, but hadn’t agreed on a local church that fit both of our backgrounds. He went to the deer lease with Shane Richard one weekend and came home ready to try Bridge Point. When we attended this church for the first time, Jace was a year old and we were trying for our second baby.

After a few months of visiting Bridge Point and thirteen months of trying to have a baby, I got pregnant. 
I found out the same day that I was supposed to call for reproductive testing at the Center of Reproductive Medicine…it was a miracle pregnancy.

We later realized that scar tissue from my D&C was blocking my tubes, making it difficult for us to conceive.
My pregnancy started off hard.
I was sick, school had started, and life got busy.
Church slid down the list of priorities again. 

At 8 weeks pregnant, I went in for an appointment due to pain on my right side. 
An ultrasound showed enlarged blood vessels surrounding my uterus, where there shouldn't’ t have been any at all. Dr. Smith had never seen it before, and no one was understanding the severity of it. 

At 10 weeks, I saw a high risk doctor in Houston who told us to wait and monitor. 
We also got blood testing that showed we would be having another baby boy.
Lucas Blake Lemoine.

At 14 weeks, nothing had changed and doctors confirmed the gender from the blood tests. 
They told us that the enlarged vessels weren’t an issue, and any potential complications wouldn’t come until birth. Dr. Smith had a gut feeling that something wasn't right and referred us back to specialists. 

At 19 weeks, we were still told that everything going on internally wouldn’t be an issue. 
We also found out that our boy was actually a girl.
I have always loved Caroline and Audrey for girl names.
We decided on Caroline Gayle Lemoine.

At 20 weeks, Dr. Smith was still concerned. 
During the routine anatomy scan, I could tell something wasn’t right by the look on the technician’s face. We were told that Caroline had markers for Down Syndrome, but after additional testing, all showed to be well. 

Then, at 23 weeks, the internal issues became evident. 
Earlier that day, I had severe pain on my right side again.
I remember rolling around my classroom in my desk chair, and unusually clearing my desk before I went home that afternoon. I was preparing something that I didn’t know was going to happen.

That night, Jace woke up around 3AM with an earache. I got up to soothe him, but when I laid back down something popped. A wave of nausea followed, then extreme pain set in. I knew that it wasn’t labor, so I guessed that it was my gallbladder or appendix. 

At 4AM, Chance made the call to take me to the ER. The pain wasn’t easing and my stomach started to become distended. That early morning, we were sent to Labor and Delivery where they gave medicines and ran scans. 

I was in triage during all of the testing, foggy due to the pain and median, and unaware of what was happening in my body. Dr. Smith and Sydney, my best friend and an L&D nurse, came in with tears in their eyes.
I was going to be life flighted to Houston. 

I didn’t know it at the time, but I was internally bleeding to death at this point. 
One of the blood vessels ruptured and set off other vessels. This chain-reaction was flooding my body and forcing my baby to be delivered. 

I remember a brief moment of grief when I realized that my baby was going to be born without any belongings of  her own. Sydney gave me a blanket to hold during the flight, they prayed for me, then wheeled me to the helicopter. 

During the flight, I was high on medicine, in shock at the chain of events, and praying for Caroline to stay until at least 24 weeks. I knew that was a crucial milestone for her. 

I spent days in Houston in immense pain, having my blood monitored, watching the slow decline.
Reading the room, you knew that my condition was bad. 
All sorts of doctors were coming in to monitor my situation. 

Then, Chance got a call.
Our house had caught fire while we were in Houston. Our garage burnt to the ground and smoke had overtaken our home. All of Jace’s baby things that we had set aside for Caroline were ruined. 
Chance and my dad went back to town to take care of our house, while I continued to wait. 

On Monday, three days after arriving in Houston, I had surgery. 
Scans showed that Caroline was partially outside of my uterus and my blood vessels were multiplying in size. They had every intention of delivering her during the surgery, but mainly, they needed to see what exactly was happening inside of my body.

I remember waking up and asking, “Where is she?”.
I was shocked when they said I was still pregnant, and hopeful that we would see 24 weeks. 
They were able to see that she was in the uterus fully, drain excess blood, and diagnose me. 

I had a Cornual Ectopic Pregnancy. 

Had I known sooner, they would have told me to abort my pregnancy. 
Had they known sooner, I wouldn't have been able to hold my little girl.
They kept saying it was all a miracle. 

My team of doctors had never seen this before. 
They met together to form plans, consulting doctors all over the world. 
As word got out about my condition, people started supporting us and donating funds.
Doctors from every department would come by to see the progress on my pregnancy. 
One nurse would bring us home cooked meals to spare us from the hospital food. 

We met so many amazing people during our stay. 

Our new goal became 28 weeks, the week of Halloween. 
I told my doctors to please deliver any day, except Halloween. 

As I continued to be monitored and have weekly scans, the doctors continued finding new issues. 
Caroline was above average in every category, healthy, active, and kicking. 

She was never the issue. 
You always hear about the baby being sick, but this illness was my own. 
It was never her. 

At 27 weeks, and after five weeks of scans, monitoring, and tests, they moved us to a different wing. 
I remember feeling like this meant we were progressing. 

I woke up a few mornings later and my stomach felt bruised.
Chance had gone home to see Jace while I did a routine scan.
A forty-five minute scan turned into six hours. 
Scans, consultations, reevaluations.
Over and over. 

During the scans, I prayed. 
I knew Caroline’s time to arrive was coming. 
The doctor came in after the final scans, “Well, Caroline is going to be a Halloween baby.” 

They wanted to wait a few days, so that I could have the very best team on shift.
I had two days to mentally and emotionally prepare for my baby girl’s entry. 
They discussed the extreme nature of the surgery. 
They made it clear that I would potentially not make it out of surgery. 
Once they made the initial cut, the pressure would certainly burst more vessels. 

Caroline was perfect when she arrived.
She was a 9 out of 10 on the hospital's scales, far better than a typical 28 week baby. 
I, on the other hand, was sent to ICU, and did not get to see my baby girl on her birthday. 
They prepared for me to lose four units of blood...I ended up losing six.

My body was suffering and my heart grieved not being able to see Caroline. 

Chance, my mom, Chance’s mom, and my sister met her that day, and I was determined to see her the following morning. I just had to walk and get off my epidural. I fought, and I was able to meet my sweet girl on November 1.

Hours later, she was on oxygen.
They reassured us that NICU was a normal rollercoaster.
None of it felt normal, but I clung to Jeremiah 29:11. 

God says that He has plans to give hope and a future. 

I had a glimmer of hope that Caroline would have a future. 

The next morning, I went straight down to see her, but she was noticeably different. We were still reassured that this was normal. They thought she had an infection, so they ran tests to see how best to treat it.

This was normal. This would be okay. 
I kept hearing reassurance, but peace felt out of reach.

We left the NICU long enough to pump and get pain medicine, when Chance’s phone rang. 
Caroline’s doctors told us to come immediately. 
Come. Now.

I knew what it meant. 
My husband and I rushed downstairs without a word, until I said it:
“Chance, she’s dying.”

There were over a dozen doctors and nurses around her when we went in.
We were told she had two four-grade brain bleeds. 
They worked on her , but she was no longer breathing on her own. 

That’s how my Caroline went. 
Suddenly and swiftly, shortly after her birth. 

They stopped working and someone said, “You need to hold her.”
I remember responding in shock and disbelief, 

“I don’t want to hold her. I want them to save her.”

Once the reality set in, I held her. 
A doctor nearby told us that had she survived, she wouldn’t have had a life.
I knew then that I had to let her go. 

Before we left, Chance said that he wanted her baptized. 
An angel of a nurse baptized her in our room.
I bathed her and dressed her, knowing I would never hear her cry. 
I would never see her with her eyes open. 
I would never get to see her first smile or see her first giggle. 

We prayed over her, and we let her go.

I knew that she would be going to a place where her life was eternal. 
She did have a future.
One in heaven with Jesus.

October 31st is Caroline’s Birthday.
November 2nd is her Heaven Day. 

We left the hospital still not knowing how our child died. 
I was angry at the world.
Angry at God and asking him, “Why?”

Why work so many miracles?
Why give her life if you knew the ending?

I got to a point where the doubt outweighed my faith.
Where questions overshadowed my trust.
A point where I didn't want to live.
It was so painful.

For a while, I believed that it was my fault.
If my body could have done what it was supposed to, she would be here.
If my body hadn’t bled, she would have been safe. 
If I was stronger, she would have been okay.
If I would have held on longer, we could have saved her.

And if it was my fault, why wouldn’t God take me instead?
I felt deserving of death.
I wished for something to happen to me.

The enemy had me in a dark place.
Angry with myself. 
Blaming God. 
Alone.

I had a dream in the middle of this storm.
I was praying and asking God, “Where do I go from here?”
He responded, “Trust me. I have a plan.”

I thought of Jeremiah 29:11 again:
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 a hope and a future.

That day, I decided it was time to make a choice.
He had given Caroline a future in heaven. 
Now, I had to allow him to write my future on earth.

I accepted that I couldn't change this part of my life.
I trusted that God had a plan for something good to come from this.

I thought how much easier it would be if I had someone who understood. 
Someone I could talk with, pray with, and share with.
Someone who could understand the daily battle. 

A few days later Holly Parrish texted me and invited me to join her small group that she was starting for moms who had lost a child. That invitation became the start of my future.

Meanwhile, I had been having PTSD dreams. 
My first good dream about Caroline came right before our small group started. 
Caroline was a toddler, running around outside with another girl. 
She called out, “Audrey, come here!”

I started reading our book for small group, I Will Carry You by Angie Smith a few days later. 
Angie’s daughter’s name was Audrey Caroline. 

The book put every emotion I had into words. 
She showed how we can be steady in our faith.
It allowed me to appreciate my story, because I saw how she used her loss to minister to others. 

I now send this book any chance I can to someone walking through child loss.
That small group changed my life. 
I saw that I could not only survive, but I could help change lives.
I could use my darkness to shine light for others. 

In February, we finally got the autopsy report. 
I had finally let go of my anger and it flared back up.
Caroline died from Bacillus Cereus, a food poisoning bacteria. 
I was infuriated. 

I couldn’t change it, but someone could have prevented it. 
I waded through the anger all over it again, 
but this time I had support from my small group and God at the forefront of my life. 

Looking back, the impact that Caroline’s life has already made is unfathomable. 
Every miracle gave us hope to cling to.
Every mishap gave us stronger faith.

Caroline changed me for good. 
She taught me to appreciate life. 
I am a better person because of her. 
She changed my life and continues to change people’s lives. 

As much as I didn’t want a Halloween baby, the occasion forces us to get out of the house. 
It makes us put one foot in front of the other and spend time together. 
We start by visiting her gravesite. 

Many days still sting, but I remain planted in my faith and focused on the future that He promises.

Our pastor recently preached on God’s will. 
God has a plan for our lives. 
He started at the beginning.
He knows the ending.
I trust whatever that is.

So far, He has worked it into something beautiful. 

The end of Caroline’s story on earth became the beginning of our Audrey Kate’s. 
Audrey won’t live in her sister’s shadow.
She will live on as a part of her legacy.

Because of a pregnancy that nearly killed me, we have our miracle girl.
Because of a hysterectomy, we got to walk through surrogacy. 
Because of loss and infertility, we have Audrey Kate.

God certainly has a future for us. 
The moment of trauma isn’t what defines our future. 
His faithfulness and goodness are what write our story. 

Out of loss, He has written miracles.
Out of trauma, He has penned grace.
Out of suffering, He is growing our faith.

Because of Jesus, I am still here.
Because of Him, I had strength to keep going.
Because of Him, I have a hope and a future.
Because of Him, I use my story to show His goodness and grace.

 Our road has not been easy. It has been extremely painful at times. 
Loss. Infertility. Surrogacy. 

Somehow, He has worked it all for good.
Somehow, He has made it beautiful.
That is what He does, because that is Who He is. 

A God who has plans for you.
A God who cares for you. 
A God who restores you.

I  may have never thought that this would be my story, but I am so thankful that it is.