From the ends of the earth I cry to You, when my heart is overwhelmed. Lead me to the rock that is higher than me.

Tuesday, 10 p.m. Prayerfully we would make it through the night and I’d call the doctor in the morning. Things were too scattered right now - in my house and in my head. Besides, if this is what it could be then I’m doing this at home, not in a hospital. Hospitals can feel really unkind sometimes. I at least needed the comfort of home. We sat soberly trying to digest a movie or some tv show; I can’t even tell you what it was. I get a cramp. It wasn’t excruciating but it was enough to make me hold my abdomen as the reality settled in. I square my shoulders and I feel…just resolved. “Even if something happens the Lord is still good.” This time it was surely a statement; there were no time for questions. I needed something solid.

Croix comes in around 11 or so and snuggles in on our sofa. I give him a round of meds and he’s out for a while. I make one last round to all the inhabitants, and then I make a feeble attempt at rest.

Wednesday, 2:15 a.m. I awake to the urge to go to the bathroom. Kinnard had made it to the bed and was completely kaput at this point. His COVID came with some nausea that he'd been battling all day. I didn’t want to awaken my mom downstairs; I’d probably need her more after sunrise. What I experienced for the next three hours was sheer torment. We were deep in the grips of some sort of twilight zone. The pain - physical, mental, and spiritual - didn’t allow me to process what was happening in realtime. I just had to weather the storm and reflect on it later. Wave after wave of intense pain was literally rocking my world. “Lord, I know you’re here with me, but this really hurts.”

A knock on the door brings me back up for air. It’s Jo. The virus finally tracked her down and she’s calling for me at the door. Kinnard wakes up, telling her to wait, as I yell out to remind him that she probably needs meds. He gets up to find them, just as his nausea gets the best of him. At this point, I’m horrified and he is too as he realizes I’m in the bathroom having a miscarriage. “Lord, I don’t know what this is anymore.” I hurry out of the bathroom to locate medicine. Upstairs for one thing. Downstairs for another. No need to check fevers anymore. One look at her rosy cheeks and glossy eyes was enough. I’m sure it’s inching up by the minute. I give her the goods. I encourage Larry to go back to bed and I spend the next couple hours back and forth between the bathroom and lying down with the sick kiddo staked out at my door because the bed and sofa are already occupied. The pain in my abdomen felt like contractions… about 3 mins apart, lasting about 45 seconds. The pain in my heart felt like a firing squad - one dream dying right after another…lasting for what seemed like an eternity.