The Story of Marion and Henry
For these next two weeks of our Lenten Reflections, I want to hold space for those who have, and are, living with the heartbreaks of infertility, miscarriages, and stillbirth. We will spend time with Hannah and her struggle with infertility (1 Samuel 1). And I will share the stories of four friends of mine who have graciously shared their own struggles. They are sharing because they want others to find hope and company in their stories.
So, let me begin with my friends Marion and Henry*.
This amazing couple have been friends of our family since our children were toddlers, when the two of the were working as the best church nursery workers ever. They loved the children, and the children loved them. They didn’t just accept our kid’s quirkiness. They embraced and encouraged it. Before long, they were more or less family to us. When Marion and Henry married a few years later, I was honored to officiate. I still have the 8x10 picture of us up front in the church with many of the children they’d cared for surrounding us as ring bearer, flower children, and bell ringers.
If there was a couple who someday should be surrounded by a gaggle of children of their own, who could quote old movie lines and be master cooks and artists, it was Marion and Henry.
But this isn’t how it’s worked out.
Five years ago, they began trying to get pregnant. After six months of trying, Marion had bloodwork done, but it came back normal. So, they started taking supplements and removed plastics from the kitchen.
Six months later, they were told to keep trying. Blood work done on Henry also showed no real issues. Marion recognized the stress that was beginning to take a toll on her mental health. She and Henry decided to keep trying until she turned forty, “then accept our fate. Committing ourselves to four more years of this struggle and setting me up for a very sad 40th birthday.”
They tried drugs that help more than one egg to drop at a time. After four rounds, there was a pregnancy, and early ultrasounds looked great. But, at 12 weeks, a heartbeat couldn’t be detected. But Marion’s body had held onto the pregnancy, so she was given pills to help the baby pass. For 24 hours she endured contractions, and the worst physical and mental pain of her life. She was able to stay home and heal. However, it was Christmas and it was “hard to find any space from my pain.”
It was hard to be around friends who were pregnant or who had children who would have been younger than hers would have been. Marion began distancing herself from them.
Next came six rounds of IUIs. All of them failed.
They decided to try another medicated cycle, and one of them succeeded. Too soon, Marion ended up in the ER with bleeding.
“When they tell us there’s no heartbeat, I can hear the heart monitor on the baby nearing birth in the next exam room. Whooshing steadily. But not for me.”
Life didn’t stop, though. Marion was in the middle of studying for the bar exam, so she took one day off and then got back to it. She passed, but with a broken heart.
*******
Hannah could’ve understood Marion and Henry’s heartbreak. After many years of marriage, she had been unable to bear children, while his other wife, Peninnah, seemed to have no problems. Something she seemed to have been quick to point out to Hannah. The taunts were even more pointed when the family made their yearly journey to the Tabernacle for their sacrifice. When Elkanah handed out portions of the meat after the sacrifice, Peninnah made sure to point out to Hannah how much more she got because of the children. As the years passed, Hannah’s tears must have grown more and more bitter.
If you have ever longed for something so deeply that you prayed from the very depths of your soul, you can understand how during one of the family’s journey, Eli the priest mistook Hannah’s deep anguish for drunkenness. She was off to the side silently praying at the Tabernacle, when Eli the priest confronted her. After he demanded she throw away her wine, Hannah replied,
“Oh no, sir!” she replied. “I haven’t been drinking wine or anything stronger.
But I am very discouraged, and I am pouring out my heart to the Lord.”
- 1 Samuel 1: 15
Eli must have profusely apologized for thinking such a thing about her. And then, he assured her that God had heard her prayers. When it came time the next year for the family to begin their journey, Hannah stayed home with her baby boy, Samuel. That baby boy grew up to be the leading priest, and in time he anointed David as king of Israel.
Hannah understood the gift God had given her in Samuel. But, she never forgot the struggle. I want to believe she held the hands of other women who also struggled.
I want to believe Hannah would have held the hands of Marion as her 40th birthday drew closer. Maybe she would’ve even said, “Why not?” when Marion read an article about a study examining baby aspirin and unexplained infertility. “I’m already taking half a dozen supplements a day anyway, what’s one more.”
Seven months after starting the baby aspirin, Marion was pregnant again. Tests were run, and everything looked good.
I’m going to let Marion tell the rest.
“I’m still a nervous mess. Speaking about the baby always begins with if.
Our 12 week ultrasound is normal.
We’ve never made it this far.
Our 20 week ultrasound is normal. It’s a girl.
I start to feel reassuring kicks.
We start buying baby stuff.
I start to think of her as a real thing.
Finally she is born.
Unmedicated birth is a breeze compared to miscarriages.
She’s beautiful and perfect in every way.
I still deal with postpartum anxiety
(still convinced she will be taken from me somehow),
but around 4 months old it subsides.
Parenting is harder than I imagined and I love it.
I love watching her experience the world and I’m so grateful for her.
She’s worth every terrible day I went through to bring her here.
Hopefully someone will read this
and feel less alone.
It certainly helps us treasure her properly.”
The amazing mural Henry painted for Baby Girl’s nursery
*To respect their privacy, I have changed my friends’ names.
