Encourage Me: Bobbi’s Story

In February 2002, my wife was dealing with our last and final miscarriage. Allena, our daughter was five and in pre-school. I was thirty-eight, and working for the Defense Finance and Accounting Services in Columbus, OH. We had been married a little over eight years (at this point).

A month prior at New Life Church Gahanna (where we worshipped at that time) my thirty-six year-old wife and a friend of hers (Rebecca) decided to co-lead the “In Heavenly Arms” miscarriage group as a way to support other women experiencing this same life-changing challenge and help them to cope with this issue. The main Text used for it was the book, In Heavenly Arms: Grieving the Loss Healing the Wounds of Miscarriage by Shari L. Bridgman, Ph.D.

According to the materials used at the time, the support group offered a great deal of empathy, emotional help, prayer, and information to the four other women involved in it. The month long support group concluded with a memorial service (when husbands, friends and other family members were asked to attend)

What I remember of this service were lots of tears shed as those couples released helium balloons (with notes to their “heavenly children”) up to God in surrender to His decision. All parents present hoped their “heavenly children” knew how much they loved, wanted them, and knew they’d meet them one day in the future.

As a couple, we clung to what King David said to his servant when he and his wife, Bathsheba, also lost their first born child, a son. (We even stenciled The Bible verse on our bedroom wall to comfort us during this time.) II Samuel 12:23 (MSG) says, “But now that he’s dead…can I bring him back now? I can go to him, but he can’t come to me.”

On the final group evaluation, one woman wrote this of the group: “We’re it not for this group, I would not be at the recovery point I am in now… [The group was] very sympathetic of miscarriage; nothing was judgmental…

The leader’s experiences and their dedication to serving God in this area of ministry and counseling make them a perfect combination… Everything the author wrote for [In Heavenly Arms] seemed like she was writing exactly to me…

This group is such an excellent healing tool. Just being able to meet with other women who are going through the same thing is beneficial… I would be more than happy to be a person future group members could call (or I would be willing to call them)….”

Bobbi filled out a questionnaire, and shared with the miscarriage support group. (Each women had the option to share this information if they so chose to.) Below are those four questions and Bobbi’s honest (and heart-breaking) answers to them.

CAUTION: This post is emotional (and explicit). Though these are Bobbi’s words, I have edited them for clarity, brevity, and grammar correctness. Additional commentary is added by me in the brackets (when needed).

1. Date, time, and place of miscarriage? Since there have been so many, the dates are hard to remember. The record of their existence is recorded in the “Deaths” section of Robert’s study Bible. [Our eight miscarriages went from 1994 to 2002. The second in birth order, Allena was our one live birth in 1996 as a result of God’s grace and a fertility drug called, “Clomid”.]

2. Who was present? One time my mom was visiting [from out of town]. There was the time at my evening job in the bathroom; Janice [my mother-in-law], Robert, and I were at the hospital together. One time I was alone. There was the time Allena and I visited Robert’s work with many other people involved.

[Bobbi and several female employees were in a first floor women’s bathroom dealing with this situation. I was in the lobby waiting for her return from the restroom even though I was needed back at work. Allena may have been about three.]

3. What were your symptoms preceding a miscarriage? There was light cramping, upset stomach (sometimes) at the beginning, and a regular period. I remember lots of bleeding. Passing the baby at work, and gathering it to take to the hospital where the doctor promptly threw it away.

I sometimes had heavy bleeding on and off for weeks (never went to a hospital), and passing large clots in every bathroom I went to.

Another time, I had to collect everything, and send it to a lab to check for a fetus eventually ending in a DNC [Dilation in Curettage]. At these times, I was sensitive to smell, taste, and touch.

I believe my first miscarriage happened when I fell down the steps [of our apartment at that time], and I know that was what started it. I clearly remember my feet were planted firmly on the ground.

My knee went, and I fell down on my behind about four to six steps. Within an hour I started bleeding. There was significant involvement by medical professionals. No doctor was needed.

I knew God wanted the baby, and I was okay with that because I didn’t think Robert and I were ready… It was not good timing. [We had only been married three months by this time.]

At one time, I had an ultrasound done in the ER [emergency room]. They found the baby, but there were problems. A second ultrasound two days later brought about no good news either.

I collected all the blood that I thought might be the baby. The lab lost my specimen, and I was upset for four days until they found it. They were unable to find a baby as bleeding continued, and the process finally ended in a DNC.

4. What did you say to yourself after losing a baby? I was upset asking God, “Why Me?” I felt scared when I didn’t know when I would pass a baby… I was full of tears with all of them, but eventually became numb to emotional [and physical] pain. I know God has all my babies in Heaven. It’s gotten harder for me to understand why I was allowed to get pregnant if this was going to happen. Fertility drugs had only worked one time with Allena.

I am getting scared that the doctors don’t know what to do. I think it is my hormones, and no one knows how to deal with my need to take progesterone. I wonder if I should treat myself with natural herbs.

My friends think we should stop trying. I will continue until my body gives out. Our firstborn, Taylor Lee, would have been eight. Our third, Brook Lynn, would have been five. [Our fourth, Lou Diamond, would have four.]

Our fifth, Erin MacKenzie, would have been four. Our sixth, Carroll Reese, would be two. Our seventh, Laurel Hope, would be one. [I would be pregnant with our twins, our eighth Bailey Glenn and our ninth child Dorian Haley.]

[After the eighth miscarriage, I got a vasectomy and finally ended the disappointment on my wife’s face. This chapter of our married life had finally ended. I was also against foster parenting. In our specific case, I would not allow Bobbi to bond with another child temporarily to only lose it.]

For some of you this post may have been painful. Either you have had a miscarriage (or are getting through one now). You are not alone, and the sun will eventually shine (in your heart). We are proof of this.

We have hope one day that we will see our “other” children (not its) whole and happy in Heaven after our own human lives have passed. Bobbi may have gotten a glimpse (and blessing) of one of our heavenly children. If you are a woman that needs aid, Bobbi wants to help you. Please e-mail her at momkinker@gmail.com.

The Kinker family with my Eagle grandparents in November of 2002

Lifetime Membership

My wife, Bobbi, and I have a lifetime membership to an exclusive club. If possible, we’d love to go back in time when the membership was first bestowed on us, and have it revoked. I don’t know of any couple that has been awarded access into this elite group wants to be a member of it.

While we were going through all of our miscarriages, a friend lovingly suggested we give each child a unisex name (since we never knew the gender of any of them). This idea helped me to realize Allena was not my only child. I had eight in Heaven. I can’t wait to hug and kiss them one day when I get there, and let them know how much their mother and me wanted them.

I always make sure to be extremely sensitive to a couple, who’s had a miscarriage. Someone telling them “to get over it” only lengthens their healing process. The couple will mend in their own time period, but that pregnancy experience will always be somewhere in their memory.

During a miscarriage experience, the man also suffers in his own unique way. Consider this; the husband has lost his child too. The wife he loves is depressed and in pain, and there is nothing he can do to fix any of it. He feels powerless as a husband (and a father).

Please take note of the cartoon drawing done in May of 2002 by me. This is how I envision the entire Kinker family could have looked like if they were all alive, and together for a family portrait. (The genders of all children, excluding Allena, are guesses on my part. We did though have an adorable beagle named “Buddy” at this time.)

Kinker cartoon drawn by me of what could have been in May 2002

The Visitor

It was December of 2013. I and my wife were in our warm king size bed along with our female Chihuahua, Lola. I was fast asleep (unconscious) on the left side of the bed (on my right side) with my sleep apnea being treated by my CPAP machine, which was currently humming away. On the right side of the bed, Bobbi lay on her back with her left hand sticking slightly outside the warm comforter.

Bobbi’s CPAP machine also purred away as Lola was snuggled up next to Bobbi’s mid-section feet first. (With our headgear connected by plastic hoses to our contraptions both of us looked like trauma patients from a horrible car accident.)

The digital clocks on both sides of the bed read “3:05AM.” Bobbi’s eyes fluttered open. Somebody was gently rubbing her hand (best way to wake her up). Once she saw who it was her sleepy eyes opened even wider.

Was her seventeen year-old daughter standing before her? No, this younger version of Allena was eight years old. Her dark curly hair went down to her waist. She had skin the color of a china doll. Her long-sleeved white gown almost touched the ground.

Bobbi sat up gasping for air as her nighttime visitor quickly vanished away. Her earthly daughter on the second floor slept away with the other two male Chihuahuas, Rosco and Chico. Bobbi went to check on Allena’s safety (like a mom would do), and then tried get comfortable in her bed to fall back to sleep again. Her husband and Lola slept away next to her as if nothing had ever happened.

The next morning Bobbi told me all about her visitor. She thought it was one of our “Heavenly children.” Though no words were ever spoken between mother and daughter, in her heart Bobbi felt the visitor was saying “Breath, it is not your time.”

Though the CPAP machines were to keep one’s lungs open during sleeping, Bobbi believes her “other daughter” was sent to remind her to take in the gift of oxygen. During this time of year, Bobbi had received a Christmas blessing. She’d long to see one of her “other children” one day. (The visit had happened before her passing.)

I wondered if this could have been a result of oxygen deprivation from her not breathing for a few seconds. Maybe this caller was also there to assure her that the bariatric surgery she was thinking of the following year (2014) would be a life-changing success, and not to worry about it

Though I was truly happy for my wife, I was a little irritated that our daughter (possibly Erin) had not gone around to the other side of the bed to meet her father. I would have loved to have been introduced her (even in my bed). Bobbi believes this was not a dreamy vision because it was too real. This mother needed a special message that only a daughter could deliver to her.

Like this unique family visitation, life is full of surprises. There are many great things in this world to enjoy. Be ready for the unexpected. It may be something pleasant that you didn’t even know you wanted in your daily existence. Your chance of a lifetime may turn out to be more than you could have ever dreamed of.

My Three Wives

During my twenty plus years of marriage to Bobbi Lynn (McFarlen) Kinker, there have been three very different women I’ve had the unique challenge of being united to in holy matrimony.

The first Bobbi (of late twenties to mid thirties) was smiling, wide-eyed, optimistic. She was employed; setting up her home with her husband, experienced eight miscarriages, and eventually gave birth to her only child, a daughter. I would call this the exploration period of her life.

Bobbi number two (of her forties) now enters the picture. She still finds a zest for life, but is much more cautious and resolute as she wonders what she’s gotten herself into in her marriage to her husband. Her body temperature is set at constant roast much like the spinning rotisserie chickens at the grocery store. (She is hot, out of breath and sweats profusely most of her day.)

This time period included the acquisition of three Chihuahuas, a husband with cancer (and all the life side effects that follow), becoming connected to several different churches, and the gaining of a large amount of weight. The resolution period dominated this Bobbi. Though she was in a lot of pain (with bad health conditions to match), my wife plodded through no matter what.

On August 27, 2014, the third and (possibly) final Bobbi (age forty-nine) entered the world of those around her. That was the day she made the difficult choice of bariatric (weight loss) surgery at a local central Ohio hospital. With the extreme weight loss, she is now consistently chilled like a tray of ice cubes. (Blankets and shawls are good for legs and arms.) I’ve watched Bobbi blossom personality-wise like some beautiful rare flower in a hot house. The diabetes and joint pain are practically non-existent now.

Exercising, no pain in walking across a grocery store, doing long-delayed house chores, and taking on a second part-time job (along with her retired husband also working part-time to help pay the household bills) are all realities in what I like to call the transformation period. This new energetic wife is sometimes hard to keep up with. Her greatest accomplish is living with three emotional dogs, an ADD college daughter, and an ADHD husband (with emotions like a roller coaster). I laugh as I consider calling myself a bigamist. Ain’t I a lucky man?