The Child I Lost

Hi Friends!

When I sat down to write today I started with a completely different topic in mind. As words started to flow from my fingers I somehow started writing about the child I lost. In one of my first posts I spoke about my journey in becoming a mother. There was a small little paragraph that mentioned that I had lost a child prior to my sweet E being born. I promised I would tell that story one day. I guess today is that day. 

I remember the day I found out I was pregnant for the first time. No, not with my oldest child, before that. I remember crying so passionately. I was so completely overcome with joy. I put my hand on my stomach and even though I couldn't physically feel anything, I felt it with my heart. With my soul.

I visited a doctor that day. I had felt poorly for several weeks and I just wasn't getting better. The older man that saw me swore to me that I was pregnant. I took a test, it said no, and he told me he still felt I was with child. I did find this a little odd, being that the test he showed me was clearly void of the thin blue line, but he was a little eccentric and persistent. He shook his head, after starring at the test for a while, and sent me on my way with a prescription for dizziness and nausea. 

I climbed into the front seat of my friend's car and spoke with her and my, in fact, newly pregnant friend and we headed on our way to the pharmacy. We spoke about our husbands, who all worked together, and of the strangeness of the conversation I had had with the small doctor. 

15 minutes after I had departed the office I received a phone call from an unknown number. I answered to find the voice of the doctor on the other line. He said, with great excitement, "do NOT take the medication!" I was confused. Before I could ask him to explain he told me congratulations and that he was right. "I kept your test because I just knew in my heart that you were pregnant. After I saw my next patient I went back to check your test and there is a line. You are probably just a couple of days pregnant. Take a home test in a few days and you will get a positive!"

What?

Before I could say thank you and hang up my face was covered in tears. My heart was racing and I felt the most pure joy I had ever felt. I hung up the phone and just laughed and cried. My friends were anxious to hear what had happened and repeatedly asked me what the phone call was about. After a few moments of realization I told them the good news. "I'm PREGNANT!!" There were lots of screams and laughter and "oh my goodness". I was going to be a mother. I was pregnant. My good friend in the car with me was only about 6 weeks ahead of me. We would be pregnant together. We would have children only a month, or so,  apart and they would be best friends. It was perfect. 

I had wanted to be a mother for as long as I could remember. I am the oldest of 6 and I had been called "little mama" for most of my life. I love children and a having a family has always been one of the most important things to me. Unless you have experienced being with child its hard to explain.

Elation

Jubilation 

Euphoria 

BLISS

Fast forward 8 weeks and laying on a doctor's office bed, cold and covered in crinkling white paper. Soft blue paint on the walls and photos of the staff's infants wrapped in pretty blankets and small children smiling, perfectly posed and flooded with perfect light. I remember holding my breath as the doctor inserted the uncomfortable device. Watching her face as it twisted and her lips pursed. Those words she told me forever etched in my memory. 

"I'm so sorry. Your pregnancy isn't viable. You have lost it."

I was in total shock. The child I had wept with joy over was now no longer. I thought back to the feeling I had, when I had placed my hand on my midsection, knowing that there was love in there, but now I felt void. My heart pounded in my ears and I could barely lift my arms. The rest of the appointment was a blur. Insignificant after such earth shattering news is delivered. I remember going out to eat lunch after and barely being able to finish my meal.

The next few days were hazy. I tried to look for the good in such tragedy. The truth of the matter was, I was in a horrible place in my marriage and we both knew it wouldn't be long before things would be over. We told ourselves it must not have been meant to be. The truth is, it didn't really matter what I said out loud. I was hurting inside. I was crumbling like a cracker in a toddlers hand. Pieces of me falling to the floor to be swept up and deposited in the trash. My world had already began to fall apart  for months, but this was the icing on the cake. The straw that broke the camel's back. I was devastated. 

I carried that "nonviable" in my womb for months, afraid to undergo the procedure that was recommended over and over. I waited every day for the blood to start. I waited for the cramping, that I was assured would come. I waited and wept and slept and woke everyday hoping today would be the day a miracle would happen. I waited for death of that "mass of cells". I waited for anything to happen, but it didn't.

Appointment after appointment was had. Make sure. Just make sure. Finally, after those few months had past, the sweet blond haired doctor told me very firmly, but with much grace, that I needed to undergo a procedure to remove the baby or I could permanently damage my body and ruin any chances of having future children. 

I called my mom. I needed her. I told her I needed her and she was there. She held my hand as they prepped me. She was there when I woke. She gave me the peace I needed. She gave me the comfort. 

And just like that, it was over. 

I bled for at least a week afterward. They didn't fully prepare me for the pain. Emotionally and physically. I couldn't have imagined the tears that would come as each clot left my body. I struggled until my due date passed. May 20th, 2009. That was the day. That was the day I should have given birth to my first child. Instead I spent the day in Basic Training. The night after everyone had gone to bed I got up and prayed. Prayed for that child. Begged it to be loved. Searched for the strength to somehow let go. 

In the weeks between hearing the good news and bad news I lived in ignorant bliss. I read books and thought of names. I walked the baby section of every store I visited. One day my girlfriends and I went to Walmart. I just knew mine was a boy and my friend thought she was having a girl. (He ended up being a him) The third, non pregnant friends, bought us each a small sleeper and a toy. Mine was white with blue trim and covered in cowboy print. She also got me a little stuffed giraffe that could be wound up to play music. I kept that sleeper and giraffe. The only pieces of my little boy that I will ever have. My baby I was going to name Jacob.

Quite a few years later I met some great friends while we lived in England. They had a little boy named Jacob and the first time we watched him, while I was pregnant with E, he brought over his little lovie. It was a giraffe. It was warn and no longer made music, but there was no denying that it was the twin to my Jacob's giraffe that was stored in my closet upstairs. After I had E I decided that this giraffe needed to be loved. It ended up being one of her favorite toys. It now resembles our friend's giraffe. Tattered and loved. 

I'll never forget the love I had for that baby. I don't care how small it was. I don't care how little time it was in my womb. It was there. I loved it. I had plans for it.


According to Americanpregnancy.org, "10-25% of all clinically recognized pregnancies will end in a miscarriage."