I will warn you before reading this post that it is an incredibly sensitive subject. Writing is therapeutic for me, and I know that someone – even if it’s just one person – will find solace with my story. Also, we are still in the throes of wherever this path is leading. If I jump around more than usual, please forgive me.
Right now, we’re supposed to be on a flight to Florida. Our big, spring family babymoon on the beach has been getting us through the past few crazy busy weeks. And the crazy winter. But that’s not where we are.
Instead, we’re sitting in the hospital waiting for the induction meds to take hold. Today I am having a baby. Except it’s not a joyous occasion.
Yesterday morning, I knew something was off. I hadn’t felt my little girl move in about a day – which, given how active she’s been since about week sixteen, was concerning. So I called the doctor and went into the clinic. Within ten minutes we got the absolute worst news any parent could ever receive: our baby’s heart had stopped beating.
Scan after scan confirmed it. It was awful. It IS awful.
We went home. We were experiencing an amount of pain and hurt that I could have never imagined before. My little baby girl was gone before she even had a chance to live. My baby is dead. Those words hurt so much more when they’re staring back at you from a computer screen. It’s like they’re glaring me in the face, forcing me to accept them. Awful.
The only thing that forced us to hold things together is the fact that we have a beautiful, smart, amazing 19 month old little boy who needs us. We spent hours sitting there – looking at nothing – trying to comprehend how our hearts had just been shattered. And then it was time to pick up Ricky – so we had to try and put on halfway normal faces and be the mommy and daddy he needed.
After we picked him up, it was as though he knew something was going on. Instead of wanting to run outside or build towers with his blocks, all he wanted to do was snuggle up on me with his blankie. He even wanted me to rock him to sleep. These are things that typically don’t happen at our house – and it was comforting in a space where nothing can really make you feel better at all.
Since we’re so far along in the pregnancy, I have to go through labor and delivery to birth my stillborn angel baby. Knowing that I was going to get up this morning and go through this process was almost more than I could bear. Neither of us slept much last night. When I actually got out of bed, my eyes would only open halfway – they were swollen halfway shut from crying. I laughed when I saw myself in the mirror…I looked like a hundred bees attacked my eyes. Finding a miniscule amount of humor in a seemingly impossible situation helped me to force one foot in front of the other when all I wanted to do was hide in the back of my closet.
And here we are. One day later, sitting in a hospital bed, awaiting the inevitable. It is a hurt worse than anything I have ever been through. It is impossible to comprehend in one breath: that on Friday, my baby and her heartbeat were strong. And yesterday, they were gone.
My focus right now is getting through today. Finding out why this happened. And figuring out what happens next. I go from feeling like I can get through this and, at some point, accept that this really happened to sobbing and grieving the little life that was lost. It is heartwrenching.
The logical side of me knows that this is temporary. I know that eventually, we will find a new normal. But right now…it’s raw. Going through labor to deliver a baby that will never cry, never take a breath, a first step, say a first word…I just don’t know how to make that reality hurt less. Today sucks.