Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day- {Day 15}

She closed the door behind her. My husband and I alone in the ultrasound room. Knowing something wasn’t right. She said the doctor would be in soon. The room suddenly short on air.

April 2001. One month before our one year anniversary.

If we have seasons of life, of faith that feel like fall. This was ours. Leaves fall off trees. Death so life could come. However it only felt like the death side of the equation.

Recurring miscarriages, the only diagnosis we ever received. In reality it meant recurring heartbreak, recurring hopes being dashed, recurring loss in dreams of motherhood.

The first time. Just a few months as newlyweds. Learning the baby was no longer alive around nine weeks. In our years of grief that would come, this was dipping my toe beneath the surface.

We waited. We have time. A few months later ready to hope again. Thrilled to discover new life growing.

Five months. Past the danger zone. Safe. Making plans. Letting dreams take over. A baby adding life to our sweet home by Lake Nokomis.

Until that day in April. Waiting in the ultrasound room. Friday afternoon. My husband on a break from work. A project in the works, unknowingly it will not to be returned to for a few weeks. We clung to each other. Waiting. Still believing there might be a sliver of hope. Of miscalculations.

The baby measuring right where he should be. But the doctors words confirm. “There is no heartbeat. I do not know what has happened.”

The room spins out of control. Silent sobs take over my body. “No.” I tell this child I will not give up on you. Stay with me.

In our years of grief, I was about to submerge my whole body.

We return home to a house that a few hours earlier was full of promise. The air has shifted there. It knows. Numbness.

I ask my husband again. “What am I suppose to do?” With multiple meanings.

For now we prepare for the hospital. To deliver a baby. Who won’t be alive. I want to keep him in my body. Still holding on to them being wrong. For a miracle.

Family and friends begin to fill our house. I’m lost in a fog. A thick one.

Checking into the hospital. 24 hours they say. It turns into 48. Into 72. into 5 days. Complications. Epidurals. A baby who refuses to leave my womb. It downpours all week. A removed strength takes over. Determined to get me through the stay. Emotions held at bay.

I lay in the hospital bed. Looking at the gray sky. All the nurses comment on my faithful, fierce husband. Never leaving me. Protecting me. Listening and interpreting for me.

My love for him cemented in this suffering. Two losses never imagined before our first anniversary. A  young marriage placed in a shape to break. Instead it responds with courage that binds- ready to fight together against the evil of the world.

On that fourth day, a nurse makes an urgent call to the OR. I hear her say we have an emergency surgery. Bells go off. People rush. Something about the placenta blocking, possible internal bleeding.

Like a scene out of a movie, lying on my hospital bed I am wheeled into an elevator. Him by my side. They take my glasses. I am blind.

I don’t remember falling asleep. I wake up groggy. I am OK they tell me. The baby is gone. Gone. I am empty. So completely empty. I am not OK.

The next day I am released. But to what I wonder. A moment so clearly etched in my mind. The nurse bringing me down to our car says “Figures it is such a beautiful day today. I had this past week off and they called for sunshine. But it poured all week.”

For the first time I let God enter in. He has been weeping with me. Letting the clouds release their fury. Darkening the skies. Not thinking of theological implications of the hows and whys of God in suffering. But knowing he was WITH me.

He sets the stage for months long wrestling. Journals upon journals set upon my shelf from that season. Laments. Anger. Surrender. Questions. Distance. And all over again.

Getting results back from an autopsy and testing. Everything was good, healthy, we could not find any problems. Other than my baby died. And we don’t know why.

There is so much more to say. So much richness in this journey. So much despair in my thoughts. This season of fall. Of dying getting a hold on me. Dying that led to stretching and growing pains. Dying that led to capacity for suffering and joy. And an understanding of their connectedness. But it did not come easy. Worth the wrestling, yes. Easy, no.

Today I remember this baby, all my babies. I remember with all the others who long to be moms. And I remember the new life that comes after winter. Sharing hope, substantive, messy hope with all of you.

Today is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. When I learned that, I knew what today’s post would be, and scratched what was planned. Much of this I have written, in journals, across my heart and within this blog space. It seems a mark of this series has been the things I plan to notice being upstaged with what God has me notice and remember.

I’m participating with The Nester in 31 Days of Noticing the Moment. This is Day 15.

You can find all 31 Dayers here. There are so many wonderful topics.

If you miss any days in the series, you can find introductory and each days post here.

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