Sorry for the absence, and sorry for the long post...
I'll never forget the day in October when my wife and I went to the doctor's office for the confirmation ultrasound for our second child. We were full of excitement as we looked forward to what the next nine months would bring; all of the bizarre cravings, watching her stomach grow, and getting a chance to talk to our toddler son about what was to come. We waited patiently in the doctor's office for our name to be called and before we knew it we were being taken back to the ultrasound room.
The doctor, one that we had known from our previous pregnancy (this practice has 5 doctors), comes in, gets ready, and begins the ultrasound. If you've ever had children, been with someone during an ultrasound, or watched any episode of
Grey's Anatomy that deals with pregnancy, you know that you hear that heartbeat pounding out a rhythm within a few seconds.
We heard nothing.
Silence.
The doctor adjusted the equipment and kept looking, but with each passing second we knew what must have happened. We knew that for some reason, we had lost our second baby. The doctor said something about my wife having a miscarriage; the sac where the baby grows appeared empty and had stopped growing at 6 weeks.
This would have been her 8th week of pregnancy.
Understandably we were upset. The doctor handed my wife a box of tissues, patted her on the back, and excused herself. I remember being frozen in place as the realization of what had happened washed over us. Pregnancy has not come easy for us, so this was weeks and months of effort and the hopes for a new baby suddenly erased. My wife was given options for blood work to check to see if her body was producing the pregnancy hormones still and we were told to come back in a week to make sure there was no residual material left behind. Our doctor told us that we could come back in a few days just to double check, but that it the ultrasound would come back the same. She was
certain that she was right.
She wasn't.
My wife left the office without so much as talking to a check-out nurse and I stayed behind to make a follow-up appointment. My wife had declined any of the additional checks, certain that we had lost our baby. Within about 24 hours, she had changed her mind. My wife made a last minute call to the doctors office 2 days after our appointment to have another ultrasound, but the only time they could get us in that week was within the hour. We both work about 45 minutes from this doctor's office.
I found about 5 willing co-workers to cover my classes (heroes that day), and I drove well above posted speeds to get from my school to the doctor's office in time. We rush into the office, barely on time, and get checked in. This time, the office's ultrasound technician took us back and she compared the doctor's notes to what we had to say. For some strange reason, the doctor had done nothing to record the perceived miscarriage. The doctor we had had two days earlier decided it was not worth keeping it in my wife's medical history.
Knowing that we most likely would be met with the same hard feeling as before, the ultrasound began. We both had tears in our eyes and was about ready to admit that this was just going to be a painful replay.
But then we heard it.
A heartbeat.
The ultrasound tech looked surprised as she took measurements of our now present child. The heartbeat wasn't the strongest and they were showing the growth of a 6 week old, not an 8 week old. We were shocked to say the least, but now the feeling that I dread the most began to creep in with surprising intensity; I was
useless.
I served no purpose in this room right now; this was a battle that my wife and her body had to fight.
We did this for another 7 days, rushing to the hospital to get blood work done and have more ultrasounds. Each time we went, no matter who was looking; doctors or technicians, the prognosis was the same; you're baby is here now, but they won't be for long. Miscarriage was inevitable. That's what they kept telling us.
And this little blueberry sized baby kept proving them wrong.
Each ultrasound revealed a heartbeat and a little tiny baby; but not without issues. Blood was surrounding them in what was supposed to be their safe place. But as long as they had a beating heart, we weren't giving up. If you know us, you will know that stubbornness is a dominant personality trait, and this kid was full of it. Each time the doctors said no, our kid said yes.
Until they couldn't anymore.
It was a beautiful October Sunday, the kind with a deep blue sky and big white clouds, and we were in the car. Out of nowhere my wife starts cramping and there's blood. Now, the doctors had warned us of this moment for 2 weeks and it was here in all of its agony. We rushed home, certain that we knew what had happened. We were told by a doctor that as long as the bleeding slowed and my wife didn't show signs of bleeding out that we could just stay home; the passing of our unborn child was not an "emergency".
The next day we called to schedule an appointment. We go into the doctor, have an ultrasound expecting to hear the kind of silence that is eerie in a hospital.
But it wasn't silent.
This tiny heart still beat.
How?
The doctors could no longer hide their surprise. For the better part of a month this tiny little human kept proving them wrong. We heard that word inevitable again, but when all of the evidence points to the contrary, how can you believe that something is "inevitable". We were elated but frightened. How could we help this baby fight on?
I remember my wife asking me, "What do we do if this keeps going on?" and I had said, "Well if it keeps happening for nine months, I'd say we would just have the baby."
Our joy was short lived. For nearly a month now this was the brightest spot, but it would be the shortest.
Within a couple of days, more cramping, more bleeding, and more tissue passed. We went back to the doctor's.
No heartbeat.
No embryonic sac.
No pregnancy.
Roughly six weeks of joy, with the positive pregnancy test and my toddler wearing a "Best Big Brother" shirt, to this lowest point of knowing that we had lost our baby, was emotionally, spiritually, and physically trying. We had no answers from any direction, medical or spiritual, and couldn't process the grief. My wife asked me "Why? Why would this happen?", it was a question about her body and about our faith. I did not have an answer for her as we sat in stunned silence.
But when I prayed during that last week of not knowing, I prayed for closure and for a healing hand on my wife. I turned it over to God, because my brain and my heart couldn't compute what was happening. It still can't.
My wife would have been due next week, on May 15. I feel just as helpless and confused now as I did nearly nine months ago. As a husband and dad, it's like I'm pre-programmed to want to
fix things. But I couldn't fix this. I couldn't go out into the garage and puzzle over it and then have a solution. I couldn't consult someone on how to make this better. The grief I felt was wholly new, and I couldn't begin to imagine the grief my wife felt. It was a sense of total loss and it still feels that way. I will be forever thankful for the family I have; the amazing 2 year old who brings nothing but joy and a wife who is my best friend, but there is still a strange empty spot in this home, noticeable on those darker days. We should have been working on converting the office into a nursery and making sure we had plenty of diapers. Instead, we kept doing what we had been; going to work, cooking meals, and doing the things we love. But part of me feels like it's still back in October 2018, trying to figure out the impossible question of "why?".
My mental health has suffered since then, as I fear the cold grip of depression could creep in at any moment. I worry that maybe I was not and am still not supportive enough of my wife, making me feel like I'm not a good husband. I struggled through until Christmas at work, trying to remain positive, but knowing that I was not the same person in the classroom as I was in the fall.
I don't know how to get rid of the feeling, and too be honest, I'm afraid if I lose the feeling then I'm forgetting about our baby. We have a discussion about abortion in class each year, and this year it fell about a week after that last doctor's appointment. It was so easy for me before to say that a fetus isn't a baby until such and such point, but I have no qualms whatsoever saying that the 6 week old who took residence in that womb was not just a clump of cells--they were my baby, and I'll miss them forever.
I can't imagine what my wife went through, and I won't pretend that I can. I just want her to feel supported and loved. We'll keep moving forward and growing our love for each other and for our family, but this will forever be a chapter in our story that we will continue to revisit time and again.
Best,
