In The Beginning II

A few days after my appointment and ultrasound at 17 weeks, I began to feel. . .icky. Just plain icky. And I was having some brief but uncomfortable cramps. I figured they must be Braxton-Hicks contractions made worse by a UTI--something I seem prone to, especially in pregnancy. I went to the after-hours clinic to get checked out. The dipstick test came back clean, so the doctor sent out for a culture and gave me some antibiotics in the meantime. I went home, took the antibiotics, drowned myself in cranberry juice--and soon enough I began to feel a little better. About a week later, though, I started feeling some cramps again--still short enough that again I figured they were Braxton-Hicks contractions. I took a bath, drank a lot of water, and went to bed. When I woke up Thursday morning, though, the cramps started again--and were extremely painful now, so Jared took me to the emergency room. I kept telling him I thought it was just a bad UTI--Inever dreamed how my visit would end, and so in the rush we just grabbed the girls and took them with us.

In the emergency room they took a urine sample and put me into a private room, where the doctor performed an ultrasound. I'm so grateful for those few moments when for one last time I got to see my little boy's heart beating away. After the ultrasound, they brought Jared and the girls into my room. The contractions had gotten closer together but were still just a few seconds long. . .I was still viewing them as an annoyance rather than a danger. But then as I was talking with Jared, a contraction started up--and at its peak I heard and felt a "snap" and a gush of fluid. My heart plummeted. I knew that sound, that feeling. I told Jared to take the girls out, quick, and find the nurse because my water had broken.

Maybe it was because my water had broken, maybe it was because I was scared, maybe my placenta began abrupting at this point--whatever the reason, now the pain had become excruciating. My nurse ran in, saw the bloody fluid, threw my bed down flat, and dashed out again to find the doctor. I don't know how long I was alone. It felt like hours, though I know it was just minutes. I don't know what was harder to endure--the physical pain of the contractions, or the emotional pain of knowing what was going to happen and knowing there was nothing anybody could do to stop it. I know the nurses and the doctor came in and out of my room during this time, to start an IV and tell me my OB was on his way. Long before he arrived, even before they had a chance to start any medication, my little boy was born. Suddenly, everything just stopped. The physical pain was gone. I felt so quiet, so very empty.

My OB arrived--he came straight into my room and began talking about doing a cerclage. He didn't know I'd already delivered my little boy. I told him, and his face fell. He expressed his condolences, conducted a brief examination, and asked if I wanted to see my baby. I felt like shouting--Of COURSE, what mother wouldn't want to hold her baby, no matter what?

The nurse handed me my little boy, wrapped in a towel. I was surprised--I think I even gasped--when I saw how much he looked like Jared. He was bigger than I'd envisioned--nearly as big as one of my girls' little baby dolls--and yet so, so tiny. I was amazed at how utterly perfect his little body was--those tiny fingers, those miniscule ears. His long, long legs with those perfectly articulated knees. I just fell in love with those darling little knees. I sat there, marvelling over the miraculous creation of his body, drinking in every tiny detail.

My husband came back (he had taken our girls home, where my mother-in-law was now watching them) and together we held our little boy and wept. Jared made a comment about how it really was "just" his body now, and I agreed--as precious and marvelous as that little body was, it felt empty and hollow to hold it now that his little spirit had departed it. I told him about the prompting I'd felt about this being William--I couldn't deny it now, for sure--and Jared offered David as a middle name. Our friends down the street had recently had a little boy--their 5th child and 1st son--and had named him David. It's a sweet reminder to me now to see their little David and think of my little boy who shares that name.

I don't know just how long we stayed there together, just the three of us. Nurses drifted in and out, bringing a blanket for my baby, checking my vital signs, asking us how we were doing. I'll never forget their kindness--offering to sit with us, asking to see our little boy, telling us how beautiful he was. I can't think about this without tearing up all over again.

All too soon it was time for us to say our final goodbyes and hand over our precious little boy. Even knowing that it was "just" his body, it still hurt to say goodbye. I couldn't bear the thought of his tiny body in the cold February ground alone, so we chose to have him cremated--the mortuary would pick up his body after the pathology examination was finished. The nurse handed me the receiving blanket he had been wrapped in, and we walked out into the cold evening.

I couldn't believe how unchanged the world seemed. . .This was punctuated by the discovery upon our arrival home that Elizabeth, our older daughter had an ear infection--she was sobbing on the couch when we got in the door. Without missing a beat I got the phone and called our pediatrician to make an appointment, thankful that they kept such late hours on weekdays. It seemed almost surreal to be doing this--for a moment I felt the urge to pour out my entire story on this unsupecting receptionist. Jared took Elizabeth back down the street (the pediatrician's office is connected to the hospital we'd just come home from), while my mother-in-law watched Anna, our younger daughter. I went into our bedroom and laid down, listening through my tears to Anna laughing and chattering to her grandma while they read stories together. It did my heart such good to hear that simple exchange of love and joy, to be reminded of the joy that life has to offer and the blessings that I have in my girls.

Before long, Jared and Elizabeth were home. Elizabeth curled up on the bed next to me, and as I stroked her hair she fell asleep. Again, this simple moment filled my heart with joy, love, and peace. This little chance to just be a mom. . .to have a "baby" to hold and love, even if she was my big, gangly 4-year-old "baby". . .felt so good, so healing.

Later that night Jared and I knelt to say our prayers together. I can't remember much what he said, but I remember it was so beautiful. I felt such peace and comfort wash over me, knowing that our little boy was safe in the arms of a loving Father in Heaven. My heart ached, but I knew we could do this--we could get through this together.