You pee on a stick. Your heart pounds, your stomach knots as you wait for the results. The second line appears and you don’t know what you feel. You tell your husband, you laugh and maybe cry a tear or two of joy. You put your hand on your tummy and picture the tiny life starting to grow. Your excitement grows along with your belly and when you can’t hold the news anymore you tell your family and friends.
The summer passes in a blur of nausea and overwhelming tiredness mixed with anticipation. Hours spent on couches instead of parks with your kids .You willingly sacrifice it all because in a few months he will be here. Somehow you know it is a he, this child within you, and you think of names and wait anxiously for that first kick. And than the appointment comes where you find that something is not how it should be. Something is wrong with your baby, your child. And for weeks you fret, you stew, you puke and you pray. And because you already love this baby of yours, you hope.
And all of that comes crashing down the day you see him on the screen, as still as can be. 16 weeks and no heartbeat. You want to kick and scream at the unfairness of it all. But instead you go home and take care of your kids, feed them dinner and put them to bed. Escaping a few times throughout the day to cry behind a locked door.
The next morning they wheel you to the OR and tell you you will soon be sleeping. And already you don’t wanna wake up. Because you remember what it feels like to wake up knowing your baby is gone, writhing in pain and for what?! But a few minutes later, there you are awake, and hearing your nurses talk about your baby as if he were medical waste. And you cry and sob and wait for your husband to come. You ask for more pain Meds not sure if it is physical pain or emotional pain you are hoping to relieve. You eat the crackers and drink the juice so they will let you leave. And you walk out, passing brand new babies in car seats and laboring mom walking in the hallways. You get in your car with the empty back seat and hug yourself with your empty arms.
Than you go home and climb in bed and think about everything you gave up that summer, your time, your health, the fun memories you wanted to make, the sleep you sacrificed, and most of all the giant chunk of your heart that is no longer where it belongs. And you place your hand on your tummy and think of that empty space where a few hours ago your baby was and you feel as empty as your womb.
A few weeks later you pee on a stick. Your heart pounds, your stomach knots as you wait for the results.The second line never appears and you don’t know what to feel. This makes it real that it is over. Every trace of the baby is done and gone. But with that negative result you also feel hope in a new beginning. That you are that much closer to trying this all over again. You pray to God that next time will be different and that all the pain of this one won’t rob all the joy of the next. And you put away the sticks both anxiously awaiting and dreading the day you need to use them again.
In case you missed the other post about our pregnancy and miscarriage here are the links below:
Cystic Hygroma Diagnosis