The Day a Piece of Me Died Too

Monday, July 16 started out feeling different from any other day. Deep down, I knew why.

For the first time in months, I slept soundly for a solid eight hours. I didn’t move all night and I wasn’t woken up by having to adjust my belly or push a foot out of my ribs. I just slept and woke up feeling rested and that felt odd. It was a gloomy day and our 36 week check was first thing in the morning. As we got to the office the parking lot was full as usual. We had to drive around and search for a spot. But, as we walked through the medical center doors, there wasn’t a person in site. In the past, every single visit to this busy facility had people buzzing in and out and all around no matter the weather. I felt like I was watching myself walk to the elevator, like in slow motion. We went up to the 3rd floor and as I got off the elevator and turned to walk down the long hallway, I lost my breath. Dalton was walking just ahead of me and I tried to scream out to him but nothing came out. I whispered “something’s not, right. Dalton. It’s not right.” He turned and looked at me with his knowing eyes and grabbed my hand, “I know, baby.”

As we checked in and sat down in the waiting room, I was nervous. (I have the same feeling now trying to help you visit this day with me.) It’s hard to explain but it was like I had two different minds and they had no idea what the other was thinking. One was wondering why today felt weird and was reassuring me, while the other knew what was coming and was causing the physical reactions.. I was way out of sorts, confused, and ready to see my girl.

“I have told you all this so that you may have peace in me. Here on earth you will have many trails and sorrows. But take heart, because I have overcome the world.” John 16:33 NLT

Finally, it was our turn. We had the same friendly face technician. “How has your week been?” How in the world do I sum up the prior week of anxiety in one sentence?? “Oh, it was fine, just ready to see Evelynn.” As she put the warm jelly on my belly I stared blankly at the screen frantically searching for those beating chambers of her precious heart. I found her heart on the monitor…..and then mine broke into more pieces than I could have ever imagined. I could no longer see as my eyes were filled with tears and I was wailing “THERE’S NO HEARTBEAT. WHERE IS HER HEARTBEAT. TELL ME. DO YOU SEE IT? TELL ME!” The technician couldn’t keep the ultrasound probe on my skin because I was crying hard and my body was shaking. I was so mad at myself, too. How could I have gone a whole week knowing something was wrong. I should have done more (even though for us there was nothing to be done). I just let myself feel the hurt and broken-ness I had been anticipating for twenty-two weeks. Twenty-two weeks of refusing to let the fear, worry, and anxiety dictate how I handled myself was just let out on that comfy stretcher. It was replaced with a broken-ness. The empty dull pained brokenness that slowly tore me apart.

At some point the technician had left the room. All that remained was my precious husband cleaning the jelly off my belly and trying to help me pull myself together. Before I knew it, I was dressed just sitting there staring at the blank black screen. We just sat there and held each other. One of the specialist, not Dr. G, came in and gave empty apologies (probably just my perception at the lowest moment in my life. Nothing anyone said would’ve been good enough) and said she had talked to Dr. T and he would induce me right away if that’s what I wanted. My baby is dead in my belly. Was there another option?! “Yes ma’am, I’d like to start the process immediately.” I was instructed to pack my bags and check-in to CMC by noon. They snuck me out a side entrance so I wouldn’t have to see all the mommas in the waiting room who probably heard me. “God, don’t leave me now. I need you.”

“My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.” 2 Corinthians 12:9 NLT

As we left, we made the hardest phone calls to our closest family. I felt like I could barely keep my eyes open and dry but like any momma, I had things that needed to get done so the feelings had to wait. We hurried home and grabbed our packed bags. We made the decision to pull Charlie out of preschool and bring him with us. I wanted nothing more than for him to understand I just needed to hold him tight that day. He understood. We checked-in, family started to arrive and all we knew to do was hug each other as tight as we could and wait.

Reading and re-reading this post doesn’t make a difference because no matter how I change the words or add adjectives here and there, it’s not enough. I feel like I can’t make you understand the earth shattering feelings that I had this day, and for that I’m thankful. I wish the world never had holidays for pregnancy and infant loss. I wish the feeling of being dead inside was never shared with anyone. A piece of me died that day too but for now I’m planting it deep down into these blogs in hopes and prayer that I bloom again some day.

“He heals the brokenhearted and bandages their wounds.” Psalms 147:3

Day 16. In honor of Eve, I’d like for you to wrap your mind around the following statistic. Stillbirth effects about 1% of all pregnancies, and each year about 24,000 babies are stillborn in the U.S. (https://www.cdc.gov/ncbddd/stillbirth/facts.html#ref)

That is about the same number of babies that die during the first year of life. It is more than 10 times as many deaths as the number that occurs from SIDS. (www.nowilaymedowntosleep.org/awarenessmonth/?utm_source=ig&utm_medium=smpost)