Saturday, January 23, 2010

Lightening Crashes

From Friday Morning, January 22nd...

“Well, I am looking for the heartbeat but I am not finding it. It should be right here.” He points to a place on the baby. There is nothing moving. He enlarges it. Still nothing. I know what this means but I just lay there and wait. “I’m sorry,” he says. “The baby is 8 weeks, 5 days, exactly as it is supposed to be. I would say the heart stopped just yesterday or today. Not long ago.” I listen. I hear the words but I refuse at this point to acknowledge them. Not until I sit up. When I sit up, reality smacks me in the face. And it stings.

It is one thing to lose a baby at age 24. I have done that. It was heartbreaking, don’t get me wrong. It felt like the end of the world. But in looking back on it, I also had some 10 to 15 years to have another one. Losing a baby at 40 is different. It feels like the end of the world. But time is not available to me.

In some ways, I am in denial. I have been scouring the internet for stories…who had an ultrasound at 8 weeks that showed no heartbeat and it turned out fine. The heartbeat came back. A mistake had been made. The baby was positioned such that it didn’t show. There are no stories. Just those who miscarried some 4 days to 6 weeks later. Bodies bleeding, wombs contracting, dead babies in sacks expelling themselves. I am horrified but I keep looking. I delay lighting candles so I can try to live just a little longer in my denial.

We have to tell the kids. I cry while they sit on the couch and wait. Chandler is confused. “Come on, Aunt Kimber, why are you so sad?” I say, “I went to the doctor…” and he immediately knows. He tips his head back and sighs. Alia waits. I mumble the rest. She sobs uncontrollably, on and on and on and on. Rob goes to Alia to comfort her. I cannot do it. I can just cry, where I am sitting. It is like I am paralyzed. Chandler comes over to put his arm around me. Says kind things to me.

And this is my day.

2 comments:

rach said...

Kimber. Please know that we are thinking of you and sending you many hugs. We remember how surreal it felt after our miscarriage. I felt like I was standing still in time watching the world in their blissfully unawareness going about their business. Know that we are standing still in time with you and feel great sadness for your (and your family's) loss.

Please know we are here for you if you need anything.

Martiel said...

I AM SOOOO SORRY FOR EVERY MOMENT OF YOUR LOSS. I remember last year, when I miscarried and felt so EMPTY inside it was so unreal. My jaw just dropped when I read this. In a matter of 10 minutes I find out you are Preggers, then read on to read what I don't want to read. I am so sorry sweet sweet Kimber, not fair, I know. Not fair at all.