I had planned a post for Friday this week. It was supposed to be a very exciting one, the one where I disclosed that I was checking off the item on the list that says "Decide if we want to have another baby and start trying." Because on Friday, I was 17 weeks pregnant and headed to my "big" ultrasound appointment. We were excited. We were hoping for a boy. But what I wanted most of all, was to be reassured that I had a healthy baby.
Instead, we immediately saw an absence when our sweet ultrasound tech placed her magic wand on my belly. We saw an absence of fetal movement, an absence of a flickering heart. I knew before the ultrasound tech did. I was the one who told her...my baby was dead. After a long 30 seconds, she confirmed it. Yes, there were no signs of life. He was exactly the size he should have been for his gestational age, and they estimated he'd been gone for no longer than a few hours to a day.
In a moment, one of my worst nightmares came true. I was whisked to a room where we met with a kind doctor who explained we'd be going to the hospital to deliver our baby. We were met by a sweet nurse who explained "the process." We were treated to the most compassionate medical care imaginable. I was given drugs to induce labor and 6.5 hours later, my son was born. He was tiny, he was lifeless, but he was my son.
In the 48 hours since we first started on this awful journey, we've received a tremendous outpouring of support from friends and family. We feel surrounded by love for which we are so grateful. And yet, we're acutely aware of the reason for this outpouring...our son is not here, nor will he be. We believe that he is alive with God, and that his spirit and true life is not lost. And yet, we were so excited to have him here with us.
I'm wresting with all the "nevers." We will never hold him again. We will never change his diaper. We will never know what color his eyes are or what his hair will look like. We will never know what he likes to eat. We will never set to sing him to sleep or get up with him when he cries in the night. We will never get to do a million things with him that we imagined doing. And that hurts like hell.
My blog is about how I navigate life in a way that tells a good story with my life. And yet, I never anticipated something like this when I put "decide if we want to have another baby" on my list. And now I have no idea what to say about the status of that list item. And, please, I know that I shouldn't even be thinking about this right now. But the reality is that I am.
So, I may veer off topic for a while. I may need this space to process what my reality is. I hope you'll stay along for the ride. And I hope to God that somehow, someway, it ends up telling a good story.