Ultrasound 4.7.14
Sometimes, even though we try our best to do all the right
things, the wrong things happen.
Not because you are a bad person. Not because you don’t
deserve happiness. Just because…well, I don’t honestly know why. Maybe GOD SAYS
NOT YET. Not right now. Not this time. Who knows why the things that happen to
us, happen.
Today, I had my ultrasound. They found the gestational sac,
and the yolk sac, but no fetal pole. I
had no clue what that meant…it means they did not see the fetus…they did not
see the baby.
I hopped up off the table, got dressed, all happy…all
unaware, and I was happily led to the exam room where my doctor would come in
to see me…She came in, and stupid me: I was so excited. I thought seeing the
gestation and yolk sacs was a big to do. I feel so stupid now looking back. I
was so naive.
I also recognize things more looking back. Maybe the spotting was more than anyone
realized. Maybe when I woke up and realized there was no more morning
sickness…no more sore boobs…I should’ve known? I was happy thinking I could
eat…maybe those were warning signs? When did things go wrong? More importantly,
WHY?
Maybe I knew more in my spirit than I let on…maybe that was
why a part of me was so reluctant to tell my story. Maybe the same part that
felt that this was coming. This was me…a
dream deferred.
My doctor said we’ll do another ultrasound in a week…but her
face held no hope in it. Not one sign.
My heart sank.
I held it together while scheduling the next ultrasound. I
held it together while going down in the elevator. I held it together while I
walked what seemed a mile to my car. And
then, once inside my car…once the door slammed shut with a thud…I stopped
holding on, and I let go. A deep, but
still high-pitched…wail…
I don’t know what has ever hurt so much to compare it to.
Did I get too cocky? Feeling myself too much for defying the odds?
Did I cross someone? Do some unknown evil that I was now
being repaid for in the worst possible way?
Now I would have to face those sad faces. Now, I would have to hear the sorry's that
were coming. Now, I would be surrounded
by the many pregnant women at my job, knowing that my baby would not play
amongst theirs.
I cried. I cried for I don’t know how long in the parking
lot. I cried for every dream and hope I had tied up in this child—for the name
I had already given this child. For the future I had planned for this child.
I cried. And when I got home to Matthew, even though I tried
not to, I cried in front of him. I cried
when he wanted to see favorite episode of Yo Gabba Gabba—Baby.
He was so sweet. He climbed in to my lap and pointed to my
face. Then he took his finger and wiped away a tear (like I do to him), and
said, “Mommy crying.” And he laid his head on my shoulder and patted my back.
I hugged him to me. I hugged him to me, and I rocked him
close. I did what I had not been able to do in weeks—I picked my baby up and I
cradled him in my arms, and despite my best efforts, I cried more.
My heart was breaking. But he did not understand. My soul
was shriveling up, but he would never know the sickness I felt within.
And that night, instead of putting my baby to bed alone; I
was selfish—VERY selfish—and I held my child close to me, and while he drifted
off to sleep, I cried myself there…after you’ve done all you can…you
just….stand……
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