For Infant and Pregnancy loss remembrance day, I remember

Though those who know me know will know what I'm talking about, some do not. This blog post is personal and not positive. If you don't want to be saddened maybe don't read it. If you don't mind being saddened please do.

I got married young. That wasn't my best idea ever. We starting trying to have a baby right away. Also probably not my best idea ever in light of the aforementioned bad idea. That's another blog. It took some time, several months, but it happened eventually. I was thrilled and in the only way I could, I prepared. A lot. I picked an OB. I read. I shopped. I decorated. I was thrilled to be having my first baby. I knew she was a girl. I wanted to name her Jordan.

Around Mother's day. I felt her first kicks. Then nothing. I wasn't very far along in the pregnancy and the OB told me it was normal not to feel movement until 20+ weeks. OK. Fair enough. I went to my regular appointment. My OB had to cancel it due to an emergency. Two weeks later I went back. We were getting ready to have an ultrasound soon and I was anxious to have my suspicions confirmed. The OB used the doppler to listen to the heartbeat which could not be found. He then reassured me that often babies hide. He'd just get the ultrasound machine an find the baby. So he did.

When I saw the first glimpse of my baby that I'd not seen since early after conception, I was delighted. My baby was no longer just a blob. Arms. Legs. Hands. Feet. Fingers. Toes. Beautiful.

But no heartbeat.

I'll never forget the look in his eye when he sat on his rolling stool and said nothing except, "Oh my God, Joni. I'm so sorry. I can't find a heartbeat."

And my world literally crumbled. All around me.

He sent us to a radiologist. They repeated the same procedure. Cold gel. Blurry black and white screen. No heartbeat. And the radiologist..."Your baby is dead. Sign this form. Where's your insurance card? Have a nice day." Other things I don't remember.

What came after that can only be described as the worst several days of my life.

She was in fact a girl, as I'd suspected. the OB gave us options. Wait. Induce. Have a D&E (similar to a D&C but using kinder words so that mom doesn't feel like she's aborting her baby). I was paralyzed with pain and sadness. I looked pregnant. I felt pregnant. This couldn't be. How could the baby I dreamt about and planned for just suddenly be gone? I cried and cried until I was out of tears to cry and then I cried some more. I took her nursery apart piece by piece. I sat in the floor and cried. Day after day. I went to bed. I slept. Then I couldn't sleep. I wanted to wake up from this nightmare.

My body refused to let Her go.

I thought once she was born I'd feel better. Normal. Not consumed.

I was wrong.

People said stupid things.

"At least you can have more." I don't want more. I want this one.

"At least you're young." Because it would hurt less if I were old?

"It was God's will." To make me suffer?

"At least you weren't full term." Oh because I love her less since I was only 20 weeks. OK. I get it.

"There must have been something wrong with her." Like I would have cared.

"Someone else needed that spirit right now." Oh really? Well I'm going to go find them and get MY baby back.

"You'll meet her in heaven." Uh huh.

What was there to say?

I'm sorry.

That's all.

This experience of losing my daughter changed me. It changed my marriage. It changed my life. I was crippled with fear of losing another baby. Paralyzed with sorrow. Even the arrival of my next baby wouldn't heal the wound of loss.

Later in my life as a nurse, I'd care for women like me. Losing their babies. No one really ever wanted those patients. So sad. So depressing. But I wanted them. I wanted to hold their hands. I wanted to cry with them. I wanted to tell them I knew exactly how they felt. I wanted them to know it would hurt. For a long time. Maybe forever. I wanted them to feel safe to grieve, to cry, to scream. I wanted to tell them that people wouldn't understand and that they might say stupid things. I wanted to say, "I'm so sorry."