Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Two steps forward, one step back…

"Knowledge is knowing that we cannot know."
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

One of the bouquets of Easter flowers that decorated the alter of our church on Sunday was in memorial to “the little life we lost”. It is silly, but doing so really helped. Our tribute was printed in the service bulletin, and – for me – attending church Easter morning was as close as I’ll ever get to having a funeral or memorial service; even if no one was aware of it except for me. Trevor squirreled away three of the programs in the pink folder that we received from our doctor during our first prenatal visit back in February. That thin folder now holds all the details of our second baby from being to end; a tiny life unrealized.

Since then, I’ve been asked twice about my pregnancy from well-intentioned people who simply hadn’t heard that I miscarried. I was so proud of myself for not tearing up when I told them what happened. Not because it didn’t hurt to have to explain, but because I didn’t want these individuals to feel awkward for bringing it up.

Make sense?

Then this morning happened, and it was like March 24th all over again.

My doctor’s office called with the results from the D&C. There were no chromosomal abnormalities; no reason science can give me to explain why that little heart ceased to beat.

Also, the baby? It was a boy. Banner would have had a little brother.

I was prepared to hear that there was some sort of genetic cause that explained why my baby died. And in some ways, that may have been easier. At least then I would know it wasn’t my fault. But now I find myself (again) agonizing over every drop of caffeine, every elevated heart rate during a run, every slice of brie that I had between January and March, and I simply fall apart.

I know I should be glad to hear that there was nothing wrong chromosomally. That means there isn’t a history of genetic issues. That we supposedly have less to worry about if/when we decide to try again. But, really, you never know what may happen when you roll those proverbial dice. And it just about kills me that they can know enough to determine the baby’s gender, but not enough to be able to tell me why his little body failed to thrive in my womb.

Knowing is bittersweet. While I’m glad to have some answers, they only lead to more questions. I’m haunted by the empty daydream of what could have been, and – for twelve, short weeks – almost was. A life full of brothers, bunk beds and being a boy mom. So close and yet...

...if only, if only, if only.

1 comment:

Alden said...

Hang in there. Time really does heal the pain of a miscarriage. It's not your fault. So, so many women miscarry and never talk about it. I think it's amazing that you're putting your experience out there for the world to read.