Goodbye, Sweetest Heart

The bad news has begun. Baby B has died.

I have felt all along that Baby B was a girl, so I will take the liberty of using "she"--it seems wrong to say "it," as if her time was so brief and so insignificant that she was just an inanimate object. She was real, and she lived the most that she could, and she was precious to my husband and me.

She let go of life very recently, within the last few days. I still *feel* her with me. I still feel her spirit and though I know it can't last, I cherish her presence.  I know that she would have lived if she could have. Her little heart fought to beat, and she tried to catch up in growth. It is my own fault, for giving her worthless genes that could never sustain the life she deserved to have.

The other one, who I think is a boy, appears strong and healthy. I would show you his picture, but it also contains the image of dead Baby B, so it feels right to keep it private. And it pains me to look at it. Baby A continues to grow, and his heartbeat is strong--156 bpm. We even got to hear his heartbeat yesterday, a first for my husband and me. D keeps marveling at that, but I think that if we lose this little one, too, the memory of hearing that whoosh-whoosh-whoosh will only make the loss harder to bear. I have decided to delay my next ultrasound until right before we leave for the CVS. Ultrasounds are nothing for me but embryo death-watch, and the lead up to them is stressful and upsetting even when they turn out well. Of course, we don't want to travel all the way for the CVS if our remaining little one has left us, so we'll do a quick heartbeat check before we go.

Nearly everyone wants me to focus on Baby A, but I can't. Why does the drama of death outweigh the miracle of life? I don't know, but I loved Baby B, and in my irrational heart I want the doctor to be wrong, wrong, wrong. I want this to be a terrible mistake and I want to undo time and I want to make it right.

While I slept yesterday afternoon, in an attempt to delay the inevitable grief, my husband investigated local prenatal massage, and when I awoke he made me a mint Oreo milkshake. I couldn't bear to let him see how much his kindness made me cry. Later, my mother knew all the right things to say while I wept on the phone. We have a complicated relationship, as mothers and daughters often do, yet in the darkest times she is always just right. I told her that I couldn't do this anymore, couldn't lose my babies one after another, couldn't bear to claw my way out of the misery of miscarriage one more time. And she said: You can. You can. You are the strongest woman I know, and you can survive this, and whatever happens next.

So now I am moving, slow and coma-like, through the next two weeks. Ten days to ultrasound, 13 days to CVS, 14 days to results. At the end, the waiting and wondering will be over. We will either rejoice, or begin the long, slow process of loss and of grief. Whatever lies in store, I will be grateful that the limbo is over.

Comments

[Amy]

I'm so sorry for your loss. I know how heartbreaking it is to lose a baby. Take the time you need to mourn her; she deserves that.

[Laurie]

I am so so sorry.

[threadkiller]

I am so sorry. And I agree with your mom.

[Georgia]

I'm so very sorry.

[Zoe]

I'm so sorry for your loss.

[sharah]

Ms. M, I just saw this, and I am so sorry for your loss. My thoughts are with you and your family as you move forward.

[Willa]

I am so very sorry for the loss of Baby B and the complicated feelings about the pregnancy with Baby A. I wish your experience could be more carefree. Many, many warm thoughts to you, your wonderfully caring husband, and your baby.