Losing a child leaves a deep scar on your soul. A scar that lessens with time but never completely fades. The emotional pain may decrease but the soul is never the same. One can never forget those intense feelings of hopelessness and despair, knowing there is nothing they can do to save their child.
I rarely talk about the loss of my child, although I wish I could. Not only is speaking about the loss of a pregnancy considered taboo, but depending on the events leading to that loss, it may also be both religiously and politically abominable.
So instead I sit here, 10lbs heavier (I know I’ve gained weight, there’s no need to remind me), with a heart full of grief and no baby in my arms. Alone. I put on a happy face, but inside I’m crumbling.
When I found out I was pregnant again, it was a complete surprise. My period had not returned since the birth of my first child, and because I was *constantly* nursing and we also bed-shared, the intimate moments between my husband and I were very rare.
I was extremely excited when the little plus sign showed up on the pregnancy test. I was also very, very scared. And rightly so…
A few weeks before I found out I was pregnant I had contracted a pretty intense infection. Due to the circumstances, I was put on very strong medications. I made it well known that I wasn’t on contraception and that I had engaged in unprotected sex. I also told the doctor I was nursing–I hate taking drugs and didn’t want anything that could affect the quality of my breastmilk.
The medication didn’t work, and the infection seemed to worsen. I was prescribed something a bit stronger. It was also around this time that I started feeling really, really sick–side effects from the medications, I told myself.
One day I became so sick I thought there surely had to be something else going on; so I took a pregnancy test.
It was positive.
I called the doctor’s office and they had me stop the medication straight away. The doctor’s reaction worried me. I could tell she was concerned about what effects the medication could potentially have on the fetus. When I told her I had been religiously taking prenatal vitamins because I was nursing, she seemed calmed. But, at that moment, I knew.
Maybe I was being pessimistic. I’m usually pretty optimistic, so it’s not like me to think the worst. Or maybe it was mother’s intuition, but I knew.
Deep down, I knew my baby had been affected. Each prenatal visit and every ultrasound, I would inquire about the baby’s health. I wanted to know that the baby was forming as it should be and that the heart and spine looked okay. I was desperate to know.
As my baby grew and my stomach swelled, I became more and more concerned. I hadn’t really told many people that I was expecting, and I tried my best to not make it too obvious. As the weeks passed and we neared the date of the “big ultrasound,” my anxiety skyrocketed. I had panic attacks. I couldn’t walk up one flight of stairs without feeling my throat tighten. Just taking normal breaths seemed impossible.
I told my husband, over and over, that I was scared. He told me, over and over, that everything would be fine, and our family would be complete.
My fears were confirmed that something was wrong when the ultrasound technician that was performing the scan all of a sudden had a change in energy. She had went from excited and bubbly to completely serious in the span of a second. Next, I saw a 3D picture of my baby on the screen, and the tech was frantically clicking pictures. My heart was pounding out of my chest, and my husband squeezed my hand a little tighter. He knew, too.
The technician told us, both compassionately and matter-of-factly, that there was something seriously wrong with our child and that she was going to leave the room to get the doctor. At that moment, I hadn’t even found out if my baby was a boy a girl…
The time between her leaving the room and the doctor entering must have only been five-or-so minutes, but it felt like forever. It was as if time stopped and I was trapped in a nightmare that I couldn’t escape. Only it was my life, and it was real.
I was raised in a fairly conservative family and grew up hearing that abortion and the termination of pregnancy was unforgivable. Personally, I believe in the woman’s right to choose and have always been pro-choice. I just never thought it would be a choice I would ever have to actually consider.
As we were told about the severity of our baby’s defect, I had a million thoughts rustling through my brain. I had extreme remorse that I hadn’t thought to take a pregnancy test. Turns out, it wouldn’t have mattered. I was told the damage had been done only days, maybe up to a couple weeks after conception–before a pregnancy test would even show positive.
I was thinking of my older child and the impact this would have on our entire family, but especially on them.
Thoughts of my unborn child were constant. I tried to imagine the quality of life they would have. Even if I dedicated every ounce of myself to this baby (which I was willing to do)-would it ever be enough? Could it be enough?
Would they ever know the simple joys of life? Would they eat and drink normally? Or would they live a tasteless life, only receiving their nutrition through a tube? What about the milestones? Would they crawl? Walk? Run? Be able to drive a car? Would they be able to express emotion? What about love? Would they ever know the love between two souls the way I know–and love– their daddy?
And what about when my husband and I are gone from this Earth? Who will take care of them and protect them then?
The questions poured into my thoughts, one after another, like a violent rain falling from the sky after a powerful cloudburst. My eyes were swollen and red; rubbed raw by the cheap kleenexes the nurses kept shoving my way. I couldn’t focus on anything being said to me. All I could do was rub my stomach and apologize to the tiny, innocent child growing inside of me.
The medical team and the care I received were very empathetic and extremely professional. My husband and I never once felt pressured to make any medical decisions that day, and we never felt that our decision was affected one way or another by what the medical team said to us. In fact, they were very careful about how they phrased the responses to my questions, so that we wouldn’t feel like they made these important choices for us.
We were sent home with copies of the ultrasound, medical reports, fetal measurements and stacks of pamphlets, research articles and medical journals to educate ourselves before we chose what path to take.
I read every single word. I studied every chart, combed through every bit of information and compared our child’s measurements and defects with those discussed in the research and articles.
I googled (never a good idea!); and read both the horror stories and the success stories. I compared the children in the success stories to what I knew about my baby’s condition.
The truth is that our baby’s prognosis was not good. According to the medical data I had sitting in front of me, I knew our child could never be a success story–and believe me when I say that the truth of that realization broke me.
If our baby even survived the labor, they would be whisked away immediately for the first of many surgeries. They were paralyzed–that explained why I felt so little movement and the legs were always in the same position on every ultrasound. My child most likely wouldn’t even be able to swallow for themselves and there was extreme brain damage. What kind of life could that be?
With a heavy heart and extreme guilt, my husband and I decided that the best thing for our family- including our innocent, unborn child-was to terminate the pregnancy.
I know many people are judging me while they read this. It’s easy to comment when you’ve never experienced such tragedy in your own life-but know that I judge myself, more than anyone could understand, everyday. This is my life and a choice that I made. The weight of that choice resides within me and affects me greatly.
Once our decision was made, I was determined to give my child the birth that I had envisioned from the moment I found out I was pregnant. I felt that they deserved that. I also wanted to see my baby, hold them and see for myself that I had made the right decision for them and for the rest of my family.
I refused the epidural. The emotional pain I was feeling was a million times worse than the physical pain of labor. Besides, I wanted to really feel every bit of the decision I had made.
When my child’s lifeless body entered this world, it was the worst moment of my life. The nurses covered the physical deformities the best they could. They wrapped the baby up–swaddled them in a tiny, knit blanket–and put a little (yet, oversized) hat on their head so that I wouldn’t see the severity of the defects until I was ready.
My baby was beautiful. Their hands were amazing–perfect, long fingers. Just like mine. They had my chin and their dad’s nose. Their legs were underdeveloped and still crossed-just had they had always been.
Eventually, I was ready. As I pulled the tiny blanket away I saw that there was a giant hole in my baby’s back. The hole covered over ⅓ of my baby’s tiny body.
I removed the miniature hat. Tears welled up in my eyes and I sobbed uncontrollably. My baby’s head was severely misshapen due to an extreme case of hydrocephaly. One side of the skull was badly sunken.
I know, deep in my soul, that my husband and I made the right decision for our child. The defects were just too serious, and the lifelong struggles and pain our baby would endure were too many. But know that doesn’t make it any easier.
As we take this month (October) to think about and remember all the babies gone too soon–lost to families through miscarriage, stillbirth and even SIDS–please also think of the babies lost to birth defects whether by chance or by choice. Please also remember the mothers and families of these children. You may not agree with their choices, but unless you experience a similar situation, you will never know the torture of deciding to terminate a pregnancy when you want nothing more than to have a beautiful, healthy baby to fill your arms.
I hope that someday I can come to terms with the hand I was dealt and make peace with my decision, but that day has not yet come. I wanted my child. I wanted my child more than anyone will ever know.
From time to time, Rochester MN Moms Blog will publish posts anonymously to protect the author from sensitive information shared with our readers.
