I went to a routine doctor appointment 26 weeks pregnant and I was laughing and chatting it up in the waiting room with one of my friends before I was called back. The doctor came in and did the usual. Weight, urine, measure your belly, and lastly fetal heart rate check. After fumbling around for over 10 minutes, she replied " I can't pick up any heart tones." "I will be right back let me get an ultrasound machine." It probably took her maybe 3 minutes, but it felt more like 30 minutes. She set up the machine and placed the probe down screen away from me. The doctor moved the probe to 5 different spots, and finally looked up at me with the saddest face I had ever laid my own eyes on. She slowly turned the screen around and said, "I'm sorry, your baby has no heartbeat." No heartbeat? What? I kept staring at the screen, looking perplexed.
There was a perfect profile of a baby on the ultrasound screen. My thoughts were going a mile a minute. I was thinking did I not feel him move? I swore I did. Didn't I just eat ice cream? Wasn't he just moving? He is due in less than 2 months, what do you mean no heartbeat? I slowly got up off the table and called my mom and Chris. I was told to go home, rest, and come to the hospital in the morning for an induction. I drove home in a somewhat disillusioned state. The only thing I kept thinking was that this was all wrong. I was packing and getting ready for tomorrow at the hospital. I was still walking around very pregnant and in my head; I kept saying he's alive, I will deliver him and he will be alive. Medical Miracles happen all the time right? This was a case of a misdiagnosis.
The night went by fast, and next thing I knew I was being admitted to labor and delivery. The doctor told me about the induction and how he would give me Pitocin and Cervidil. I was surrounded by family. My friends Melissa and Lauren, whom to this day are so strong for sticking by my side in that hospital room. They helped me use the bathroom, took pictures, and talked to me even when I don't know what I could talk about. Chris was there the entire time, but very quiet and reserved. My Mom was there, and my sister visited me that evening. I really was in pain once the contractions started and I was in and out of it for the entire night. They finally gave me pain meds that made me hallucinate and my friends tell me I kept saying that Celebrities were in the room.
Suddenly, I awoke and then the next thing I knew I sat up straight as a board. I began to scream for a nurse, who came in and called the doctor. They kept telling me not to push yet. I was so unsure of what was happening. I was thinking, is this it? Will he come out finally? In a huge burst of pressure before the doctor could even get prepare, my water broke and I delivered this tiny baby at 6:37am. I was speechless. I was shocked and amazed. I honestly can only remember bits and pieces of this point. I laid back in relief that he was here, but suddenly I heard screams out in the hallway, horror screams. These screams were from Chris (My Ex).
I just laid there, empty. I wasn't crying though. I don't remember crying at the hospital at all. I mean I may have silently, but I don't recall. If anything I felt just like any other mother who delivered a baby did physically, emotionally, and mentally. The nurse cleaned him up, and dressed him, she handed him to me and I held him. I held his hand. I touched his head full of jet black straight hair. I even wiped his nose (fluid was still dripping from the water bag he was in). I smelled him, and would you believe I will never ever forget that smell. I put his Outfit in a Ziplock bag and smelled his outfit for days, months, and years after just because it smelled like him. I spent time with him. We named him Christopher Gabriel because originally when we found out he was a boy we had already named him Christopher (after his father). I didn't want to just change it because he was born, but not alive. That felt wrong. For the last 2 months we had known him to be Christopher, and that is who he would always be to me. My most cherished memory are the pictures I took of the emotional journey. I am so glad the nurses encouraged and treated this just like a regular birth. I love those pictures, no matter how tragic. That was my first born, my first delivery, my first son, my first baby. I love those pictures, how fond that memory is to me.
I don't know how long Christopher stayed in the room with us, but I do remember someone coming to ask if we were ready for him to be taken out. I don't remember my goodbye. (I think I subconsciously did that to cope). I do remember handing him over to be placed in the baby warmer, and just as if they were going to wheel him to the nursery someone came in and took him.
It's been 10 years, and I have never been this public about it though many (if not all) of my close friends know about Baby Chris. Why is that? I guess nobody really knows how to talk about tragedy. They don't know what to say, and I don't want to make people feel strange or worried. I remember when I was more open about it, many women would look at me like shut up, don't tell me! Almost as if because I told them, they would catch the "dead baby" disease and their baby would die too. Like I had been cursed and talking to them about it would somehow rope them in. You know what though, I realized that the more open you are. The more you see everybody has their struggles, tragedies, and battles. Why not talk, listen, open up and just BE THERE. You might help heal someone.
I sit here reflecting on what really is the 10th Birthday of my very first son. I think what would you act like, would you be close to Caleb, would you guys have been inseparable, would you be tall, funny, full of personality, quiet, shy? I won't ever know, but I do wonder.
It's been 10 hard, emotional, life changing years. So much has changed! It has also been 10 amazing, miraculous, strong years. The newborn photo of Christopher still hangs on my fridge. Every place I have ever had that picture is on the front of the fridge. Maybe that is strange to some, but the other photos on my fridge are of the rest of my kids, I don't see him as any different.
I share this story today because after 10 years, instead of agonizing pain and hurt. I am fond of that fateful day. The day I first became a mother. A mother to a baby I birthed but could not stay. I am fond of that day the way you remember the first time you look into your child's eyes. It will forever be the day I became a mother. I never thought I would feel that way. I am proud of that day. I am proud of how strong I was. I am proud of how weak I was too. Without that experience I wouldn't be me. Everything about me is okay. Tragedy and all.
Happy Birthday My Sweet Angel. 8.7.04 ^i^
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo
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