It just isn’t fair. We did everything. We saved the money, made the lists, did all the appointments, I took all the vitamins and supplements, healthy diet, got a bigger home... every single thing we could. We carved space in the universe for this child. My pregnancy was textbook. 21 weeks and 3 days of perfect results on all my blood tests, all the baby’s tests, Scans, everything.
And then 21weeks and and 4 days in, a twinge. At 10am, a strange twinge. I called the OBGYN, he said come in. 1230, a scan. He was perfect on the scan. My big healthy boy, kicking away. Heartbeat as melodic as ever. Then a vaginal exam.... I had dilated to 5cm. “Inevitable second trimester miscarriage due to incompetent cervix.” The world blurred. I crashed. I wept like a child. I couldn’t breathe. & we just had to wait. There was nothing we could do. I just had to wait. I had to go through the contractions. My water broke. I pushed. I laboured for my son. 2 great big pushes and he was out. And then we held him. Heaven on the other end of an umbilical chord. And he wriggled and his heart pumped for 2 hours... and then he slipped away. My precious, strong boy.
And I got everything a mother gets. I got the delivery process, the postpartum bleed, my milk came in, I got it all. I got it all except my son. A friend came in on the same day, in labour, and had what I was anticipating having later this year. The staff put her in a different room as a mercy to me, but the gurgles and cries were all I Could hear all night. The boisterous visitors and congratulations echoed in the hallway. I am happy for her, but I feel so robbed. I wanted so so much for a child. We planned everything. But not this. I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop thinking about what I did or didn’t do, what I missed. I blame myself. And this is the new normal. Birth control, milk my son will never taste and a hollow room that was filled with all of his things. I have worked with infants and toddlers for more than 5 years. I have a gift, I’m told, but apparently this gift is for everyone else’s babies. After a miscarriage at 5 weeks, and now this, maybe this isn’t supposed to be mine. I can’t imagine being pregnant again. All I can see is the fear and anxiety. I would be petrified the entire time. And is it even wise to try again? When this seems to always be the result?
I don’t sleep. I don’t eat. I don’t have work, I can’t focus on TV.... all I do is soak in this. The world is at a pause with the pandemic. No way to escape. And I am so tired of the platitudes and God’s timing talks. I am tired of hearing how my son, who I carried, I felt move, who came out with his father’s looks and the curl in my top lip wasn’t meant to be, otherwise things would have panned out differently. “This happens a lot. You’ll get pregnant again.” I find no comfort in that. He isn’t something that can be replaced. He was a whole human being with fingernails and eyebrows and the most peaceful face I’ve ever seen, and he was boiled down to a pregnancy complication. Incinerated like biological waste.
It simply isn’t fair.