Surviving Miscarriage: A Love Letter To My Unborn Child
My beloved unborn Child,
My fingers are numb as I write the word, miscarriage. By now, I should be able to handle, write and say the word. I should be able to pass a pregnant woman on the street and not tense up with raging jealousy and envy. I should be happy for friends that are announcing their blessed news and smile when I pass a mother pushing her newborn child in a stroller. I should be approaching my due date with you.....
Truth be told, I am nowhere near feeling any of these emotions.
Three months ago, I lost you. You were only eighteen weeks old.
Once you were fourteen weeks old and the genetic tests were complete, we shared the news with our friends and family. We thought it was safe to share. I was wrong to share.....
Daddy and I walked in to Stanford Hospital for a scheduled ultrasound and I could tell immediately tell that something was wrong. As soon as the technician tried to find your heartbeat (which was found one week earlier), her face and body language said it all.... you died. My baby died.
My beloved, wanted, special baby died inside of me and all I could do was scream like a wounded animal. Daddy tried to console me while the nurses attempted to soothe my sounds of grief. The doctors tried to explain that sometimes miscarriages "just happen". I revisit that horrific moment many times a day and go to sleep praying that I will wake up and this will simply be a nightmare. You should be arriving soon.....
Weakened by exhaustion and utter despair, I opted for a late D&C. Even trying to find a doctor that would perform the surgery was nearly impossible. The thought of delivering you stillborn was too tough to bear, so surgery was my choice. Recovery was equally hard, as my body and mind still thought I was pregnant while my heart continued to break. My heart is still breaking.....
Continued on the next page
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