A Box, Not A Baby

There are some things that, despite all logic and knowledge of the world, you believe will never happen.  There are things that, even once they have happened are still never real and never could have happened.  The loss of a child is one of those things.  Even after loosing Adeline, after leaving the hospital one baby short, placing her carefully folded things and various mementos in a pretty box and her ashes on a shelf, it was still an unthinkable thing.  After 18 months of living every parents worst nightmare, after having the outcome of pregnancy that no one ever thinks can really happen displayed proudly on a shelf in my room, it was still an impossible thing.  18 months later the impossible and unthinkable happened again.  Again I left the hospital with an empty stomach and a pretty box to put on the shelf.  It is not supposed to happen this way.  You are supposed to leave the hospital with a baby, not a box.  

At 15 weeks I delivered a tiny little boy tragically and traumatically at home.  Alone in my bathroom, holding his tiny little body and knowing for sure that the thing I had been denying for days was a reality, I still could not make it make sense in my head.  While my amazing husband held me and called the doctor, I stared at his tiny body in disbelief.  It happened again.  The 15 weeks of nausea, exhaustion and stress that I gladly endured for the prospect of holding my beautiful baby in April, ended so suddenly, in a way that made no sense at all.  As they wheeled me into the hospital, to the brand new labor and delivery unit that I had so looked forward to touring and delivering in, it made no sense.  As I explained to the well meaning emergency department nurse who wheeled me there that I was not having contractions.  As I answered all of the requisite labor and delivery questions before finally breaking down and saying "I'm miscarrying" it still made no sense.

 As if all of this was not enough, after 6 hours of medications to enduce contractions and get the placenta to pass naturally with no results, the doctor informed me that they would have to manually remove it.  As the doctor explained the options to me I looked at her and said a phrase I would repeat several times before the week was over, "I'm going to be honest, I've had enough."  That is how I feel about a lot of things right now.  I've had enough pain.  I was in what I denied to the end but now know to be labor, for 3 days before the baby finally came.  Painful contractions that were made even more painful by the realization of what they really ment.  I've had enough stress.  For 3 days I didn't know what was causing the contractions, I didn't know what was causing the vomiting and I didn't know the outcome.  I've had enough fear.  When the baby came I was terrified.  I was alone and had no idea what to do.  Thank god for my husband who took charge of everything and reassured me that everything would be ok even though he was just  as scared as I was.  When I came out of surgery I couldn't breath after having been intubated, a feeling I will not soon forget.  I was terrified as they told me how difficult the surgery had been, how much blood I had lost and the possibility of needing a transfusion.  I have had enough heartache.  I lost one beautiful daughter and am still dealing with her loss.  In the terrible moment when the baby came I lost the last shining light of hope I had for this pregnancy.   My heart broke as I watched my 4 year old creep into the room, terrified by what he would find since he did not fully understand anything that was going on.  After all of this, I have just had enough.

We are going to make it, we are going to be ok.  Unfortunately, we are not strangers to loss.  I don't think I will ever get over the pain of talking to Sawyer about how and why his brother died, I am still dealing with the pain of explaining how and why his sister died.  Worse still is the pain at the realization that he understands this concept perfectly.  A four year old should not have such an intimate understanding with death.  But we are fighters, we are strongest together and we are amazing if I do say so myself.  As we again begin the process of healing our family, pulling together and trying to make sense of something that just doesn't make any sense, I am struck by one thought over and over again.  This is not the way that it is supposed to happen.  Sawyer was supposed to leave the hospital oohing and ahhing over his new baby brother and bouncing around like he does when he is too excited about something to contain himself.  He was not supposed to leave the hospital clutching the box with his baby brothers handprints and footprints in it.  You are supposed to leave the hospital with a baby, not a box.