Jetliner
11-12-2009, 01:25 AM
I don't know if I'm looking for anything here; just need to let this go somewhere so if anyone does read this, thank you for taking the time.
Warning: at the end of the second paragraph there is a short but gruesome and disturbing statement concerning a friend's miscarriage so, please be aware.
3 years ago yesterday, November 11th, Andrea (my wife) started, "spotting." Then she spotted, a lot! We got her Mum and went to the hospital and they brought us in to have an ultrasound. This was at about 11 weeks into the pregnancy. The nurse poked around for a while and talked about generic stuff and then, fell silent. She continued to move the probe around and take pictures but didn't say a word. The silence was deafening. Then she stopped and turned to us saying, "Do you want to know?" Andrea, in her sweet innocence said, "If it's a boy or a girl?" :) She said, "No... the problem." We nodded. Then she pointed at the ultrasound image, at a tiny spot no bigger than a pencil eraser and said the words that would be forever etched into my memory: "There's a baby pole here, at about 6 weeks and... there's no heartbeat." It's been three years and I still can't get my mind around that. But what came next... I turned to Andrea and she looked at me with eyes I've never seen before. A very dear friend told me later that it was, "the look of a woman who had no way of expressing the depth of loss she was feeling." Turns out, she understood because she had also lost a child. (This by the way, is the friend that I mentioned in my original thread - the one who never wants to hear from me again. Last year, she was the only person who even remembered this day and she called to see how I was doing and stayed on the phone with me all the way to work to make sure I got there okay. This year, no such call came, which is making it much harder than ever.)
The nurse really was an angel and I wish I had had the composure and presence of mind to thank her for what she did. She was only supposed to take pictures and give them to the ER doctor (who by the way had the bedside manner and personality of a piece of burnt popcorn!) but, she broke protocal and told us and then let us stay in the room for a while to have some privacy. Then we had to make an appointment for her to have surgery to remove what was left of our baby. As it turns out, when they put her under to begin, she started to miscarry so everything went smoothly. Looking back, I'm kinda glad it happened that way. A friend of ours had 6 miscarriages and one of them, she actually had to pull out herself as she was at home when it happened and, it became lodged. I can't even imagine.
That day of the surgery wasn't exactly fun either, though now, it's almost humorous. While she was having the operation, her Mum and I went to the cafeteria for some lunch. We sat alone at a long table. Maybe 5 minutes after, 4 couples came and sat at the same table with us - FROM A BIRTHING CLASS!!! Kathy looked at me with a face and said, "Want to leave?" I honestly said, "No, I'm okay and actually, happy for them." A couple minutes later, though I was still happy for them, I started to feel sick and agreed that we should leave.
After all that was done, they gave us a book on miscarriage and sent us home - the end. Only it was just the beginning. I made a plaque that's on our living room wall with parts of Psalm 139 and Psalm 23 (the actual words are posted in the "Poetry" thread in, "The Lounge"). At the top is a little angel pin, about 1/2 inch long - the same size our little baby was. We keep it as a reminder that though Danielle is so very precious to us and the most beautiful bundle of joy ever created, she is our second child. Our first, our dear Sarah is home with the Lord now.
Anyway, the first week or so, support was there but, I found that it was 99% directed towards Andrea. I distinctly remember going into church and having several people (it's a small church so several is quite a bit! Hehehe!!!) surrounding her with support and comfort while I was almost pushed aside. Then one of them turned to me and said, "Oh and sorry for you too." I felt like an afterthought. Look, I understand that there is a special bond between a mother and child and one that I can never even hope to understand. She was carrying that tiny little life inside her and inside her, she died. The myriad of feelings she must have gone through are far beyond my comprehension. But, not to be selfish but, she was my baby too damn it! Being adopted, I know of no other blood relatives. Here at last was my own flesh and blood, a very part of me and, she was gone before she could ever take her first breath; before I could ever look into her face or hold her in my arms. And no one seemed to care that my heart was just as broken as Andrea's. And I must confess that, though I know it's not her fault, I began to resent the fact that she was getting all the attention and I was getting simply, "You need to get on with your life." Well thank you VERY much for the news flash but if you haven't noticed, I AM getting on with my life and without any help from you, thank you very much! She had her family and friends, friends from church, etc. I had no one and to a certain degree, feel that I still don't. Jennifer was the only person who really understood what I was going through and cared enough to be there for me. When I realized what had happened with her little one, I got her something. One morning when we still worked together, as our shifts overlapped, I took her aside and said that I had something for her. I told her about the plaque on our wall for Sarah and the angel pin at the top. Then I took her hand and gently placed such an angel pin into it, saying, "This is to remember your little one." It was such a tender moment, I can still see her face. We really had something special then. But now, that's gone too. I knew she wouldn't call this year but somehow, I kept waiting anyway. And when the clock rolled over to November 12th and there had been nothing from her... Well, life goes on.
Anyway, that experience destroyed me emotionally and the aftermath crushed my spirit and almost took my hope. I don't know why God saw fit to take that little child when He did. More likely, He didn't take her from us but rather, received her into His arms when her little body, for whatever reason, just wasn't strong enough to continue to grow. And you know, even through that very difficult time, there has been good to come from it. I couldn't see it at the time because the hurt and anger and despair and hopelessness were blinding. But looking back I see that even in the midst of tragedy, there can be good to come of it.
I guess that's all I wanted to say.
John
Warning: at the end of the second paragraph there is a short but gruesome and disturbing statement concerning a friend's miscarriage so, please be aware.
3 years ago yesterday, November 11th, Andrea (my wife) started, "spotting." Then she spotted, a lot! We got her Mum and went to the hospital and they brought us in to have an ultrasound. This was at about 11 weeks into the pregnancy. The nurse poked around for a while and talked about generic stuff and then, fell silent. She continued to move the probe around and take pictures but didn't say a word. The silence was deafening. Then she stopped and turned to us saying, "Do you want to know?" Andrea, in her sweet innocence said, "If it's a boy or a girl?" :) She said, "No... the problem." We nodded. Then she pointed at the ultrasound image, at a tiny spot no bigger than a pencil eraser and said the words that would be forever etched into my memory: "There's a baby pole here, at about 6 weeks and... there's no heartbeat." It's been three years and I still can't get my mind around that. But what came next... I turned to Andrea and she looked at me with eyes I've never seen before. A very dear friend told me later that it was, "the look of a woman who had no way of expressing the depth of loss she was feeling." Turns out, she understood because she had also lost a child. (This by the way, is the friend that I mentioned in my original thread - the one who never wants to hear from me again. Last year, she was the only person who even remembered this day and she called to see how I was doing and stayed on the phone with me all the way to work to make sure I got there okay. This year, no such call came, which is making it much harder than ever.)
The nurse really was an angel and I wish I had had the composure and presence of mind to thank her for what she did. She was only supposed to take pictures and give them to the ER doctor (who by the way had the bedside manner and personality of a piece of burnt popcorn!) but, she broke protocal and told us and then let us stay in the room for a while to have some privacy. Then we had to make an appointment for her to have surgery to remove what was left of our baby. As it turns out, when they put her under to begin, she started to miscarry so everything went smoothly. Looking back, I'm kinda glad it happened that way. A friend of ours had 6 miscarriages and one of them, she actually had to pull out herself as she was at home when it happened and, it became lodged. I can't even imagine.
That day of the surgery wasn't exactly fun either, though now, it's almost humorous. While she was having the operation, her Mum and I went to the cafeteria for some lunch. We sat alone at a long table. Maybe 5 minutes after, 4 couples came and sat at the same table with us - FROM A BIRTHING CLASS!!! Kathy looked at me with a face and said, "Want to leave?" I honestly said, "No, I'm okay and actually, happy for them." A couple minutes later, though I was still happy for them, I started to feel sick and agreed that we should leave.
After all that was done, they gave us a book on miscarriage and sent us home - the end. Only it was just the beginning. I made a plaque that's on our living room wall with parts of Psalm 139 and Psalm 23 (the actual words are posted in the "Poetry" thread in, "The Lounge"). At the top is a little angel pin, about 1/2 inch long - the same size our little baby was. We keep it as a reminder that though Danielle is so very precious to us and the most beautiful bundle of joy ever created, she is our second child. Our first, our dear Sarah is home with the Lord now.
Anyway, the first week or so, support was there but, I found that it was 99% directed towards Andrea. I distinctly remember going into church and having several people (it's a small church so several is quite a bit! Hehehe!!!) surrounding her with support and comfort while I was almost pushed aside. Then one of them turned to me and said, "Oh and sorry for you too." I felt like an afterthought. Look, I understand that there is a special bond between a mother and child and one that I can never even hope to understand. She was carrying that tiny little life inside her and inside her, she died. The myriad of feelings she must have gone through are far beyond my comprehension. But, not to be selfish but, she was my baby too damn it! Being adopted, I know of no other blood relatives. Here at last was my own flesh and blood, a very part of me and, she was gone before she could ever take her first breath; before I could ever look into her face or hold her in my arms. And no one seemed to care that my heart was just as broken as Andrea's. And I must confess that, though I know it's not her fault, I began to resent the fact that she was getting all the attention and I was getting simply, "You need to get on with your life." Well thank you VERY much for the news flash but if you haven't noticed, I AM getting on with my life and without any help from you, thank you very much! She had her family and friends, friends from church, etc. I had no one and to a certain degree, feel that I still don't. Jennifer was the only person who really understood what I was going through and cared enough to be there for me. When I realized what had happened with her little one, I got her something. One morning when we still worked together, as our shifts overlapped, I took her aside and said that I had something for her. I told her about the plaque on our wall for Sarah and the angel pin at the top. Then I took her hand and gently placed such an angel pin into it, saying, "This is to remember your little one." It was such a tender moment, I can still see her face. We really had something special then. But now, that's gone too. I knew she wouldn't call this year but somehow, I kept waiting anyway. And when the clock rolled over to November 12th and there had been nothing from her... Well, life goes on.
Anyway, that experience destroyed me emotionally and the aftermath crushed my spirit and almost took my hope. I don't know why God saw fit to take that little child when He did. More likely, He didn't take her from us but rather, received her into His arms when her little body, for whatever reason, just wasn't strong enough to continue to grow. And you know, even through that very difficult time, there has been good to come from it. I couldn't see it at the time because the hurt and anger and despair and hopelessness were blinding. But looking back I see that even in the midst of tragedy, there can be good to come of it.
I guess that's all I wanted to say.
John