What I Remember

There was no heartbeat. 

Sitting on the table with the ultrasound wand on what was my 20 week belly, I looked over to my husband.  His head was in his palms, looking away from the monitor. As a doctor, he didn’t need to look at the screen anymore. He knew what the lack of color and sound meant. The tech didn’t say anything, or maybe she did. I don’t remember. There was a conversation with the radiologist and a call to my ob’s office, where we quickly rushed. It’s funny what you remember so vividly and what is a fog. 

I remember calls. Calls to work saying I wasn’t going to be in that day, or maybe a few days, or maybe a few weeks. Calls to my mother-in-law asking her if she could come down to watch our two year old. Calls to our nanny asking her if she could stay longer that day until my mother-in-law could make the two hour drive. Calls to my parents in California, too far away to help, but who had to know. Calls to be avoided. The ones from friends and family who knew I was going in for the 20 week ultrasound. The calls to find out if we were finding out the gender. The calls colored with the expectations of joy. It was one thing to make the calls to our parents.  It was entirely another thing to answer the calls.

I remember choices. Choices I didn’t want to make. Did I want to go home first or go straight to the hospital? What medicine did I want while I delivered my child whose heart wasn’t beating? Did I want to see and hold my child after they were born? Did I want to name my child? Choices that had to be made that still pain me today. 

I remember bleeding. Bleeding for six weeks after.  After delivering my baby that night, the placenta wouldn’t release. We had no choice, it was surgically removed, or so I thought. Six weeks later, part of it was still in me and I was back in the hospital to extract that piece of placenta that was holding on. I was still holding on to that baby. Maybe it wasn’t surprising that my body wouldn’t let go of the parts that give it life. 

I remember not bleeding. I should have had my period two months after the second D&E. I remember calling my doctor and she said not to worry yet. Some bodies take longer than others. Something wasn’t sitting right. Two months later, I had spotting on a monthly basis, but nothing like before. I wasn’t bleeding. How could I have another baby if I wasn’t bleeding? My doctor agreed that we should take a look. See what was going on. 

I was back in a doctor’s office sitting on the table. This time, with a camera in my uterus, looking at a screen. My husband wasn’t there, so his head couldn’t be in his palms. The nurse was in the room with my doctor and me. She didn’t say anything while we looked at the screen, or maybe she did. There was a conversation with the doctor. I do remember what the nurse said after the doctor left the room. 

At least you already have a child. 

~Deane K.N. Mariotti