I have always loved spring. It is the most hopeful time of year. I loved that everything turns green and comes to life. I loved the anticipation of summer break from school and graduations. Daniel and I first starting spending time together in spring. It is full of excitement!
While I was pregnant with Ginny, I loved the fact that she was due in springtime. Spring represents new life! We would have the rest of spring and summer to go on walks together. All winter, I patiently waited for spring. That’s why I got so excited when I saw daffodils blooming when Daniel and I went on a walk a couple days before Ginny was stillborn. “Spring is here!” I proclaimed. That meant Ginny would be here soon. I don’t think I have ever had so much joy at the thought of spring arriving.
When we lost Ginny a few days later, it was like winter came crashing back. Everything seemed dead and dark.
In the coming weeks, several very well intentioned loved ones would try to encourage me by saying, “Think of the future. Spring is here, and it’s getting warmer. Try to enjoy that and have hope.” They didn’t realize that was like a knife in my heart. Every tulip that came up and every tree bud reminded me that Ginny would not be arriving that spring. The springtime that I most anticipated would be empty. Thinking of the future made me think of what was missing. I couldn’t envision the future..
Spring 2019 was filled with the deepest grief. I still spent time outside. I spent hours in the UNC Arboretum, crying, reading, and praying. I walked around campus listening to songs that made me feel every emotion in efforts to mourn and face my grief. Spring passed by without Ginny in my arms but with Ginny in my heart, and she was all that was in my mind.
I worried that spring was ruined forever. It hurt so badly to think of the disappointment spring 2019 carried. I wondered if that hurt would reemerge every spring along with the daffodils.
This spring, I decided to let myself feel whatever I was feeling. To my surprise, the daffodils brought joy, not heartache! I love seeing all the flowers blooming and bright new leaves appear at the treetops. I think of new life with our baby Chet. But I am also reminded of the sweet time I had mourning Ginny in the deepest moments of grief last year. Although painful, that time so close to Ginny was full of love.
I’m not sure if those who have never lost will understand, but the early moments of grief are filled with so much love. It is normal to miss the intensity of early grief. This year, spring reminded me of the long walks on campus thinking of Ginny and tending to my broken heart. Our loss didn’t ruin spring; it brought more love and renewal than ever before. I’m so grateful for that.
Today is a tough day. For the most part during this pandemic I’ve had a pretty good attitude. I’ve known we could handle whatever comes our way. Some days are easier than others. Sometimes there is a reason days are hard and sometimes there isn’t. I’ve tried to let myself feel all my emotions without sinking into a pit or being fearful. Most days I’m fine, but it’s a hard balance some days.
I had a prenatal appointment scheduled for today. Earlier this week, I came to terms with the fact that Daniel can’t come with me. And then yesterday I was informed the appointment is now a phone call. I don’t know the point of a prenatal phone call – I can’t hear Chet’s heartbeat, I can’t be measured, I can’t check my thyroid, etc. I don’t need to talk; I need to make sure things are ok. There’s no way to do that over the phone. I know they are weighing the risks and trying to protect us all. It just makes me feel more helpless in a situation where I already feel helpless. I know people all over the world aren’t able to have the care they expected or need during this time. It’s unfair but no one’s fault.
Today is also a tough day because today is my last day working for who knows how long. The Family House closed yesterday to protect guests and volunteers from COVID-19. I know it’s the best decision, but it’s heartbreaking. Again, this virus is causing people to not get the level of care they normally would get. Transplants and treatments are being postponed. Visitors aren’t allowed at the hospital. My heart goes out to those going through serious illness right now, no matter if it is COVID-19 or not. Some people have already had their world flipped upside down and are already making life and death decisions. Adding a pandemic to the mix is making it exponentially more difficult.
Without my job, I will need to figure out how to spend my time. I’m grateful I get to stay safely at home. I will just need to find ways to fill my time in a meaningful way – without dwelling on what we are missing out on with Ginny gone or worrying about Chet.
Today is also a tough day because tomorrow is one year since Ginny’s due date. We already celebrated her birthday, but this is a meaningful day as well. If things were right in the world, she’d be turning one now. I do want to make it special but have no idea how. Last year we went to Charleston and walked along the beach all day. We talked about going back this year. We will need to make do with a batch of brownies and looking through the memory book I made. I miss her so much.
I know things could be a lot worse. Everything is ok. We can make it through this. But it’s also ok to feel disappointed and sad and frustrated. I try to surround myself with love and good words when I feel this way.
The song I Shall Not Want by Audrey Assad has helped me. I sang this song as a prayer before Ginny died. Last year, I feel like God answered the prayer in the third verse. I have been delivered from the fear of serving others, the fear of death or trial (most days), and the fear of humility. This year God must be working on answering the prayers in the first two verses. Sometimes it hurts to be delivered from something. But it’s also beautiful. When I taste His goodness, I shall not want.
I Shall Not Want by Audrey Assad
From the love of my own comfort From the fear of having nothing From a life of worldly passions Deliver me O God
From the need to be understood And from a need to be accepted From the fear of being lonely Deliver me O God Deliver me O God
And I shall not want, no, I shall not want When I taste Your goodness, I shall not want When I taste Your goodness, I shall not want
From the fear of serving others Oh, and from the fear of death or trial And from the fear of humility Deliver me O God Yes, deliver me O God
And I shall not want, no, I shall not want When I taste Your goodness I shall not want No, I shall not want, no, I shall not want When I taste Your goodness I shall not want
When I taste Your goodness I shall not want I shall not want I shall not want
We found out the sex as soon as we could with a blood test. We already had a name picked out, and we named him as soon as we found out he was a boy. No time to waste. This living person inside me needed a name as soon as possible. We called our families and shared his name that day.
Why the urgency? At that time, I was only 3 months along. It is so important to me for my son to be named.
After losing a child during pregnancy, you realize how precious the time in the womb is. This may be your only time with this child. The womb may be the only life on Earth your child experiences. For me and for many others who have experienced pregnancy loss, you want to do all you can to bond with your baby and make as many memories as possible. You want to know your baby as well as you can for as long as you can. Hopefully that means watching him grow to adulthood, but sometimes it doesn’t.
I wanted our son to have an identity. I wanted others to start to know him and think of him as part of our family. We wanted to bond with him as a real living person. So we gave him a name.
His name is Chester Thomas Jones. We call him Chet!
Chester is my father’s middle name, both my grandfathers’ middle names, and my great-grandfather’s first name. My great-grandfather also went by Chet. So many wonderful men in my family are named Chester; I had to keep the tradition going!
My great-grandfather Chet Dilley in 1929
We liked how classic and solid the name Thomas is. We also appreciated that it is the name of one of Jesus’s disciples. Thomas in the Bible is known for being a doubter. When all the other disciples were telling him that Jesus was resurrected, he said he’d have to see Jesus and touch his scars to believe He was alive.
Doubt has been a big part of my relationship with God. Every time I’ve brought a question or doubt to God, he opened my eyes and heart to something new. When something doesn’t add up in my mind or I don’t understand something, I haven’t denied my doubts. I bring them straight to God. He has always shown me his scars – so to speak. He answers my questions. It may not be right away, but eventually he does. Every time, my faith is strengthened and my mind and heart are broadened. I want our son to remember that it’s ok to ask questions. Even though “blessed are those who believe without seeing”, Jesus will show you his scars. Don’t be afraid to ask.
Chet Jones. The name of our son. The name of Ginny’s little brother. The person wiggling in my belly. Our 2nd firstborn. We love him and are so happy to share him with you.
24 Now Thomas, one of the twelve, called the Twin, was not with them when Jesus came. 25 So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see in his hands the mark of the nails, and place my finger into the mark of the nails, and place my hand into his side, I will never believe.” 26 Eight days later, his disciples were inside again, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” 27 Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here, and see my hands; and put out your hand, and place it in my side. Do not disbelieve, but believe.” 28 Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!” 29 Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” John 20:24-29
After losing someone, things that used to be unthinkable are believable now. Something happens in your brain when you realize the unimaginable can happen to you. You aren’t immune to difficulty. Suddenly the crazy things seem realistic and possible, like this pandemic.
There are some other things that I’ve realized through loss that are coming in handy now in this time of uncertainty:
Sometimes when we cling too tight to things in our lives (jobs, school, money, security, health, even loved ones), we are reminded we aren’t really in control. We can easily lose anything we thought was ours. Who knows what the future holds? We have to hold things loosely in trust. Hand it over because it’s not yours.
There is immense strength in the human spirit. We are stronger beyond what we can imagine. I’ve seen this in myself, but I also witness it all the time with people who I’m around at work who are battling cancer. We can handle much more than we think. We can survive and thrive.
God is with us in times of trouble. He is not hidden from us.
There is opportunity for good in this time. That doesn’t make the hard things easier, but it does bring some hope.
This time of stillness is a gift. We often struggle with busyness and being consumed with all the tasks and activities of the day. Now is the chance to embrace the stillness. Let’s not waste this time. This is an opportunity to realize who we are outside of our careers and activities and social life. Let’s experience God’s love for us and our families’ love for us outside of those things. Just based on who we are, not what we do.
If we are fortunate enough to be quarantined with loved ones, let’s make the most of this extra quality time together. Let’s never take this time together for granted.
My heart goes out to those who are fresh in grief during this time. Things are already hazy and bizarre. I can’t imagine adding a pandemic on top of that. It must truly feel like a nightmare. With everything going on, let’s not forget to reach out to those who are grieving.
“Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” Isaiah 41:10
“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” John 1:5
I’m 20 weeks pregnant. My mind goes straight to the thought that I have reached the cutoff between a miscarriage and a stillbirth. If I lose this baby, it will be considered a stillbirth. That feels like an accomplishment!
That’s certainly not something I thought about in my first pregnancy. At this point I had already felt “in the clear” for a couple of months now. I will never feel in the clear this pregnancy, but I do feel better than I did even a couple weeks ago. Now that I can feel him move, I get reassurance without going to the doctor’s to hear a heartbeat. I know he’s alive today. That makes me feel so grateful. I have today with him.
Last week we had the targeted anatomy scan. I was anxious for what the results could be, but I also anticipated a magical moment watching him wiggle around like Ginny’s anatomy scan. I underestimated the heaviness of the dark room and quiet sonographer. I’m glad Daniel’s parents were with us. They were able to bear some of the tension in the room. I guess because I am high risk, the sonographer spent maybe one minute on his face and profile and the rest on his heart and other organs that I couldn’t make sense of. At one point she apologized for being so quiet, “Sorry some of these measurements are really hard to get. I have to focus.” That didn’t make me feel better. My mind was wondering what could be wrong. At least I could see his heart beating. I saw 4 chambers; that’s a good sign.
The mixture of flashbacks of Ginny’s last ultrasound, the long wait for the doctor, and the disappointment of realizing we were only getting two pictures was enough to overwhelm me. The ultrasound pictures of Ginny are the only pictures we have of her alive. I look at those pictures all the time. They are what I will look at for my whole life; they are priceless to me. What if I only get these two pictures of this baby? What if that’s all I get of him?!
The doctor came in. Everything looks good! That’s a big relief.
She goes on to say that the next ultrasound will be scheduled for over two months from now. What?! I thought I was getting more monitoring. Two months is a long time to wait when you feel like your placenta could stop working at any time! The doctor explained that there is not much they can do prior to 28 weeks. But after 28 weeks, I will get growth ultrasounds and non stress tests. I feel helpless until then. I asked for more pictures. The doctor was going to ask the sonographer if she could send more.
Daniel and I then met with the receptionist and scheduled appointments out until July. We finally left after 3 hours.
I felt so exhausted. I felt overwhelmed. I was glad that everything looked good, and our baby boy was measuring on track. I was disappointed that the appointment wasn’t the amazing experience we had at Ginny’s anatomy scan. I was frustrated that there isn’t more we can do to protect our son. I was upset at myself for not asking to spend more time looking at his face and hands. I felt guilty for not being happier and more grateful after getting a good report. I still felt afraid.
As soon as we got in the car after the appointment, I broke down crying. It was all too much for one afternoon, and I missed Ginny.
I’m realizing this is the reality of pregnancy after loss. You want so badly to be positive and cheerful and enjoy every moment, but there is an emotional barrier that can’t be ignored. Fear gets in the way, and grief is part of all your experiences. Hope is still there though. It is harder to see always, but love brings it to light – love for both children.
Pregnancy after loss…well actually anything after loss can be very scary. Knowing that bad things do happen and they do happen to you is a realization that can cause so much fear.
Often the advice is to trust God. But I do trust God more than I ever have! But now my trust looks different. There are two types of trust I’ve experienced…
Trusting God used to mean trusting that everything will work out and that our prayers for health and blessing would be answered. I would pray with faith that my requests would come to pass. I truly believed!
Trusting God now means trusting that God will be with us no matter what – good or bad. It also means that we believe we have hope beyond our Earthly desires. Those Earthly desires include health and blessings here. The hope extends past this life into eternity.
I don’t think either type of trust is wrong. Although after losing Ginny, somehow the first type of trust feels selfish.
At first, I couldn’t pray for health or protection or life. I could only pray that His will be done. Now when I do pray for health I fight the feeling that I’m being selfish or short-sighted. I remind myself that it is not wrong to want my child to live on Earth with me. It is still a struggle though.
As this pregnancy gets farther along, I feel myself being drawn from the second type of trust back to the first. I’m starting to believe that this baby may live. I pray for his life. But along with that comes a desire for control. Prayers, practices, and even faith start to feel like superstition. I start holding my breath in hope for his life. The trust feels conditional. It changes from an “even-if” to an “only-if” faith.
How do I balance the hope that this baby will be born alive and healthy while maintaining the belief that God is good no matter what happens?
I’m still trying to figure this out, but I think the answer is in surrender. When I feel my need for control taking over, I need to remember I have no control. I need to surrender to God. God loves this baby more than I do. I need to let go and have peace in that.
I focus on the fact that this baby boy is here with us today. I also remind myself that, like Ginny, this baby boy will be part of our family forever, whether here on Earth or in heaven. That’s not changing, and that is certainly something to be joyful about!
Each day feels like an ebb and flow between the different types of trust. When fear and control creep in, I remind myself to surrender. Love fills that surrender with peace.
“Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you, and through rivers, they shall now overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you.” Isaiah 43:1-2
“And the prayer of faith will save the one who is sick, and the Lord will raise him up.” James 5:15
“For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.” Psalms 139: 13-14
It’s been one year since I felt you wiggle in my belly. You were more than a belly bump or a series of kicks. I felt your spirit. You were with me wherever I went. I could feel your presence in the same way I know when your dad walks in a room.
I felt you were joyful and fun. I imagined being silly together, laughing together. I felt your playful spirit. Beyond that, I had an indescribable sense of you. I’ve been told by other mothers that the sense you get from your child in the womb is the same as the sense you get from them outside the womb. That convinces me that I truly did know you. I do know you.
But one year ago, when I held your body in my arms, I didn’t feel you anymore. You weren’t in your empty shell. I waited to see you. Then when I did, you weren’t there. You were in heaven. We missed you.
We miss you. Every single day we miss you. I try to remember that sense of your spirit. I do feel you.
But I wish I could see you, hear you, hug you, laugh with you. I wish we were singing “Happy Birthday” to you and watching you make a mess of a cake. I wish I was laughing and saying, “She’s never had this much sugar before!” I wish I was wetting a washcloth and wiping you down. I wish I was helping you open a new toy and watching you reach for it. That’s one of a million moments we are missing with you.
But we will have more than a million moments together one day. One day this time apart will seem like nothing. But it doesn’t feel like nothing now. This year seems massive.
So we celebrate this massive year. We celebrate your precious life. We celebrate your spirit that was with us for a short time and is in heaven now with Jesus.
We celebrate making it through this year of grief. We survived when it seemed like we wouldn’t.
We celebrate the love, perspective, and hope you’ve given us.
We thank God for all these things, most importantly you!
Please know your daddy and I love you with all our broken, growing hearts. Your brother will know you and love you too. We are family forever.
To the choirmaster: according to The Doe of the Dawn. A Psalm of David.
22 My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, from the words of my groaning? 2 O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer, and by night, but I find no rest.
3 Yet you are holy, enthroned on the praises of Israel. 4 In you our fathers trusted; they trusted, and you delivered them. 5 To you they cried and were rescued; in you they trusted and were not put to shame.
6 But I am a worm and not a man, scorned by mankind and despised by the people. 7 All who see me mock me; they make mouths at me; they wag their heads; 8 “He trusts in the Lord; let him deliver him; let him rescue him, for he delights in him!”
9 Yet you are he who took me from the womb; you made me trust you at my mother’s breasts. 10 On you was I cast from my birth, and from my mother’s womb you have been my God. 11 Be not far from me, for trouble is near, and there is none to help.
12 Many bulls encompass me; strong bulls of Bashan surround me; 13 they open wide their mouths at me, like a ravening and roaring lion.
14 I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint; my heart is like wax; it is melted within my breast; 15 my strength is dried up like a potsherd, and my tongue sticks to my jaws; you lay me in the dust of death.
16 For dogs encompass me; a company of evildoers encircles me; they have pierced my hands and feet— 17 I can count all my bones— they stare and gloat over me; 18 they divide my garments among them, and for my clothing they cast lots.
19 But you, O Lord, do not be far off! O you my help, come quickly to my aid! 20 Deliver my soul from the sword, my precious life from the power of the dog! 21 Save me from the mouth of the lion! You have rescued me from the horns of the wild oxen!
22 I will tell of your name to my brothers; in the midst of the congregation I will praise you: 23 You who fear the Lord, praise him! All you offspring of Jacob, glorify him, and stand in awe of him, all you offspring of Israel! 24 For he has not despised or abhorred the affliction of the afflicted, and he has not hidden his face from him, but has heard, when he cried to him.
25 From you comes my praise in the great congregation; my vows I will perform before those who fear him. 26 The afflicted shall eat and be satisfied; those who seek him shall praise the Lord! May your hearts live forever!
27 All the ends of the earth shall remember and turn to the Lord, and all the families of the nations shall worship before you. 28 For kingship belongs to the Lord, and he rules over the nations.
29 All the prosperous of the earth eat and worship; before him shall bow all who go down to the dust, even the one who could not keep himself alive. 30 Posterity shall serve him; it shall be told of the Lord to the coming generation; 31 they shall come and proclaim his righteousness to a people yet unborn, that he has done it.
The Lord Is My Shepherd
A Psalm of David.
23 The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. 2 He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. 3 He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.
4 Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.
5 You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. 6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
Finding out the sex of the baby is by far my favorite moment of this pregnancy so far!
We decided to do the cell-free genetic screening this time around. This blood test checks for a few different genetic disorders and also identifies the sex chromosomes. We met with genetic counselors. They explained that all of Ginny’s genetic testing came back normal so they have no reason to believe we were at a higher risk of genetic defects. They drew my blood and said they would call within 5-9 business days with the results.
Then Daniel left for a business trip to San Diego. My sister Keri and I joined him a few days later for vacation. We went to yummy restaurants (side-note: Daniel ate 22 tacos in his 10 days there), saw a bunch of sea lions, visited the town where I was born, watched paragliders, and went beach-hopping up the coast. It was so much fun!
Throughout the first few days of the trip, I was slightly pre-occupied with knowing the genetic counselor could call at any time. I really hoped we’d hear while we were together on this trip instead of back home while I was at work alone. Every time my phone made a noise, my heart jumped. Is that the call?!
Meanwhile we were following all the stops we had planned for the trip…except one. I really wanted to show Daniel the beautiful beach my grandmother had taken Keri and me 13 years earlier. The problem was I couldn’t remember where the beach was. I described the place to Keri. It has beautiful black stones all along the beach. She had no memory of it. I tried googling it with no luck. I asked our Uber drivers; they had no idea. I was beginning to think I had dreamed of this beach. But I specifically remembered thinking, “Wow! This is so beautiful. I need to bring Daniel here one day.”
It was Friday afternoon. I realized that it was past 5pm in the Eastern timezone; it was too late to get a phone call from the genetic counselor this week. I felt disappointed. I also had given up on finding the beach. Oh well… we were in beautiful San Diego on the way to our next adventure destination. We were heading to Torrey Pines State Reserve, where we would get to do a little hiking.
We pulled into the parking lot just along the beach. I looked out the window and saw it! It’s the beach! The beach of my dreams is real! I saw the black stones and the memories came back. This is it! Keri suddenly remembered and agreed. Wow! I couldn’t believe we actually stumbled upon it!
I was so excited to get out and show Daniel the highly anticipated beach. Just as he put the car in park, my phone rang. Could this be the call? I picked it up, and yes it was the genetic counselor. I put her on speaker phone so Daniel could hear. The results came back great. They showed no signs of the genetic disorders. I was very relieved. Then she asked if we wanted to know the sex. We quickly responded yes. She said they detected a Y chromosome. It’s a BOY!!
Wow! A boy! Daniel and I smiled at each other while Keri cheered. Something about knowing that he is a boy made it all seem more real. He’s his own person; he is real. We love him.
We got out and walked to the beach. Daniel and Keri agreed the beach was indeed very beautiful. We came up with the idea to collect the bluest stones and spell out “boy” for a cute picture. What a perfect moment!
I stood on the beach staring at the waves with the sun on my face. I felt real joy. I couldn’t believe how beautiful that moment was. I felt God was telling me, “I do want to bless you. I do want joy for you. The season of sorrow will not be forever. There are good things ahead for you.” In that moment, I felt more hope that we will actually get to bring this baby boy home with us than ever before. I’m so grateful. I will never forget it.
One thing I was most nervous about getting pregnant again was going back to the ultrasound clinic at the hospital. The waiting room was the last place in our former “before” life. The dark room was where our world came crashing down. The thought of going back there frightened me, but I knew it would be worth it.
After finding out I was pregnant, I made two appointments right away. The first was with my MFM (high risk OB) and the second was an ultrasound (the first ultrasound since Ginny died). That first prenatal appointment was on December 4th. I was anxious for it, but mostly just eager to come up with a plan for this pregnancy. I figured this appointment would just be talking because it is too early to hear the baby’s heartbeat. I had some comfort in knowing that we couldn’t get bad news and my heart wouldn’t be broken in this appointment.
We arrived for the appointment. Daniel and I had a good discussion with the doctor, and we had a plan in place for the next 9 months. Then the doctor said, “Let’s do an ultrasound and see the baby today.” My heart leapt. I hadn’t mentally prepared for this. But maybe this is better. I didn’t have a chance to worry and work myself up for it. The nurse brought the ultrasound machine in the exam room, and the doctor stepped out while I went to the restroom. I came back into the room and immediately apologized to Daniel. He asked why I was apologizing. I said, “I left you alone in a room with an ultrasound machine.” He said, “Yeah, that was a bit harder than I thought it would be.”
The doctor and nurse returned. They attempted an over-the-belly ultrasound. I knew it was too early to see much that way. Then they switch to a transvaginal ultrasound. I didn’t care. I just wanted to see a heartbeat. We looked at the tiny blob on the screen. We saw a flicker! What a relief! There was a heartbeat!
As we were leaving, Daniel said, “I haven’t been this happy in a really long time. I was so happy to see the heartbeat.” That warmed my heart.
This took so much pressure off the ultrasound the next week. There is a heartbeat, at least for now.
As the ultrasound appointment drew near, I got more and more fearful. I know my true fear was another loss, but my mind wouldn’t let myself focus on that possibility. What I was so nervous about was …what if we get the same sonographer? I vaguely remember what she looks like. What if we get the same room? I think it was room 6 maybe. What if we get the same doctor? The one whose face I was looking at and voice I was hearing in the worst moment of my life. What if all this happens, and I have a panic attack or some sort of PTSD episode? I knew it was irrational. Even if we had the some sonographer, same room, and same doctor, the outcome is likely different. This is a new day and a new situation. I couldn’t help but be nervous.
I read techniques for calming panic. I learned how to breath right and what to focus on. I wrote scriptures on index cards and put them in my pocket. Just knowing they were there helped.
Daniel and I arrived to the clinic. The lady at the front desk said, “You’ve been here before, haven’t you?” Yes we had. Did she remember us?
We waited in the same waiting room. It felt different now. It was such a happy and hopeful place before. I thought of it as a place parents wait to see their babies, but now I know it is also a place parents wait to get terrible news. Daniel and I tried to distract each other. Finally my name was called. I looked up. The sonographer was not the one I vaguely remembered. In fact she was the one who did Ginny’s anatomy scan. That was a wonderful memory. She was friendly and brought us back to “Room 6”. I felt afraid, but when we walked in the room I realized I was mistaken. Room 6 is not the dreaded room.
As soon as we walked in, she asked, “Is this your first child?” That question. Of course that question. “No actually, our daughter died at 35 weeks in utero. This is our second child.” Tears immediately started flowing down my face. Daniel explained, “This is our first time back here.” She was immediately warm and empathetic. She said this is going to be good because we will get to see our baby. She took me to the bathroom. While I was in there, she asked Daniel more details of what happened. She asked what our daughter’s name is. I had pulled myself together, and the sonographer asked if I was ready. I said yes. She went straight for the transvaginal ultrasound. I couldn’t look at the screen at first. I needed confirmation of a heartbeat before I could bear it. I heard her say, “There’s the heartbeat!” I felt such relief. Baby is growing right on track. She printed us a few pictures and emailed me more.
As we left, I walked past the sonographer who couldn’t find Ginny’s heartbeat. I think she recognized me because she looked at me with such sadness in her eyes. I know that was a hard day for her. It had to be.
We left the clinic knowing our baby is alive and with a new memory of that place. I felt proud of myself. We did it! We faced our fear of that place. We took the rest of the day off to be together and celebrate.
My next appointments and ultrasounds would be scheduled at a different location. We realized that although the hospital is less than 5 minutes away from both of our jobs, it is worth the extra 15 minute drive to not have the anxiety of returning there. I feel more peace at the new location. Each appointment is a challenge on its own without bad memories on top of it. I’m grateful to have location options and still see the same MFM team.
At the 11 week ultrasound, they measured the nuchal translucency. All measurements were good. This was the first ultrasound where the baby actually starts looking like a baby, not just a little blob. I love seeing the little nose and hands.
We are now anticipating the big targeted anatomy ultrasound scheduled for March 5th. We are excited to see the baby wiggle, gain peace of mind, and get pictures. But we are anxious because this is where they will be checking how the baby has developed. After hearing so many baby loss stories, I now know what can happen at these appointments. I will probably have a pocket full of scriptures and hesitate to look at the screen. But no matter what the outcome, we will get through it. I’ve never felt braver.
Be-Still-and-Know 