Written by: Nikki Janet
“Ms. Roney, do you understand what’s going on?”
As those words echoed through the room, yes I understood what was going on but I mentally couldn’t wrap my head around just exactly what I was about to endure.
This was my first adversity as an adult, that mommy or daddy just couldn’t take away. I couldn’t grasp the fact that I was losing my first child.
“No one ever told me that grief felt so much like fear.” C.S Lewis
Almost every woman yearns to be a mother, our bodies are biologically designed for it. So suffering from Cervical Insufficiency was not apart of my “mommy” plans. I have read tons of books, took vitamins, watched what I ate but none of that could have prepared me for this.
I snapped back into reality. Watching my husband argue with the doctor because I don’t think he was able to emotionally grasp it. We watched our baby’s little feet move around on the ultrasound like he had not a care in the world. How could we be losing our son he looks fine. I held my stomach and let out the most gut-wrenching cry. I couldn’t see from the tears clouding my vision. I couldn’t hear over the nurse’s chatter and machines beeping along with my own sobs.
I could only feel, not physical pain or sadness but his movements. So, I took that moment to embrace the time that I knew we had left.
We rolled right into our room on the maternal delivery floor. Which was complete torture. We watched as new mommies napped with their newborn babies swaddled in the bed next to them. We saw as fathers rocked their child to sleep with glee in their eyes and we knew that today that wouldn’t be us.
As I was induced into labor it felt like time stood still. We waited patiently in the delivery room for it all to be over. For all of us to get out of that tight, uncomfortable ass room. No one knew what to say to me, so it was complete silence. No one knew how to console me, so my visitors hurriedly paced the floor looking down to avoid awkward eye contact at all cost. I focused on my son.
So many questions ran through my head such as: “Is he feeling what I’m feeling?”
“Can he sense the hurt that I literally feel aching in my bones?”
“Can he feel me?”
None of that matter, I just wanted to hold on for as long as I could.
Hours passed and the room was now dark from the sun setting.
Now was the time for me to push. I panicked because there had to be another way! I couldn’t imagine my body mustering up the strength to actually go through with this. I didn’t want to push, I didn’t want our connection to end. Pushing gave me the feeling that motherhood for me was over. The nurses took him to get cleaned up and I remember my mother in law coming back in the room. Her words were forced as if it hurt, more like a lump the size of a watermelon was in her throat. “He was a boy.”
Based on how I wrote you would have thought that was something we already knew. No. We were 4 days shy of getting the anomaly scan done. So, no we never knew we just felt. They brought in the most breathtaking baby I have ever seen. My heart jumped out of my chest. My son in all white. Though he was no longer with us in the physical presence, I just wanted to love on him in the physical form. He looked so peaceful as if he was sleeping.
“Grief is like the ocean; it comes in waves, ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn how to swim.” Vicki Harrison
We went home as parents with no baby.
You know the hardest part about having a miscarriage or a stillborn is that your body doesn’t know. My body could not recognize that their was no baby. My breast still swelled and I still was bleeding. You start to blame yourself because it feels like your body betrayed you. I couldn’t have my baby, now I have to go through this! That happened until my body was able to catch up with reality. I write my story for people to understand the feelings associated with losing a child that you didn’t have a chance to build a bond with. For the women still on the journey to becoming mothers. Or for any woman yearning for her happily ever after. Don’t let anyone tell you how you should feel or that you’re young enough to have more or even that everyone goes through it. Does a paper cut hurt any less because everyone’s had one?
The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found there way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.
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