I went for my prenatal check-up with the hope of delivering my son soon. My due date was only two weeks away. There was not any cause to worry, because the delivery of my daughter went complication free.
I expected this delivery to be the same. However, what I believed to be a routine prenatal visit turned into the most horrifying experience of my life.
Suddenly, I was hearing that the physician assistant could not hear a heart beat, and needed to send me to the hospital. I got to the hospital with the thought that my baby was in a position where the heartbeat could not be heard, and most likely would have to be delivered by c-section.
I was hooked up to the fetal monitor. I was told that there was not any fetal heartbeat, and that the baby had died. At that moment, I felt numb.
I had never felt such devastation. I was told that I could have either a c-section or deliver the baby vaginally. I chose the latter so I would have the least amount of recovery time. I wanted to emotionally separate myself from this experience.
I kept hoping I would wake up and discover that I was having a terrible nightmare. However, the nightmare had truly become a reality when I was holding the lifeless body of my newborn son.
My son had strangled himself with the umilical cord. The medical profession doesn't know why or how it happens, but in rare cases, it does. I had the choice of staying at the hospital, but all I wanted to do was to go home.
It was so painful leaving the hospital that evening. I was no longer pregnant, and yet, was not carrying the baby in my arms.
I experienced every emotion possible. I was sad, angry and even felt guilty that I had been unable to help my son when we was hurting himself.
The questions that continuously echoed in my mind were: Why was my baby taken from me? With all of this medical technology, how could this have happened?
It wasn't supposed to have been this way. My daughter was finally going to have a sibling. How was I going to tell my daughter that the baby had died? It felt so unfair that a four-year-old would already have to deal with the loss of a loved one.
My daughter handled the loss very innocently. She looked at her little brother in the coffin and questioned where his wings were. She had perceived her brother as becoming an angel to watch over her.
I wished that I could have looked at his death as being so purposeful. The sadness and anger of him being taken from me made it impossible for me to think of his death as having any meaning.
I needed time in order for me to begin to not only appreciate what I already had, but to adopt my daughter's perspective. That through loss can also be gain.
The baby would still be a part of our lives, but in a more spiritual manner. He was a reminder not to take anything for granted. If we appreciate that which we have then we have a greater chance of feeling peace and contentment.
We can continue to strive to have what we don't possess and to be better individuals, but if we appreciate what we possess each moment then our lives always feel worthwhile.
It took months for me to begin feeling what my daugher immediately felt. I finally began to feel the joy of my son's presence in my heart rather than the pain of his loss. Therefore, I felt less alone. I could begin to focus on being a mother for my daughter rather than focusing on the loss of my son.
I knew that I had truly begun on the path of accepting my son's death when I approached my husband about having another child.
I decided not to have another child until I was not focusing on needing to replace my son, but because I wanted to have a sibling for my daughter and wanted another child.
I could feel the fear grow within me when I began thinking of being pregnant. I started questioning whether I wanted to take that risk again. I already had the chance of having another stillborn, because it occurred once.
I feared that I would begin to drive myself insane due to worrying for nine months whether another tragedy would strike. I began thinking that since I was already blessed with a healthy daughter that maybe I should not press my luck. These thoughts continuously raced through my mind.
I soon began thinking about the regrets that I may have if I did not have another child. I realized that allowing my fears to control my decision to have another baby would most likely lead to despair later on in my life.
I had wanted at least two children, and feared resentment for not giving myself the opportunity to try. My husband and I had bought a house with four bedrooms, and I still had the same desire of filling those bedrooms with our children.
I knew that I needed to try to have another healthy baby. I also knew that having another baby would not erase the memory and pain of my son's death. However, I did not want to condemn my son's memory by allowing him to have such a negative impact on my life by ceasing to live the life I needed to live.
I realized that I had planned for more children and to allow that dream to die would be creating an even deeper wound from my son's death. The wound would remain open due to all of the resentment that would continue.
I thought about the risks and studied the pros and cons as one does when making decisions. The thought of not trying had become too painful. In turn, I realized that I needed to give myself the opportunity to discover if it wasn't meant to be.
If I had not taken the risks and faced the fears and complications, I would not have my three healthy children today.