We Never Got to Meet You...

Last week I had to give a quick oral health history for a mammogram I had done.  

"Number of pregnancies?"  4

"Number of live births?"  3



Quickly done, over with, on to the next question.

But wait.

4 - 3 = 1


I give it every year, but this year, it hit me harder.  It took me a little while to understand why.

Why this missing "1" is a  special little person that I never was able to meet.  Someone probably regularly remembered only by daddy and I.

And it was because that little person would be twenty years old next month.


And I still wish...somehow, that I had something other than that yearly oral health history to remember--to prove that little person by.  


I have forgotten the exact date I was due.  I had written it down somewhere, but I am sure that calendar is long gone.  


And the doctor that was my OB-GYN has long since retired and I have no idea where my medical records are.  They are lost out there somewhere sitting in a warehouse.


But.

That 1 person lives in the memories of both my husband and me.  Every now and then he'll say to me--usually each spring:  "Want to know who I was thinking about today?"  And I know.  We both thought of that 1 the year he or she would have graduated and I had a good cry one day while I mowed the lawn, remembering and missing that 1.


And once in awhile, usually every March (that was the due date) we talk about that little person, and how we miss that member of our family.

 I think since the baby was due in the year 1991, the years that end in "1" are the hardest.  



To the health care workers, a D&C is very routine, and they move you through and on out the door from surgery in quick fashion with medical discharge papers, all without telling you anything about what you will experience because of a miscarriage.  


At the follow-up doctor appointment, there are reassurances recited to you that are supposed to make you feel better.  Like...


"You can try again, soon."  
"It's nature's way..."
"You're young yet, there's time for more."


I had what is called an "empty womb syndrome"...and was dismissively told, as if it made any difference to me:


"There never really was a baby in there anyway."


That is what I was told by the attending nurse when I awoke from my surgery crying with grief because my baby was gone.


(Not to mention how upset I was that the word "abortion" appeared in the wording on the pre-surgery release form.  I questioned the doctor and asked "I am not having an abortion am I?".   He said it was just medical terminology.  I went into surgery thinking about that horrible word.)

EMPTY?
Yes, I was.  
After surgery.


Did I know my womb was empty for the three months I "carried" that little one?  
Did I know we were naming a child that didn't exist?
Did we know that as we were telling friends and family about our new little addition?


Something happened in the separation of cells sometime in the first month that caused my baby to stop forming at a certain point, but it took more than a couple of months for anyone to know--a smaller than normal measurement at a routine checkup was a sign for the doctor to have me get an ultrasound--very quickly done, and then I was informed that I needed a D&C as soon as possible.


It all came, and it all went, I recovered and we ended up soon moving to this old house, and we got busy making this place into our home, and after a few years, we had another baby.

But I will never forget and I will always wish I had met that little 1 that would be turning twenty this year.

Would you be our daughter?

Our son?

1

We miss you.




1 more thing....
I was able to be in the delivery room that March.  My littlest sister was in need of a labor coach.  I was there with her and cut the cord when Holly was born.  It was a very special day for us, for me.  I am so happy --a special day that worked out just the right way.  It was healing, makes the memory easier.