I am a mess! My thoughts are scattered and a bit anxious. I am holding onto my faith but I want to scream, break things, punch someone and just wake up from this nightmare.
I cry out to God and plead with the Father I know would not allow this to happen, again. I am in denial, I am numb, I am completely desperate for a miracle or at least an answer. I make an effort to do my best in everything. I intentionally have these audio messages on repeat:
- be a good wife
- be patient
- listen before you speak
- act in love
- be less judgmental
It seems like I have been doing a “good” job and deserve “good” things. After all, the promises I have been reading daily tell me so. I expect it! I know I have been forgiven and forgive but somehow things still go south.
Over a month ago, I received confirmation that I was expecting my miracle baby, some would call her my rainbow (promise) baby.
On December 6, 2013, I tested positive for my second pregnancy with my husband. After countless negative pregnancy tests and false alarms, we confirmed with our OB/GYN. I was convinced this was God’s plan, his way of saying before the year is out I have given you a gift. A new life. We will never replace Delilah is Olivo, and, we will never forget her. But we desperately want to be parents. This was our answer. This was the answer to our prayers and the perfect way to end a difficult year.
Following the positive pregnancy test, we decided to share it immediately with close family on Saturday,
December 7th. We had just experienced a death in the family and thought why not help cheer everyone up by telling them the good news.
They clearly, were just as surprised and happy as we were. They promised to pray for us and assured me, this was going to be different. We vowed not to take it any further and only share our baby news with immediate family until the baby shower. Until we were in the clear.
The weeks between December and January went by slowly and the day we allowed ourselves to believe
wholeheartedly that nothing would come against this pregnancy.
In the name of Jesus, We memorized the scripture, No weapon formed against you shall prosper Jeremiah 29:11, and we prayed it over my womb every single day. We rejoiced in our secret and sacred pregnancy.
Fast forward to January 10th…
No blood or spotting occurred until this point. I wiped myself after going to the bathroom and there it was staring back at me, taunting me. Telling me, you thought you were in the clear. Foolish girl. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Determined to keep my promise, my miracle. I convinced myself, that’s just old blood nothing to be worried about but to ease my mind I left work early and ran to the ER.
My husband met me there and as we waited over 3 hours, we joked, played on our smartphones and tried our best to stay positive.
We did not mention the possibility of death or miscarriage. Why we have the best interests at heart.
We confessed the verses we prayed over the last month. We stood strong in our faith. And then!!! TOMA, I was asked to get undressed and as soon as I did every memory of Delilah Luz came flooding back to me. I was so scared.
This is how it started. Urine sample, hospital gown, and an escort to the ultrasound tech. The hospital was as busy as can be but as soon as I started this all too familiar routine the soundtrack just went mute. I could sense something was wrong.
Everything happened around me and I was in my bubble, my safety net
As the ultrasound tech started the ultrasound his assistant started rocking from side to side (self-soothing), as she continuously pointed to my baby. That’s when I knew something was definitely wrong.
The baby I had dreams of was a girl. She was my daughter and was going to be a chubby August baby with dark hair.
I would name her Daveigh after her papi. But that dream was pulled right out of the chambers of my heart.
The desire to be a mom fluttered away because Daveigh would not rest on my chest or look up into my eyes. She would not smile as I sang nursery rhymes. She would not see her father’s funny faces or give him butterfly kisses in the morning time. In that moment, as that became my new truth, I stopped holding back and let the tears roll down my face. One by one by one.
Can you tell me what’s going on? Are you taking pictures?
Yes, taking pictures.
Is everything ok?
We are not allowed to tell you the results. Your doctor will tell you.
Why? I thought but I did not ask out of my mouth.
My OB/GYN?
No, the ER Doc.
I paused.
I’m dying here. How soon will I get the results?
I was escorted back to the ER. I changed into my clothes and waited for the results. The ER Doc asked me if the ultrasound tech told me the results. I repeated the policy which she is very much aware of and insisted that she tell me herself. She told me the ultrasound tech called it fetal demise because there is NO HEARTBEAT.
Blah, Blah, Blah – after that, I just blocked her out as I started to scream and cry in the arms of my husband. I just couldn’t stand to hear anything else. There was nothing left to say. How I wish she would have stopped there.
It was as if I feel out of myself and watched the entire event unfold from a distance. Feeling sorry for the woman that was now carrying a dead baby in her womb, completely broken and unraveled before complete strangers.
In the distance, I could hear someone say, “Well, people cry in the ER”. I brushed it off. Someone complaining about my hollering…
My first instinct was to find who said that and rip them apart. I suddenly became angry and told my husband we had to leave. I could not grieve or process this the way I needed to.
ER Doc came over after another 20 minutes with a stupid look on her face and discharge papers. I signed here and there. ER Doc told me to follow-up with my OB/GYN and cracked a bat over my skull with these final words, “You know, it is what it is.”
I tried to think of something clever to say but didn’t even have the energy to fight her pure ignorance.
There I was, 10 months later, walking out the same hospital without my daughter, without my chubby healthy baby girl.
All I can do now is open my heart to God and accept the power in his name. That power will heal me physically and emotionally. I have nothing left in me but hope… somehow I know that is enough.
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