Chapter Twenty Four:
Kicked When Down
Josh and I walked into the doctor’s
office half an hour early expecting to wait and were surprised when we were
ushered back to the examination room after only having to wait ten
minutes. After all the trauma we had
been through it was nice to finally have something go our way even if it was
something as trivial as an appointment time.
Josh and I sat in the room exhausted, but giddy with excitement to meet
our new baby for the first time via ultra sound. Usually they perform the first ultra sound at
ten weeks, but due to a high quantity of new patients the appointment times were
difficult to get. So here I was at
fourteen and a half weeks and although I was disappointed I hadn’t had this
opportunity sooner I was excited I was further along hoping I would be able to
see more than just the peanut shaped blob that is typical.
When the nurse walked in we told
her about the fire and expressed how anxious we were for the ultra sound to
make sure the baby was still healthy and growing. She shared her sympathies over the loss of
our apartment and agreed that seeing the baby would be just what we
needed. When the doctor joined us in the
exam room the nurse told her our story and we were touched by their concern and
uplifting words as they prepped me. Josh
came to my side and held my hand as she turned the machine on and began searching
for the heart beat. I saw them both
looking, but it didn’t take long for the doctor to comment that something
didn’t look right and that the child didn’t look developed the way he should
be. I felt Josh squeeze my hand, but my heart was already numb. I waited.
She then continued her examination and I kept waiting for her to turn
the monitor on so we could hear the heartbeat, but she never did. She let us know that she could not find a
heartbeat and then showed us the lump that seemed abnormal to her. She then let me know that this was
chromosomal, which meant the child did not die due in result of the fire,
stress or anything I did. I couldn’t
feel the tears running down my cheeks, but I knew they were there. She let us know that she would want to send
us to the radiologist so they could determine the age of the baby and to
confirm there was no life left in child I carried. She expressed her sympathies and how this was
the last thing we needed as she slipped out of the room to give us time. I threw myself into Josh’s arms and together
we cried for baby we lost.
The
world seemed to be spinning around me.
Could this be true, was our baby really dead? It had only been six days since we lost
everything that we owned, was it really meant for me to lose this baby as
well? It didn’t seem real to me. How could I even process all of the
loss? We rode over to the radiologists
in silence, hand in hand as our minds raced with what this meant. I told Josh that after the fire we had been
able to stay so positive because we kept telling ourselves that we had each
other, but now I felt I could no longer say that because now we had lost
someone and it just didn’t seem fair.
How could the Lord take this from us too? What had I done to deserve such wrath? But these feelings and thoughts were replaced
with numbness and like an automaton I climbed out of the car and walked into
the radiologist’s office so they could tell me all over again that my baby was
dead. According to my last period I was
fourteen weeks and four days along.
According to the radiologist, the baby was fourteen weeks and two days
developed when he passed. The doctor had
made mention that there was nothing I could have done, but I felt guilty
because I felt as if I should have at least felt a difference two days ago when
my baby died.
When we
went back to the doctor she informed me that the baby was too developed for a
simple DNC and that I would have to deliver my lifeless child. She let us know
it would be a long process, but she would do all she could to make it as pain
free as possible. How could something
like this be pain free I wondered as we walked to the car again. We made arrangements for Dorian to stay at a
friend’s house overnight so that Josh could be with me at the hospital as
support. Through this all I was still
trying to even coupe with reality because this life, this week all seemed surreal
as if I had somehow landed the lead role on a soap opera. Stuff like this doesn’t happen in real life,
does it? It took us three and a half
years to get pregnant with Dorian due to my severe PCOS; this pregnancy was a
miracle in and of itself, so then why would I be granted such a gift to have it
taken away from me? The story of Job
kept popping into my head and although I knew my lot was not the same, I still
couldn’t help but compare. Now I felt as
if I truly had lost everything.
Josh
and I walked solemnly up to the registration window at the hospital and the
receptionist asked where we needed to go.
I let her know we were headed to labor and delivery. I saw her glance at my belly and ask how far
along I was. I hesitated. I didn’t want to announce that my baby was
dead, so I let her know I was just over fourteen weeks. She began to tell me that labor and delivery
would not see me until I was at least eighteen weeks so I quickly blurted out
that I was sent here to deliver my dead baby.
With a quiet, “oh” she began the paperwork. At first I felt bead for creating an awkward
situation, but the more I thought on it the more upset I became. I hoped she did feel bad for making me state
my business. I hoped she felt guilty for making me tell her my child was
dead. These thoughts were all very quiet
though and my face remained blank as I watched them put the paper bracelet on
my wrist. The last time I had been at
this hospital was when I delivered Dorian and I couldn’t help but feel sorry
for myself at how different the circumstances were.
Labor
and delivery was expecting us and the nurse who got me hooked up to the
machines apologized for having to come to the labor unit to do all of this, she
seemed very aware that this was the last place in the world I wanted to be. We began the medication to start the
contractions and the waiting began.
After four hours and the second dose, the bleeding began; then the
discomfort and the medication. The
hospital was literally spinning around me now, but I still felt numb and
empty. Josh stayed by my side the entire
time. Doing whatever he could to make me comfortable. We talked only briefly about our loss as we
both still grabbed desperately at loose ends trying to figure out why
everything had gone so wrong. The nurses
asked if we planned on burying the child or if we wanted the hospital to take
care of the remains. Josh and I
discussed the matter and since we did not know the gender and since we were
already living on donated money we decided to forgo the burial. When the doctor asked what we had planned she
reassured us that we had made a good choice and that our baby would be taken
care of. She then suggested that we had
him tested to see what had caused his death.
She said that since it was chromosomal it was worth finding out if this
could reoccur in future pregnancies.
Josh and I agreed that the testing would be a good idea.
The
cramping began to get more severe. The
nurses assured me that I was getting close.
I became sick and started vomiting and all the while my sweet loving
husband was there holding my hair back and whispering words of
encouragement. He kept me focused on
what I was doing so I wouldn’t feel sorry for myself. After my second bout of sickness my mouth
tasted of death and I asked Josh to retrieve the gum from the car. Obliging as always, he left to help alleviate
my discomfort. While he was out of the
room though I passed the child and my heart bleed because he has missed the birth
due to me. Upon his return though he
lovingly reassured me that it was all right and that he was here for the
important part. They then put the baby
on a paper towel and let us hold it. To
us he looked like a boy although the nurses cautioned that it might still be a
girl. They left us so we could hold our
baby. So little. So light.
But we could still see all the fingers and toes and even the eyes and we
knew this was our child and would always be our child. Our stillborn child, baby Borland was
born November 17, 2011.
For days and even weeks after the
miscarriage I felt as if I couldn’t mourn for the baby and deal with those
emotions because we were still trying to deal with everything from the
fire. Every free second went to trying
to search for items to be saved, inventory, and insurance. I knew if I focused on the feelings of loss
from the miscarriage I would shut down emotionally and physically and no one in
my family could afford that. Although we
had help from others Josh and I were leaning on each other, so we were only as
strong as the other and if I collapsed I knew he would too. Not to mention Dorian had started showing
signs of anxiety he had never shown before such as moodiness as well as a new
attachment to a blanket and other little behavioral issues that had me worried
about him. My mom let me know it was
perfectly natural for him to show these signs with all he had been through as
well as to remember that the kid fed off my emotions. If I was already adding to my child’s
distress how could I deal with more than I was already dealing with? I decided instead to ignore my loss for the
time being.
Unfortunately, that is not
something that can be ignored easily. I
tried to follow the chaotic pace we had fallen into before the miscarriage, but
my body lagged in a way that deceived me.
I had given birth; my body didn’t know my body would not need it to
nurse or care for a new infant and since I had not dealt with the emotions I
still felt pregnant. My belly was still
bloated and round and my breast were still engorged and tender. My mood swings were everywhere and I felt
that the fatigue had me crawling on the floor by the end of the day. No different than being pregnant right? My clothes remained tight on my body and so I
ignored the loss until quiet moments of reality hit me with a sobering
quickness. More than once I had been sitting down and noticed my ample belly
and placed a protective hand on it to caress it before I realized I was no
longer caressing a growing child. It
also didn’t help my emotions or my state of mind when the only clothes I owned
had been donated to me right after the fire, which meant all I had was
maternity clothes.
Reality continued to creep into my
suppressed illusions when I would watch Dorian play and have to remind myself
that I would no longer have to worry about fitting a crib into the same
room. I would no longer have to replace
baby items. The truth stung and I
realized the poison my habits of disregard had turned into. I was really impressed with the hospital I
had delivered at though because they had given us a book before we left that
included pictures of out child as well as other information. When I could no longer ignore reality, I
turned to that book and it was like a bible to me as I turned through the pages
multiple times a day searching for answers.
All I ever found though was love and loss and I tried to understand the
purpose.
Two and a half weeks after the
miscarriage we met again with the doctor to find out that our baby had in fact
been a boy and that the baby had a chromosome deficiency, which when tested
revealed to be Down syndrome. The doctor assured us that the way his body was
developing it really was better off for him to perish the way he had and
although it had been difficult, had he made it to birth he wouldn’t have lasted
long afterwards. Josh and I kept telling this piece of information to the other
as if saying it enough times would convince us that death was the better
option. I reviewed my entire pregnancy
in my head over and over and would remember the time I had thought that maybe I
couldn’t raise two kids, maybe this wasn’t the right time for another kid and I
felt guilt for such thoughts as if these thoughts alone had willed my premature
child’s death.
All of the loss weighed a ton as I
tried my best to make it through the day with Dorian when all I wanted was to
curl up and be done with this life.
Other than Dorian and Josh, I had literally lost everything. Even a month after the fire we were on the
phone daily trying to get money from the insurance company while cleaning off
Sentimental items that we couldn’t bear to throw away with baby wipes and
always being fearful and disappointed as even in our new home we still always
seemed to smell the smoke. I would wake
up each and every morning by Dorian’s cries.
I would dress in my maternity clothes as that is all I owned. Dorian and I would sit in his empty room,
playing with the toys that had been donated.
I usually hit my limit around two and often times called Josh at work,
begging him to come home. Telling him I
just couldn’t do it. Some days he would
come home at which point I would seclude myself in my room and cry or lie in
bed numbly as if there were a way to forget all that had just happened. I didn’t know what to do other than
survive. I felt as if I couldn’t turn to
or rely on Josh as I knew he was struggling just as much as I was and the
distance between us seemed to grow. My
entire world was falling apart and I couldn’t seem to keep myself
together. The only reason I was a semi
functional human being was because of my precious son. Every day I pulled myself out of bed. Every day I pushed just a little more to be
what he needed. Every day I survived. One day at a time I survived.
Despite the crushing depression, my
faith remained. I knew the Lord had
blessed up, but my trials seemed more than I could bear. I repeated in my head the list of miracles
and blessing we had received and knew I was lucky and blessed to have an aunt
and uncle so close who made our Thanksgiving everything I wanted and needed it
to be; after all, this was the first Thanksgiving Dorian and I got to spend
with Josh. However, after Thanksgiving
was over the crushing realization of a Christmas without decorations, gifts, or
spirit blared into our attentions as stores started their crusade to sell all
they could. I cried all the time. This was supposed to be the year we had a
perfect Christmas. This was supposed to
be the year we started making memories and traditions together. How could I enjoy the holiday when I had nothing
to be hopeful for. I had nothing to give. Like the days I could not finish, I turned to
Josh telling how I just couldn’t survive it.
I couldn’t do Christmas.
Last minute, we scrapped up what
little money of our saving we had left and decided to visit Josh’s brother in
Florida, so that w could spend Christmas with family and on the beach. Nothing had ever seemed as appealing as running
away, if only for a week. We packed up
the car with all our donated belongings in order to make the trip
possible.
Walking onto the sand with Dorian
for the first time was the experience I needed.
Feeling his glee as he rushed towards the moving water and chasing the
birds lightened my heart and I remembered what life had been like only six
months prior: perfect. However, like the
waves returning to the beach, so did the depression as I looked down at my
still large belly thinking I was twenty weeks pregnant before reality slipped
in and reminded me that how far along I would have been if my baby had lived. My
eyes still gravitated and spotted all the pregnant women in my line of site
first before I even registered anything else and the ache of the loss still
hung in my empty womb. I knew,
especially having lost everything, the Lord had a better plan and time schedule
in mind for me, but it still hurt each and every day. I felt empty.
I felt as if my body had failed me and I wanted nothing more than to
fill up the hole that ate away at me. I
didn’t want to cover up or hide the loss of Baby Borland, but I did still desperately
want another child. My six weeks of abstinence
was coming to a close, so I approached Josh with the desire to try again. I was heartbroken when he told me he wasn’t
ready. He said he still needed time to
grieve and process and we still needed to get on our feet. He suggested talking about it again after
several months had passed.
I was angry. I didn’t share this anger with him as I felt
it was unwarranted. He had every right
in the world to take the time he needed to grieve, but it didn’t seem fair that
what I needed was in such opposition to what he needed. Why couldn’t he see I was dying inside every
day? Why wasn’t he helping me through
this? Why would he deny me the one thing
I had asked him for? I prayed, pleaded and cried for now losing even the
opportunity at children as that it how my heavy, heart felt.
I watched as Dorian played to his hearts
content. I soaked in the sun that shone
on my face and the ocean wind that brushed through my hair and I couldn’t help
but thinking over and over, we survived.
Something about our time in Florida, whether the distance, the time to
actually relax or the experience of the ocean and sand, helped lighten the
gloom that hung on me. I wish I could
say I instantly rejuvenated and went back to life with the same pluck I had
before, but I can’t. I went from a
prostrate depression to a slow crawl as I now had a little more fuel to keep
going.
Near the end of the trip Josh and I
discussed the possibility at intimacy.
It was a couple days sooner than my allotted six weeks, but I knew I was
healed and ready to feel a closeness with my husband that I had had not
experienced since before the fire. Due
to our impromptu decision we did not have protection, a fact neither of us was
worried about as we finally just took each other in, finally letting go of a
little more while we clung to one another.
After we finished I remember distinctly thinking I hoped I was pregnant
as I knew that was probably the only chance I would get. I then recited the mantra I seemed to live
by: If it is meant to happen the Lord will provide. I knew Josh said he wasn’t ready, but I was.
We were nothing short of remiss
when we knew we had to return to Tennessee.
We understood just how blessed we were that we had the necessities we
did, but it wasn’t home. It was a compilation
of everyone else’s stuff. Reluctantly
and a little solemnly we returned to the life we were still trying to put
together. The days were still hard and
Josh and I each lived in our own little bubbles. I had tried reaching out several times, but
after feeling him push away, I let him.
I had no fight left for anything and decided to let him deal with his
emotions while I dealt with mine. The
weeks dragged on and once mid January came around I realized I was late. Seeing as I had only experienced on menstruation
since the miscarriage I wasn’t too worried, but got my hopes up with the dream
of getting the opportunity to carry a child again. I casually mentioned that I would be taking a
pregnancy test to Josh. He acknowledged
it and we both went about our day, but the hope of a new baby brought a life
back into my heart I had not experienced in a long time. Even with just the hope I felt like I had a
little more purpose.
The next morning I went to the
dollar store to buy a pregnancy test and took it as soon as I got home. As I waited I tried to imagine the one line
image in my head so that my heart wouldn’t be shattered when it showed up negative. My mind wondered back to the last pregnancy
test I took and then quickly to the image of my child as I held him in my hand. After a little pep talk, I looked at the test
and was shocked. There, plain as day,
were the double pink lines. I was
pregnant again.
