One year ago today, I had a appointment with my OB for a routine growth scan. I was expecting twin boys, 34 weeks along. I wore a new Garnet Hill dress that I spent way to much on for my post-maternity summer. A long, beachy, grey number that, paired with my swollen ankles, rendered me something of an elephant. I’d spent the previous evening journaling, praying, and throwing private tantrums over some major frustration with my husband. I cannot recall the reason for my Medea-like fury, but I was up half the night. At one point, I experienced a dramatic drop in my womb; I thought it would be good to shut off the histrionic valve and get some sleep. At 9AM, our family of five loaded into the car and headed to the OB’s office.
We drove to the doctor’s office in silence, my husband and I. I’m sure the kids made plenty of noise; I was too focused on my cold shoulder to notice. The drive, the waiting room, the pee stop are all a blur. With the five of us plus a tech crammed into the ultrasound room, we settled down to get a glimpse of both babies. It occurred to me that the mass of humanity on my right side seemed rather thick and immobile. I asked to see the heartbeat, and the tech quickly pointed out “Baby A’s” heartbeat. Then, without fanfare, she slipped out to ask the doctor something. Through a daze, I looked over at my husband, a physician, who had his head in his hands. He explained that he was just tired from the night shift, but I knew better. I decided I wouldn’t worry unless the OB came into the room. And suddenly, there he was. He paused a moment at the machine and checked around. I think he touched me gently before he told me that there was no heartbeat for Baby B.
I screamed. I beat my forehead. No!! I cried out, “Are you sure?” half a dozen times. “I am 110% sure, ” said my doctor. My husband was trying to hold it together through his tears. I have no idea what my other kids were doing. I can only imagine that scene from their perspective. A dark room, screaming Mommy, sobbing Daddy, and two relative strangers trying to keep Mommy on the ultrasound table. What side of Hell did we just walk into?
Today, through many tears, some laughter, and newly built memories, I remember the loss of my precious boy. How I loved him.