It was six years ago today. Wow. Six. Years. Ago.
Somedays is seems like another life time. Other days it seems like it was yesterday that the doctors sent me home and said...
i am sorry. there is nothing we can do. it is empty.
Empty. Empty? What does that mean? How can it be empty? For the past ten weeks I have talked to this baby, dreamed with this baby, planned with this baby, shared with everyone this baby, and changed everything for this baby. And now you are telling me there is no baby? That I was believing in something that was never there? That this gestational sac is a shell and EMPTY? It was more than I could bear.
I spotted through the entire pregnancy but being the obsessive compulsive person I am, I researched and realized this was completely normal and I had nothing to worry about -- NOTHING. So I pushed it to the back of my mind and planned. I read every book out there and joined every class and bought a maternity shirt and held my belly -- cause I was going to bring forth new life. But something did not seem right -- but I had never been pregnancy before so what did I know?
I packed my bags at nine weeks and took 60 teenagers on a mission trip. I was only supervising and doing no manual labor and I was the momma on the trip...this was my fourth mission trip and I had no worries...at least none I was admitting.
But then the brown spotting turned pink, and then red, and then....then...gushing...and I took myself to the ER.
Indiana Jones met me there. I knew everything was going to be okay. I just knew it. It was a polyp or a pimple or a cyst or a third kidney that fell out, but I knew my baby was okay.
When the ultrasound tech got there at 2 am, he was not so chipper so his downcast demeanor during the examination I blamed on the inhumane time of the morning. Then I asked him...so show me the heart beat and the next few seconds sucked away every bit of life, hope, and sanity I had ever known. He said, I can't...the doctor will need to talk to you.
I knew. I knew at that moment it was bad. But I still had not given up all hope. Maybe it was twins and they shared something or maybe it needed some type of surgery or maybe it was just going to be high risk....maybe....hope.
The doctor walked in and said...i am sorry. there is nothing we can do. it is empty. go home and miscarry.
Go home and miscarry? I am thousands of miles from home sharing a room with six teenage girls and I will not go home and miscarry cause it is not empty. It is not. I know there was a baby. I know. I might have not held him, but I loved him and I cannot...will not...should not have to believe it was all a farce. A cruel joke played by nature...an Ah Ha...Gotcha. It was there. It had to be there.
Apparently the baby died about 5 weeks and all that was left was an empty sac. Empty.
I went back to the hotel and spent my night in the bathroom. Waiting.
And at 7 am with 60 teenagers in vans waiting for me...I had my empty sac. In the toilet. In a hotel toilet. And I could not flush it. No matter what the doctor or experts or anyone said. I could not flush it. I made Indiana Jones call the hospital. They said flush it. I had to leave the room. Someone needed to celebrate this small but valuable person. At least it was to me.
So I climbed aboard for the 12 hour journey home while 60 pairs of eyes looked on.
And now, finally, I felt empty.