This was another emotional one, tough to write. You're getting the first draft only. I don't have it in me to revise or edit it. Thank you for sharing this with me. ps. A teeny bit graphic.
William
The cramping started as I was sitting in the soccer stadium. I had brought a book to read in case the game didn’t carry my interest. I am happy to support my husband’s sports interests, but I always have a fall back plan and have never felt bad about it. Well, except for the time we watched his cousin playing ball and I was so engrossed in my novel that I missed every shot she made. Other than that time though, no, I’ve never regretted bringing reading material or a cross stitch project.
I was half way through a particularly engaging story when the cramping began. I thought my time had just come early which wouldn’t be terribly unusual for me. To avoid any embarrassing situations, I quickly grabbed my purse and made my way up the stairs of the stadium and headed for the bathroom. The pain increased as I sat on the toilet but I attributed it to just another heavy period. Before having my children I had always suffered horrible cramps so I assumed my body was just reverting back. It wasn’t anything to be happy about, but I also didn’t worry over it. Because of the heavy flow, I utilized both a tampon and a pad and then went back to sit with my husband and his brother. The game was underway and every now and then I would actually get into it. I loved seeing the happiness on my husband’s face when I expressed my opinions about the latest bad call the ref had made. He loved having me participate. All I kept thinking was how he would owe me after this; off Broadway musicals and smooshy romantic movies.
Toward the end of the game, the pain in my middle was beginning to overwhelm me. I wished I had brought some ibuprophen in my purse. The caffeine from my soda seemed to help a little but not much. I was grateful when at last it was time to hike back to our car. I settled into the front seat and did my best to get comfortable. By this time I wasn’t able to hide the fact that I was miserable. James, my husband, placed a loving hand on my leg and gave it a gentle squeeze. I didn’t want to discuss the problem in front of my brother in law, Matthew, so I assured James that I just wasn’t feeling great and needed to rest. It was a long, bumpy ride home. Road construction on the freeway certainly didn’t help the throbbing in my stomach. We dropped Matthew off at his apartment and then finished the remaining thirty minutes of our drive home. James asked about my pain and I assured him that it was just a really heavy period. I think I was trying to convince myself as well. There was really no reason to suspect anything else-- I was on the Depoprovera contraceptive shot.
We arrived home and relieved our babysitters. The kids were asleep as it was quite late. I changed into pajamas and replaced my tampon and pad. The bleeding hadn’t slowed at all, in fact it seemed to have increased along with the cramps. I lay in bed for about twenty minutes, unable to find a comfortable position for sleep. I propped myself up with a reading pillow and pulled out my heating pad. After I plugged it in, I laid it over my aching belly and tried desperately to fall asleep. The cramping came harder and faster as I lay there. I didn’t want to disturb James but it was getting difficult to hide my agony. I went into the bathroom, paced for a minute or two and then sat on the toilet. I felt the need to push, maybe I was constipated. What followed was the incredibly painful expulsion of blood, amniotic fluid, and tissue. I didn’t realize it at first. I just knew that the intense stabbing pains had eased up and I felt relief.
I stood and cleaned myself off and looked into the toilet. I’m not sure what I expected to see. Maybe the same as when this had happened before. This was different though. There was more. So much more. I had an overwhelming urge to explore what lay in the water and blood. I went quietly upstairs and grabbed a spatula. I couldn’t just flush this without knowing for sure what had happened. With the plastic spatula, I moved some of the red mass and there, in the midst of it all, was a little white body. Little fingers, toes, arms, legs, head, torso and hands. My head began to spin wildly and I became aware of loud, panicked screaming, not realizing at first that it was coming from me.
James came groggily into the bathroom, finding me, half dressed, in a heap on the cold tile floor, sobbing and shaking hysterically. He tried to calm me but I wouldn’t or couldn’t stop. Shock was quickly setting in. He asked me for at least the fifth time what was wrong. Somehow I answered him, screaming at him to look in the toilet.
“Why Julie? What’s going on?” He was still puzzled and must’ve thought I’d gone crazy. I lost it then, horribly angry at him for not getting it.
“Look in the fucking toilet! Just look!” I am not one to act that way normally, but this was not a normal experience and I was no where near being in my right mind.
James looked into the toilet and his face went white. He just stood there, frozen. He said nothing and I just cried, now quietly, curled up by the bathtub.
Some memories you can never erase. Maybe that’s a good thing, if you can learn to deal with it and find peace. Otherwise, those traumatic memories can haunt you, coming to the surface when you least expect them and forcing you to relive the event again and again. I remember every minute, every second, of that night.
James asked what I wanted to do. He actually dared suggest we flush it. I freaked out yet again and screamed for him to get out of the bathroom. It wasn’t fair to him, but what was happening to both of us wasn’t fair either. We had been on birth control. This shouldn’t have happened. I had felt no symptoms, gained no weight and had seen no obvious signs that there was a life growing inside of me. Nothing made sense and the world continued to spin out of control around me.
I called my mother, it was around 2 AM. She knew the right things to say. She had been through this herself. She calmed me and then her and Dad got ready to come pick me up. We decided to leave James with our other kids and go to the Emergency Room.
I scooped my tiny dead baby and all of the other expelled tissue into a baggie, then wrapped it in one of my brand new red kitchen towels. James hugged me and did his best to comfort me. He was dealing with pain, confusion, and shock, just as I was.
With the bundle hugged tightly to my body, I went outside and sat on the low stone wall in my front yard, waiting for my parents. They pulled up a few minutes later and Mama came running over, asking why I was sitting out in the cold night air. I had no answer.
We got to the ER quickly and were admitted without much waiting. Dad stayed in the waiting room and Mama came with me. I changed into a hospital gown and Mama held my baby. It was hard to let anyone else take the bundle from me.
The doctor who examined me was quite handsome. Funny that I should note that, but somehow it helped. He was also very kind and incredibly tender. He asked my permission to examine my baby. He seemed sure that everything that needed to be expelled, had in fact come out but he called to set up an ultrasound just to be sure.
He informed my mom and I that I had been approximately 4 ½ months along, based on the development of the fetus. I was devastated and dumbfounded. How was this possible?
He left and Mama and I sat quietly, speaking only a little. She asked if she could look at the baby and I let her. We cried together and felt the tragedy of the situation washing over us.
Soon I was wheeled down a long hallway to have my ultrasound done. The scan showed that everything had cleared, I would not need a DNC. For that I was grateful. The doctor released me soon after, but before that, he sat at my bedside, holding my hand. He gently explained that this was not my fault, there was nothing I could have done about it. I appreciated his words, but it would be almost two years before I was able to believe and accept what he told me.
Dad, Mama and I drove to the all night Walgreen’s pharmacy and filled my prescription for Vicodin. I looked forward to sinking into a drug induced peace. My mind was beyond overwhelmed and I couldn’t deal with anymore sadness for awhile. I needed a break, time to let my spirit and mind calm down and again regain control of myself.
When I came home, I fully intended to go to bed. Instead, I somehow found myself placing my small bundle in a tin box that had belonged to Great Grandma Pratt who had recently passed away. With the tin box in hand, I went back out into the morning. The sun was coming up and a few birds hailed me as I knelt below the big Cottonwood in my small front yard. I gingerly set the tin box on the low rock wall and then used a small spade to dig a hole in the corner of my shade garden. There I buried my little one, a child I hadn’t even know existed until he was gone. Covering the box took every ounce of mental energy that I had. I apologized to him repeatedly and assured him that “mommy loved him.” I stayed with him for at least an hour, my body weary and my soul weak. Finally James came out onto the porch to see what I was doing and with a few gentle words, he helped me up and coaxed me back into the house. I slept for several hours and spent the day in bed.
I had experienced several miscarriages before William, the name I chose to give my lost baby. Never had I been this far along and never had it been so physically and emotionally painful. I found a small angel statue to place over his resting place and every time I walk by, I wonder about who he might have been, had he lived. The Lord knows best, I believe that strongly. Perhaps William didn’t need the earthly experience, but only to come and get a body. I don’t have all the answers but these years later, after lots of prayer and therapy, I do have peace.
I am preparing to deliver a new daughter in just weeks and can’t help but think of William. I wonder why my new baby girl has made it this far and William was called home. I am of course grateful that she will be able to join our family. I wonder if she knew William in Heaven. I wonder if he remembers me. I wonder if he knows how much I love him and miss him. Funny that you can miss someone you never knew.
I love you William. You are my baby even if I don’t get to raise you. Your mommy and daddy still think of you and hope that you are safe and happy in the arms of Jesus.
I was half way through a particularly engaging story when the cramping began. I thought my time had just come early which wouldn’t be terribly unusual for me. To avoid any embarrassing situations, I quickly grabbed my purse and made my way up the stairs of the stadium and headed for the bathroom. The pain increased as I sat on the toilet but I attributed it to just another heavy period. Before having my children I had always suffered horrible cramps so I assumed my body was just reverting back. It wasn’t anything to be happy about, but I also didn’t worry over it. Because of the heavy flow, I utilized both a tampon and a pad and then went back to sit with my husband and his brother. The game was underway and every now and then I would actually get into it. I loved seeing the happiness on my husband’s face when I expressed my opinions about the latest bad call the ref had made. He loved having me participate. All I kept thinking was how he would owe me after this; off Broadway musicals and smooshy romantic movies.
Toward the end of the game, the pain in my middle was beginning to overwhelm me. I wished I had brought some ibuprophen in my purse. The caffeine from my soda seemed to help a little but not much. I was grateful when at last it was time to hike back to our car. I settled into the front seat and did my best to get comfortable. By this time I wasn’t able to hide the fact that I was miserable. James, my husband, placed a loving hand on my leg and gave it a gentle squeeze. I didn’t want to discuss the problem in front of my brother in law, Matthew, so I assured James that I just wasn’t feeling great and needed to rest. It was a long, bumpy ride home. Road construction on the freeway certainly didn’t help the throbbing in my stomach. We dropped Matthew off at his apartment and then finished the remaining thirty minutes of our drive home. James asked about my pain and I assured him that it was just a really heavy period. I think I was trying to convince myself as well. There was really no reason to suspect anything else-- I was on the Depoprovera contraceptive shot.
We arrived home and relieved our babysitters. The kids were asleep as it was quite late. I changed into pajamas and replaced my tampon and pad. The bleeding hadn’t slowed at all, in fact it seemed to have increased along with the cramps. I lay in bed for about twenty minutes, unable to find a comfortable position for sleep. I propped myself up with a reading pillow and pulled out my heating pad. After I plugged it in, I laid it over my aching belly and tried desperately to fall asleep. The cramping came harder and faster as I lay there. I didn’t want to disturb James but it was getting difficult to hide my agony. I went into the bathroom, paced for a minute or two and then sat on the toilet. I felt the need to push, maybe I was constipated. What followed was the incredibly painful expulsion of blood, amniotic fluid, and tissue. I didn’t realize it at first. I just knew that the intense stabbing pains had eased up and I felt relief.
I stood and cleaned myself off and looked into the toilet. I’m not sure what I expected to see. Maybe the same as when this had happened before. This was different though. There was more. So much more. I had an overwhelming urge to explore what lay in the water and blood. I went quietly upstairs and grabbed a spatula. I couldn’t just flush this without knowing for sure what had happened. With the plastic spatula, I moved some of the red mass and there, in the midst of it all, was a little white body. Little fingers, toes, arms, legs, head, torso and hands. My head began to spin wildly and I became aware of loud, panicked screaming, not realizing at first that it was coming from me.
James came groggily into the bathroom, finding me, half dressed, in a heap on the cold tile floor, sobbing and shaking hysterically. He tried to calm me but I wouldn’t or couldn’t stop. Shock was quickly setting in. He asked me for at least the fifth time what was wrong. Somehow I answered him, screaming at him to look in the toilet.
“Why Julie? What’s going on?” He was still puzzled and must’ve thought I’d gone crazy. I lost it then, horribly angry at him for not getting it.
“Look in the fucking toilet! Just look!” I am not one to act that way normally, but this was not a normal experience and I was no where near being in my right mind.
James looked into the toilet and his face went white. He just stood there, frozen. He said nothing and I just cried, now quietly, curled up by the bathtub.
Some memories you can never erase. Maybe that’s a good thing, if you can learn to deal with it and find peace. Otherwise, those traumatic memories can haunt you, coming to the surface when you least expect them and forcing you to relive the event again and again. I remember every minute, every second, of that night.
James asked what I wanted to do. He actually dared suggest we flush it. I freaked out yet again and screamed for him to get out of the bathroom. It wasn’t fair to him, but what was happening to both of us wasn’t fair either. We had been on birth control. This shouldn’t have happened. I had felt no symptoms, gained no weight and had seen no obvious signs that there was a life growing inside of me. Nothing made sense and the world continued to spin out of control around me.
I called my mother, it was around 2 AM. She knew the right things to say. She had been through this herself. She calmed me and then her and Dad got ready to come pick me up. We decided to leave James with our other kids and go to the Emergency Room.
I scooped my tiny dead baby and all of the other expelled tissue into a baggie, then wrapped it in one of my brand new red kitchen towels. James hugged me and did his best to comfort me. He was dealing with pain, confusion, and shock, just as I was.
With the bundle hugged tightly to my body, I went outside and sat on the low stone wall in my front yard, waiting for my parents. They pulled up a few minutes later and Mama came running over, asking why I was sitting out in the cold night air. I had no answer.
We got to the ER quickly and were admitted without much waiting. Dad stayed in the waiting room and Mama came with me. I changed into a hospital gown and Mama held my baby. It was hard to let anyone else take the bundle from me.
The doctor who examined me was quite handsome. Funny that I should note that, but somehow it helped. He was also very kind and incredibly tender. He asked my permission to examine my baby. He seemed sure that everything that needed to be expelled, had in fact come out but he called to set up an ultrasound just to be sure.
He informed my mom and I that I had been approximately 4 ½ months along, based on the development of the fetus. I was devastated and dumbfounded. How was this possible?
He left and Mama and I sat quietly, speaking only a little. She asked if she could look at the baby and I let her. We cried together and felt the tragedy of the situation washing over us.
Soon I was wheeled down a long hallway to have my ultrasound done. The scan showed that everything had cleared, I would not need a DNC. For that I was grateful. The doctor released me soon after, but before that, he sat at my bedside, holding my hand. He gently explained that this was not my fault, there was nothing I could have done about it. I appreciated his words, but it would be almost two years before I was able to believe and accept what he told me.
Dad, Mama and I drove to the all night Walgreen’s pharmacy and filled my prescription for Vicodin. I looked forward to sinking into a drug induced peace. My mind was beyond overwhelmed and I couldn’t deal with anymore sadness for awhile. I needed a break, time to let my spirit and mind calm down and again regain control of myself.
When I came home, I fully intended to go to bed. Instead, I somehow found myself placing my small bundle in a tin box that had belonged to Great Grandma Pratt who had recently passed away. With the tin box in hand, I went back out into the morning. The sun was coming up and a few birds hailed me as I knelt below the big Cottonwood in my small front yard. I gingerly set the tin box on the low rock wall and then used a small spade to dig a hole in the corner of my shade garden. There I buried my little one, a child I hadn’t even know existed until he was gone. Covering the box took every ounce of mental energy that I had. I apologized to him repeatedly and assured him that “mommy loved him.” I stayed with him for at least an hour, my body weary and my soul weak. Finally James came out onto the porch to see what I was doing and with a few gentle words, he helped me up and coaxed me back into the house. I slept for several hours and spent the day in bed.
I had experienced several miscarriages before William, the name I chose to give my lost baby. Never had I been this far along and never had it been so physically and emotionally painful. I found a small angel statue to place over his resting place and every time I walk by, I wonder about who he might have been, had he lived. The Lord knows best, I believe that strongly. Perhaps William didn’t need the earthly experience, but only to come and get a body. I don’t have all the answers but these years later, after lots of prayer and therapy, I do have peace.
I am preparing to deliver a new daughter in just weeks and can’t help but think of William. I wonder why my new baby girl has made it this far and William was called home. I am of course grateful that she will be able to join our family. I wonder if she knew William in Heaven. I wonder if he remembers me. I wonder if he knows how much I love him and miss him. Funny that you can miss someone you never knew.
I love you William. You are my baby even if I don’t get to raise you. Your mommy and daddy still think of you and hope that you are safe and happy in the arms of Jesus.
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