I got pregnant for the very first time in 2008. Around Thanksgiving I was only 5 weeks or so along, but my husband and I decided to share our news with our immediate families even though we knew it was probably early for such announcements. Things progressed well, and by Christmas we made announcements at the large extended-family gatherings. We had our first ultra-sound and everything looked good. By January 2009 I was officially in the second trimester and went to see Barack Obama inaugurated as President. On that trip I bought my first maternity clothes at a mall in Maryland. In March we went on a vacation in Florida and I happily wore maternity clothes to show off my growing bump. When we got home we had our big ultrasound appointment to look forward to. We were so excited to find out if we were having a boy or a girl! I was 22 weeks along at the time of that appointment.
The day before the big ultrasound I started getting nervous. I hadn't felt many movements up to that point, and suddenly I felt movement that just didn't feel right. At the ultrasound, the doctor brought our baby up on screen but wasn't saying anything, just moving the sensor around for several minutes as we pointed out features we could recognize by ourselves. Then she quietly said she was going to find another doctor to look because she couldn't find the heartbeat. My heart was sinking because I already feared the baby was dead the night before, but denial is a strong emotion. The second doctor came in and confirmed that there was no heartbeat. I didn't know how to react, so I don't think I did much of anything. I was numb. I feared that somehow I had caused the baby's death. The doctor said I could go to the hospital that day to be induced if I wanted to, but I said no because it was all too much.
Later that day I changed my mind. The idea that my body had become my baby's tomb was too unsettling. I checked into the hospital at noon the next day, by midnight our baby girl was delivered. I was medicated with morphine which helped numb both the physical and emotional pain. It was devastating for my husband and I to go through labor without a newborn's cries as the reward for all the hard work. The onslaught of nurses, residents, social workers, and doctors asking us questions about naming our baby, burying our baby, and other topics we couldn't even begin to digest 24 hours after learning our baby died, made the experience even worse.
We wanted to hide just the two of us, we cried a lot. Suddenly it seemed like every tv show and commercial featured pregnancy or babies. It just seemed cruel. Even seeing friends' young children was hard. An autopsy showed that our baby, who we named Delia, had Turner's syndrome, a chromosomal defect that only affects girls. Many babies with Turner's syndrome don't survive to birth due to heart defects. That was the case with Delia.
It was hard facing well-meaning relatives who made well-intentioned comments that were just hurtful, or intrusive. I struggled with wanting people to acknowledge our loss without telling us "it was for the best" because of her disability, or prying too deeply into our crisis. To deal with everything I did a lot of reading online about stillbirth and late-term miscarriages and grieving those losses. Then in April, three weeks after Delia was delivered, I had a delayed postpartum hemorrhage and lost half my blood volume. It was insult added to injury and I felt scared and lost. I didn't trust my own body. I went to see a therapist, and fortunately after about 6 sessions I started to feel more like myself. Several weeks after losing Delia and recovering from the hemorrhage we had a graveside burial for her with our immediate families in attendance. She is buried with my father, her grandfather. It provided some closure and we could begin to really heal.
By June 2009, 3 months after losing Delia, I was pregnant again--excited but very cautious--worried that we would lose this baby too. We didn't tell anyone until the second trimester this time, and even then I didn't talk openly about my pregnancy. I felt awkward when strangers would ask "Is this your first baby?" and I felt like a liar when I answered "yes" just to avoid sharing my story. No one likes to talk about pregnancy loss. Luckily, I found an amazing OBGYN who treated me and my husband with tremendous empathy and she got us through our angst. Happily, one year and four days after delivering Delia, her brother was born!
I still think about Delia and her short existence. I have a mother's necklace that has a gemstone for her as well as ones for her brother and sister. Delia's stone changes color. In sunlight it's green, in the absence of sunlight it's purple. Whenever I meet a little girl named Delia I pause to think about what my Delia would have been like had she lived. She would have turned 4 this past summer. But time heals all wounds, and she will forever be in my heart.
I share this story not for your sympathy, but to bring stories like this out of the shadows. To remind people that pregnancy, unfortunately, doesn't always have a happy ending--sometimes it is absolutely tragic. For those who had a hard time becoming a mother, or who are still struggling, you are not alone, and there is hope that you will still have the family you want.
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