They say that having a son is like having the slowest breakup of your life. I’m not sure I understood that until having Calvin join our family. He is the one who taught me what love was. He taught me just how much you can give to another person to make them whole. He is the one who has taught me that love is patient, kind and warm. But as he grows older and becomes more independent, he is slowly ‘leaving me.’ And one day, if I do my job right, he will marry someone and have a family of his own. He constantly tells me that he wants to grow up and be a daddy, marry a mommy and have kids of his own one day. That’s what he wants to be ‘when he grows up.’ And I couldn’t be more proud or happy for him. I know that working towards that will bring him happiness. Even if it breaks my heart at the same time. But you see, being a mom means loving someone else more than yourself and putting their happiness ahead of your own. Besides, I’ve done hard things. I can do this too.
The past 4 months have been some of the hardest, most challenging months of my life. Around the first of the year, I found out I was pregnant with our third baby. At the same time, my van was destroyed in a hit and run in the Toyota parking lot. A month later, my husband had shoulder surgery on his right shoulder. I had to do everything, while dealing with taking my car to get fixed, switching rental vehicles every couple of weeks, with persistent nausea in the background. Also, undergoing some of the most challenging personal growth of my life. HARD is an understatement. Some days felt down right impossible. But I was thoroughly excited at the thought of another baby joining our family. As time went on, things got easier. After 6 weeks, Chris was able to help with daily chores again and life went on. Our van took months to fix and I cannot even tell you the drama surrounding that, nor do I want to waste our time on that right now. As things began to feel doable- around 16 weeks of pregnancy, the nausea subsided, but we were hit with hand, foot and mouth disease. Something I had been fortunate enough to dodge until now. Neither child was sleeping, I was getting maybe an hour of sleep at a time for what felt like forever, but was actually 5 days. We didn’t even know what it was until the tell-tale sores popped up, but by then it was too late. Other than a bad cough, I seemed to have dodged that virus. Then Calvin caught my cough and was unable to sleep for a few nights. Then, again, the dust settled. I thought, thank goodness. I needed a break. I had a conference coming up and was literally fantasizing about sleeping in a bed by myself. Two days later, I experienced the worst breakup of my life.
I drove to Mount Pleasant for what was supposed to be a quick OB visit to check blood pressure, urine, heart beat. I had done the first two and was waiting for the Doctor. Not my doctor, because she was out of town, but Dr. Joseph was quite nice. I told the nurse I needed to leave in 15 minutes as I had a meeting I needed to make it home for. Dr. Joseph came in quickly and told me everything looked great and then put the doppler on my belly. We joked that baby was hiding and eventually she told me that she had given it her best but that we needed to go to ultrasound. I cancelled my meeting. Trying to ignore the anxiety welling in my gut, I waited what felt like the longest 2 minutes of my life for the ultrasound tech. She took me to the last room at the end of the hall. She spread warm jelly on my belly and quickly placed the transducer. Just like that baby popped onto the screen above my head. No movement. No sound. I knew. We had lost our baby. Our baby that we had named. Another boy to join our rambunctious house, Colin Wienke Myers. We had been talking excitedly about him for months and I’m not sure who was most excited, Calvin or Chris and I. My first thought was, how am I going to tell Calvin? Then my next thought was, why? when? Hoping I was wrong, I waited for the sonographer to speak. She said in a very straight voice, ‘let me go get Dr. Joseph’ and it was then that I broke down in tears. Being a genetic counselor my mind raced but I couldn’t remember the chances or causes of losing a pregnancy at 19 weeks. I had been screened for autosomal recessive diseases and baby had been screened for chromosomal abnormalities. Could it have been my bodies’ inability to properly make a placenta? I will probably never know.
My fears before this pregnancy have always been for my health. With both Calvin and Conor I developed severe preeclampsia. Thankfully not early in pregnancy but both times quite suddenly and scary. This was new territory. Dr. Joseph came in and confirmed my worst fears by simply saying “I’m so sorry, Sara. I do not know why this would happen to a perfectly healthy pregnancy.” I gulped for air in between sobs. I asked her when. Baby measured 16 weeks. But I was at the Doctor at 16 weeks. Baby had a great heart beat, my AFP was drawn- normal, all of my prenatal labs, normal. Why would this happen? She said she had no idea. Everything looked ‘fine.’ But yet, there was no flicker, no tell-tale sound, that sweet sound of a baby thriving inside the safety of my belly. He was gone. I asked her what the next steps were. She said I could be induced and that could take days and be very hard or I could go to MUSC for a D & C. She asked me what I wanted to do. I had no words and my brain was failing me to find any. She said “You probably don’t even know how to answer that. Do you want to go home and think about it?” I said yes.
I asked the sonographer if I could use the bathroom and she showed me where it was. I quickly ran down the hall afraid of the happy couples that seemed to be everywhere that day. Their excitement and joy was palpable, floating through the air like a sweet aroma. I ran back to the ultrasound room. The sonographer, Jennifer, was wonderful. She sat with me and asked me if I needed to stay for a bit. I replied that I did not want to stay, that I wanted to go home but that I didn’t want to walk past all of the ‘not sad couples.’ She walked me down that very long hallway and out to the external hallway. I called my husband and shared the news with him as I went down the elevator, past the people coming and going and to my car. He said he would meet me at home. I called a friend who talked to me the whole way home as I cried, simply following the car in front of me and my GPS. It was surreal. I honestly don’t even remember driving. I pulled in the driveway and Calvin rushed out to hug his sobbing mama. He asked me if I was sad “because Colin had died.” And I said ‘yes.’ I went inside to get him ready to send him off for a day of fun with my mother. I held my Conor who had no idea what was going on. He had never quite comprehended what pregnant was and did not want a baby brother. Calvin, as he was leaving asked if we could make another baby. We told him, yes, eventually we would. He said, ‘OK, I’m sad I won’t meet Colin but can I have a sister this time?’ I smiled at him, hugged him, told him I loved him and to have a good day.
The day was filled with telling people our unfortunate news. My friends, family and colleagues, all so supportive, rose up to the occasion and sat with me in my pain. But there is nothing anyone can do. It is simply time to go through the motions. Schedule procedure to say goodbye one last time to the baby I will never meet. Cancel meetings today. Cancel conference this weekend. The whole world just froze that day. That day was yesterday. It already feels like a lifetime ago. I still can’t quite comprehend that I will never meet my Colin. That sweet baby that I bonded with from day 1.
While it may be hard to see our sons grow up and leave our nest. This was far harder. I held my babies closer last night. Calvin, showing his disappointment in his repeated questions. “Why can’t they shock his heart back to life? will we have a burial for him?” and “I’m sad we aren’t going to meet Colin.” I’m sad too, buddy. It’s OK to be sad. This is a sad thing to happen.
It’s an odd feeling to still ‘feel pregnant’ because my body hasn’t yet figured out that there is no more heartbeat. I’m not exactly sure what the next few days look like but I’m pretty confident they will be some of the hardest in my life.
My heart goes out to all of the mamas who have lost their babies. I’m not happy to join your club but here I am. I am weeping with you, grieving the baby I will never meet. I always find solace in sharing my stories with others, so if you read this, thank you.
MumGene 