Still Remembering Kailas

I posted this last year, and want to do it again as today is Worldwide Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. The loss of a child – no matter how young – is something that will stay with you forever. Some of it may be a bit graphic.

It’s amazing what a couple of weeks can bring you.

In those couple of weeks that our baby was with us, my daughter – about 17 months – knew to come up and kiss my belly, and to bring books and “read” to us.

In those couple weeks we laughed about having a due date of 12/31 (come on you little tax deduction!) and me cooking Thanksgiving dinner with a 36 week belly and oh dear, our eldest’s birthday a couple of days after that!

Then one Monday I started to spot. It wasn’t much, so I didn’t panic… too much. I’m an anxious person as it is, but for some reason I assumed we would be immune to anything like THAT happening. I went to my last Statistics class that evening, and even told everyone about our good news!

Tuesday the bleeding got heavier. And the cramping started. I got in to see a Nurse Practitioner at the OB’s office. Of course, she couldn’t tell what was happening from just an exam, so she ordered an ultrasound. I started crying, as it started to hit what could be happening. She askde my husband if I could handle this and he said he wasn’t sure. She then started talking about ordering a D&C. WHAT??! You don’t know what’s happening but you want to do a procedure that will definitely kill my child? Her reasoning was that then it would be done and I wouldn’t have to ‘deal with it’.

On the way out, she patted my back and happily informed me I was young and a fertile turtle (I kid you not), that I could always have another one.

At the ultrasound the lady happily showed us the beautiful heartbeat on the screen. Our little bean was there, floating away, beating away. We walked away feeling much better. But the bleeding wouldn’t stop.

All day Wednesday I stared at the wallpaper in my room. Crying. Praying. Being so livid I feared I would squeeze the baby out with the anger. Five years later, I was so happy to finally get rid of that wallpaper because, even two healthy children later, it broke my heart to see it.

Thursday the bleeding continued, as did the cramping. Another ultrasound. This time the new lady wasn’t so happy. She was quiet and serious. She couldn’t find a heartbeat. She couldn’t find a baby. It truly didn’t hit me. I was in such denial. She quietly mentioned that she thought she saw something by my cervix. Then it hit my husband. But not me.

She asked me to go empty my bladder. I went into the bathroom and did so. Then, suddenly, the baby left me. It was so gentle, yet I felt it. I heard the soft ‘plop’ into the toilet.

No. No. That couldn’t be it.

I immediately stood up and turned around. There, in the midst of the yellow and the red was… a pearl. A small, white pearl. Without hesitating I reached in and grabbed it. It still didn’t register; I truly thought to myself “Thank goodness we’re in a hospital, they can put the baby right back in”.

I remember opening the door and calling out to my husband. Years later we were chatting, and I asked him what the most horrifying moment in his life was, he said it was then. The look on my face.

I honestly don’t know how I cleaned up and got out of there, all the while holding that precious ball. I remember standing there in the hall with my husband. I was too afraid to touch the ball so I didn’t see much besides that white. But he saw our baby. From the other side, he was able to see the blood vessels and spinal cord that were preparing to make up out baby’s spinal column. Later, I would be upset that was able to see our baby, but he mentioned he was sad he never got to hold the baby. That would be mine.

The ultrasound tech came with a small container of fluid and tears in her eyes. I think I asked if the fluid would hurt the baby. Suddenly there was a wheelchair there and I was getting in it. I found that almost funny. On the way to the ER she mentioned that she had lost a twin. Why was she telling me this? Oh. I had just lost *my* baby.

The doctor came in and confirmed that we had lost the baby. My husband and I asked if we could take the baby home; we had talked about it, and wanted to bury him or her in our yard. He looked at me strangely and said they needed to take it for testing; I forgot his exact words, but I seem to remember it being something about “taking a slice”.

We asked what would happen afterwards; he said it would go into the incinerator. So yes, my child’s final resting place would be with gall bladders and appendixes and gangrene toes.

Desperate for some peace, I asked if they could please test and see if the baby was a boy or a girl. I was informed that they don’t do that kind of thing.

So we went home. I remember staring at the interior of the car, thinking of how the last time I was in here, I had a baby. Now, I didn’t.

I watched as the sun shown and people walked around laughing. How dare they?! Do they not know what just happened to me? How dare they continue with their lives, they should be at home, mourning. I couldn’t grasp this concept.

That night was the last episode of “Friends”. It still aired. I didn’t understand it. People in the world were laughing. Laughing. It just wasn’t right.

Mother’s Day still came that Sunday. I got two daisy plants. Despite my black thumb and lack of gardening skills, over the past 7 years they have grown to beautiful, massive bushes.

It’s amazing what a couple of weeks can bring you.

Now I knew. Now I know what it feels like. A dear friend had been over watching our daughter, and she had once suffered a loss. Now I apologized for all the insensitive things I said about how if that didn’t happen, she would never have her son. How dare I?

Later I called my cousin. She hadn’t known I was pregnant, and as soon as she answered I started to cry hysterically, telling her how sorry I was. Finally I was able to tell her we had lost a baby, and I then I told her how very sorry I was for anything I said that made her feel bad. Because now I knew what that was like.

Now I felt sick when my cousin called to check up on me, and proceeded to tell me about how her doctor was telling her to go on bed rest but she wasn’t ready to yet. Really? After all I had done to try to save my baby, I couldn’t fathom not listening to that advice.

I was in shock when my mom informed me that she knew what it was like to lose a child. Really? Had she lost a baby too? No, but she knew what it was like. It took me awhile to get it; I think she was comparing me moving 90 miles away to my baby’s death. I’m still in awe of how sick and twisted that is.

I seethed in anger as I sat with the lady whose daughter I babysat. She was telling me about how she hated being pregnant, how – especially at the end – she hated feeling that baby squirm around. How she couldn’t stand being late.

It’s amazing what a couple of weeks can bring you.

I had my checkup appointment. I sat in the waiting room and saw big, pregnant bellies. And sat in the examining room and saw posters of babies growing.

Everything looked fine, physically. I asked about a local support group for women who lost babies. The doctor informed me that yes, there was such a group, but it for women who lost babies later on. I calmly informed him I wanted the information anyway. He gave it to me. (And he was wrong, for the record.)

It’s amazing what a couple of weeks can bring you.

July 7th, 2 months and 1 day after our loss, I informed my husband that we were starting fresh, and showed him the test.

But Kailas, you will always and forever be in our hearts.


About growingintome

Oh goodness... where to start! I am a preschool teacher with three little rugrats. A loving (usually!) wife. A Flybaby-in-training. Fascinated by natural childbirth and breastfeeding. Working on improving my knitting and crocheting. Would love to learn to play the piano and guitar. Dreaming of being a sign language interpreter. Totally amateur blogger. In case you didn't guess.
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5 Responses to Still Remembering Kailas

  1. Found your post on Twitter #October15th. Wishing you peace and healing. I’m sorry for your loss of Kailas. Thank you for sharing your story. It resonated with me. I especially found myself nodding about the part where, how could the rest of the world still be laughing after something like that happens. How bizarre that the world kept on turning when ours (for a season) stopped.

  2. Thank you so much for sharing your story. I also lost a baby and it pains me to this day. People need to realize how prevalent pregnancy loss is and that they need to be more sensitive. I want to give you a big hug after reading that.

    • Thank YOU for your comment… It’s not easy to talk about a loss (because of the insensitivity) but yet that leaves you feeling alone. That’s part of the reason I share my story; so others can know they’re not alone, and that their feelings aren’t wrong (even if different from mine).

      I’m so sorry for your loss…. (((HUGS)))

  3. Pingback: Three |

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