The shower was filled with love, laughter, games, cake, wonderful gifts I couldn't wait to use on my own sweet baby, due in 4 short weeks. I left the shower, my car loaded down with all things baby, my heart full, and my head throbbing.
We got home, unloaded and I laid down to sleep. Sunday morning I still felt terrible, but I decided to go to church. So many church friends had been in on my surprise, I didn't want them to worry about me not being at church.
Monday came, by late in the afternoon I remember stating to Rick, "I'd feel better if the baby moved more". He assured me everything was alright, and we'd be at the doctor the next afternoon for our scheduled appointment. At 8 months pregnant, all the baby books tell you that the baby's movements slow in the end as space is limited. Unsettled, but satisfied I rested for the night anxious for my appointment on Tuesday.
Rick and I drove to the doctor's office, where the usual tests would happen: urine sample, blood pressure check, (a bit elevated- concerning?) heart beat, heart beat....heart beat...... The doctor continued to search for a heart beat, until he finally said, "Let's head on over to the hospital, where we can have an ultrasound and get a better look."
Without really speaking, Rick and I knew what we were really going to the hospital to do, to find out if our baby had died. A nurse checked me in, set me in a wheel chair and started to wheel me down the hall, while Rick parked the car and made a few phone calls. I cautiously looked up to her and I said, "This doesn't look good does it"? She nodded her head sadly and said, "No, it sure doesn't".
Gathered in a dark room with our doctor and two nurses, Rick and I could tell what was about to happen, the sad faces of all those in attendance spoke volumes. Finally my little balding Filipino doctor turned to Rick and I, and with his thick accent said, "At this time, I believe your baby is dead". I will never forget the way he pronounced the word "dead", he had used his entire face to enunciate, difficult to say, difficult to hear.
I was admitted to the hospital, news quickly spread to family and friends. Family arrived at the hospital, my water was broken, and after some time with no evidence that I would go into labor on my own, induction was started. Not much progress that Tuesday late into the night, so we took a break until morning.
Morning came, we started again. I lay still, hooked up to machines in a room right behind the nurses station. Sad faces in and out, family, friends, strangers all day and night. Eventually the time came and I delivered my son, all 6 lbs of him. He was beautiful. He had a true knot in the umbilical cord which ripped him from our lives. I held him, Rick couldn't, my Mom held him. I heard Rick his voice so quiet and small say to my doctor, "What a terrible thing to have happen on your birthday".
There was sort of this audible silence as people processed what he had said, everything got completely still. I'm certain nurses checked the charts, the doctor likely felt sick. Nothing could be done, nothing could be changed, my Son was born STILL on MY 22nd birthday. It couldn't be undone.
Here I am 26 years from that day, more than half my life without him. As time goes on it is too taboo to talk about anymore. Mostly people are uncomfortable speaking about my son's death. The discomfort for me is not being able to talk about him at all.
Sharing a birthday is a blessing and a curse.
The day never goes unnoticed, blessing.
The day never goes unnoticed, curse.
I fully intend to enjoy my day, celebrate with family and friends every year. I want to have a good day. My family and friends want me to have a good day. Sometimes I do, sometimes I am able to celebrate and appreciate what my life has become. Then there are days when the tears will not stop. Much like today, it started from the moment I woke and it has continued. I'll shelter myself for a day or so, because holding back those raw feelings is impossible. You cannot hide tears that just fall. Often times those tears turn to audible cries, sometimes they turn into full on sobbing, no one likes that very much. It's easier for me to love myself and do I what I need during that time.
There is no rhyme or reason to the grief, there is no ignoring that day for me. I'll still get a birthday cake, and secretly remind myself that my day is shared by a special little guy in heaven.
My son was born STILL on October 27, 1993.
October 27 is STILL by birthday.
The day is STILL hard.
