And so I Lost Her...

I could not explain the pain I felt looking at the ultrasound monitor and seeing no response from the baby. There was no sign of the comforting blinking that indicates the baby’s heartbeat. Yes, "baby" since I certainly refuse to call it “just” a fetus. At 6 weeks I saw how there was a heartbeat already. It was a living entity. I’m a vegetarian. I don’t eat meat in reverence of the life of a “being.” How much more that of a baby? MY Baby…

I lay there while the doctor – the sonologist, not my OB – tried all means just to detect any vital signs on that unmoving figure in the screen. I knew she was probably just doing it for my benefit. She tried all angles and yet the result is the same. There is no vital sign.

I feel the pain even now, recalling how it all was… It’s a pain so raw, so wrenching… I felt it to the very depth of my being. I asked lamely if it means the baby is no longer there. All the while I was fighting the tears that were threatening to fall.

The sonologist replied it could be anything and that yes, it could mean that. She said something like I could try again and that I’m still young. I felt like shouting back at her. I know she probably was just at a loss as to what to say to me and that was the best that she could come up with. But I found no consolation in her words.

I wanted to lash back that having another baby would not be the same as having the same baby. I wanted to ask her if she could guarantee at all that if we try for another baby, it would be the same one we’ve lost now. Would it be the same soul but just in another body?

I’m crying now while writing this. For a week I imagined in my head how I would write this entry. Of course I wanted to write about this experience. What better therapy could there be for me other than to write? But never have I imagined I’ll find myself in that little room again at the sonologist’s clinic. I never imagined I’d feel the agony again…

Bolo and Baby Bullets was there. Bolo stood holding Baby while peering at the monitor too. But unlike me, Bolo was more accepting of the situation. When we went out of the clinic to sit outside and wait for the result, I was definitely crying in earnest already. I could no longer hold the tears. Bolo patted me and said there was nothing we could do. He reminded me that our OB already told us to prepare ourselves and that if the baby is not for us then it wouldn’t be there despite all the bed rest I may take.

I will admit, though I’m shamed by it, that there was an instance wherein I entertained the thought of the “convenience” my being unpregnant would give me. I recall the misgivings I have when I found out I missed my period. Still, by God, that was my baby. MY baby and not some pet I could do away with and give away if it proved to be of inconvenience. As I said in my past entry, there was never a doubt as to how I felt for that child. I loved her.

When I had the spotting and had my OB confirmed the delicacy of my condition, I laid in bed and communicated with my unborn. I told her to hang on for dear life. I was honest with her though and told her how she came at a time when I did not plan for it at all. I told her I wish I had her at a time that there was nothing she’d feel but appreciation from me. Not that she’ll have to sense my misgivings at having found myself pregnant with her. I know this would not sound good at all to a baby hanging on for dear life but I was strong in my resolve too. There would be no lies between me and my offsprings, if I could help it at all. I know she’d sense it anyway if I’d lie. I know I would not appreciate being lied to by my parents. What kind of relationship would that be?

Ah.. right now I still cringe everytime I see cute girlie dresses because even if the sex of the baby could not yet be discerned at that stage, I was very certain she was a girl. I meditated once – as a friend taught me how to do it – communicated with the baby in my womb and I readily sensed a female energy. That’s when I knew. It pains me now, recalling that incident because it had been a good communication, that one.

Oh I’m better now, somewhat. Slowly, I am beginning to accept what happened. There’s nothing left to do but just that. No amount of remorse would change everything that had happened.

I just hope I’ll finally get better – physically that is. I feel my body has been through a lot. I’ve been through a lot and I’m still recovering from everything… So help me God..