Broken Again

I sought to find myself through the journey of loss and hope and got stronger day by day. Reinvented and stronger.

Eight weeks after my fateful doctor’s appointment and subsequent surgery, I steeled myself and made a purposeful trip to the doctor’s office again, this time to see my baby for the first time. When the kind ultrasound technician viewed our baby in the office two months prior, I couldn’t look for fear, and then confirmation, of what I knew. I had never seen our baby. Just felt the void of what was, then wasn’t. Gratefully, I didn’t encounter any difficulty when I went in. It was very emotional taking the elevator to the office and walking in the office that housed so many mixed emotions – 2 joyous pregnancies and 2 devastating losses. The girl at the front desk swiftly handed me a CONFIDENTIAL: envelope with my name on it, which I gingerly slid into my purse and delivered to the car.

The internal conflict was being played out in my chest and my stomach. Emotions physically fighting each other to the point of making me sick. I wanted to see Baby Mic. I wanted to know what had been. Would there be nothing there that would identify a baby’s life had begun? Would I have nothing to look back on? I wanted him or her to have been real for the brevity of his or her life. I desperately wanted to see Baby Mic. I carefully opened the envelope and started to reveal the flimsy paper that I’d seen so many times before. It was with the same caution and apprehension as I handle my memories – squinting, composing myself, deep breath – looking little by little and trying to comprehend what I’m seeing. I was afraid the physical body would not match the magnitude of Baby Mic’s spiritual presence. I was afraid he or she would not be seen or known by anyone but me. That worry was in vain, and I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not. What I saw was my little angel, body curved into itself, head distinguishable, arms and legs fully formed. A perfect little body, suspended in mine.  It broke me again.

Any healing that had occurred felt undone and I was back to being devastated. Baby Mic wasn’t an idea, a fleeting thought, a promise. Baby Mic was a baby, and not just to me – to everyone. It was undeniable. I lost my baby, and here was the proof. Baby Mic was here and now he or she is not.