Time seemed to slowly tick by as we awaited the most painful part of our journey. I felt like we were on borrowed time once we were scheduled for the OR and all I could do was visualize a countdown for when I would lose a part of me. Every kick I felt flooded me with guilt and agony, as I knew we would lose our little girl forever come Tuesday. I rubbed my belly and spoke to her throughout the day to let her know that I was with her until the end.
Casey and I met up at Dr. Multzer’s office for our 2:45PM appointment. I handed my Kaiser card to the receptionist and my world seemed to close in on me. She asked me for my address and I just looked at her and cried. Nothing seemed to matter. Nothing felt relevant. Nothing made sense. I mindlessly shuffled into the waiting room and sobbed in Casey’s arms until we were called.
I will spare the graphic nature of the prep for the procedure, but it was physically and emotionally dreadful. Dr. Multzer was great and I appreciated his quirkiness and attempts to alleviate some of the darkness from the room. As he was leaving, he turned to Casey and told him that he needed support too and he was very much a part of this horrific loss. He disclosed that he and his wife had two late term losses and how incredibly difficult they were. Although Casey and I have been open and talked through our pain, my husband is an incredibly selfless man who tends to put me first. I was so thankful the doctor made a point to address Casey’s needs because I want him to allow himself to openly mourn, grieve, and break down when he needs to.
The rest of the day I was severely cramping with little relief. A heating pad provided some comfort, but I think that most of my pain was stemming from emotional anguish. I prayed that I was the recipient of all the pain and none would be felt by her. Family came over and provided us with love and support. As they left, I asked if they could each say a prayer or send a positive thought out into the universe to help our little Robyn for tomorrow.
The morning of the procedure I felt so numb. Physically, emotionally, and mentally I was exhausted. I never want to ask the question, “Why is this happening to her…to us?” because I know there will never be a comforting answer. As someone who works so intimately with those working through trauma, I know unpredictable and unfair life can be. However, I know how much beauty there is in the world and I can’t help but feel angry that our baby girl will never see this side of life.
Casey and my mother-in-law accompany me to the hospital for the procedure. I had to take medication that would provide full dilation. Although they gave me pain medication, the cramping felt unbearable and I still had two hours before I would be in surgery. Fortunately two of my favorite people were sitting next to me and holding my hand through the pain, distracting me with stories and future plans.
Casey and Carol both said a tearful goodbye to Robyn as I was wheeled back to the operating room. I was balling in the operating room and the nurse held my hand. The OR was incredibly busy, but I requested everyone’s attention and through my tears asked for all of the staff to complete the procedure with love in their hearts. The last thing I remember was the staff nodding in agreement and the nurse continuing to squeeze my hand.
I woke up to a nurse sweetly asking me how I was doing. I told her physically I was fine and emotionally I was surviving. Casey and Carol came back as the nurse was going over my discharge. She told me that I will start lactating soon and I would need nursing pads for my bra. I told her that I had lots of experience padding my bra from my junior high days. She and Carol laughed and Casey asked why I was lactating in junior high. I guess it’s still a secret that a majority of junior high boobage is a façade. J
Casey held up a card with our baby girl’s footprints. They looked so perfect, so tiny. I love these beautiful little feet, but I am so heartbroken that we will never get to kiss or tickle them.
I woke up the next morning with the harsh reality that she’s gone. No longer will I feel her physical presence. No longer will there be a baby bump reminding me of my little tenant. No longer will there be little kicks for my husband to feel. My heart is broken and I know it will take time to mend the pieces. I already miss her so much.
Love you baby girl Robyn. We will always love and miss you.