Three years ago today I delivered, at about 2 am, a 1 lb 13 oz perfect little baby girl who didn’t get a chance to take a breath.
Today is very sad. But yesterday has always been harder. The 27th was the day I woke up at 5:00am to have my water burst. At that point, when I had been leaking fluid for a week and was just over 21 weeks pregnant, I knew it would be over.
But the events of the day were still tragic. The unhelpful emergency room attendant at our local hospital. The nurses who made some mistakes and then couldn’t find a heartbeat. The long ambulance ride to another hospital.
The sono that showed virtually no fluid left. The specialist telling me both of us were getting infections and it was time to start labor before permanent damage was made to my body. Hearing him tell me that she was not going to make it.
The long labor that went well into the night with only hints of sleep. And finally, the delivery. We had hoped she would have survived labor, just so we could hold her while she was living even if only for a minute or two. But, she didn’t. Jake couldn’t stop crying. I was in shock.
And then, after being pumped with antibiotics and little to no sleep for over 36 hours, we were sent home to face a funeral and many more dark days.
And now, three years from then I sent on my couch, eating a frozen dinner in my paint clothes (getting ready to probably break my house with mere 2 gallons of orange paint) typing a blog post that I want to type yet don’t really need to.
Because, like they say and I think I’ve even said before “time does heal”. You don’t forget, you still cry, you still feel uncomfortable in certain situations, but you do heal. Amen for that.