Please don't be alarmed. I am safe in this house. Just heartbroken, ripped from the inside by the emotional pieces. It's a familiar feeling, but that doesn't make it any less raw.
I had a peaceful night working in the NICU. I held a sweet baby girl and smiled instead of cried for what might have been. She slept comfortably swaddled on me for a long time.
I was asked to go to employee health after my shift since I missed so many days in a row. I had to have paperwork signed by my manager and one of the CEOs, approving yet another leave of absence. My medical leave was exhausted as maternity leave last fall, now my manager allows me to take the time off as personal leave. I am blessed that he allows me to do this. I've lost so much; I dont want to lose my job too, holding those babies, making them feel better, making me feel better.
I met with my counselor at Kindermourn after employee health. She wants to see me at minimum once a week, and gave me every phone number she has. She will meet me at the office at any hour of any day if I need her to. She knows she doesn't work a 9 to 5. She's always on duty. She will not rest until I am "out of this" (her words).
I went back to work to have my papers signed and to catch up with one of the assistant managers and one of my coworkers. They listened. I crave that. Tell me you are heartbroken with me. I need to hear it outloud.
I drove home in a daze, the bright sunlight somehow not squinting me into sleep on the highway.
A message from the doctor waiting for me when I got home. A nurse, not the one I know best, but the one who needs to take some ativan herself, told me that the pathology was normal. It was halfway official: my baby, yet again, died for no reason. I braced for the news of the gender of my precious baby.. this is it.. alone, without John, I was about to find out. But the news wasnt available. I asked her to please ensure that the chromosomes were sent as well so I could find out later. Chromosomes tell us if we need to be tested for anything, along with the gender of our sweet little cherry.
Still awake. Waiting for the call back. Organizing Kathlyn's Walk on Saturday. Honoring my baby keeps me going.
I got the call back, this time from the nurse I'm comfortable with. There wasn't enough tissue to send for chromosomes.
There is no limit to how many times my heart can shatter.
We had decided not to name the baby when we found out, but I still wanted to know.
I know though, I know it was a girl. I know she was healthy. I know she died, just like her sister, for no reason in particular. Just the wrong end of the odds, an unsafe place, once again.
I wanted to be told though, I wanted the medical proof that her chromosomes were normal and that we could proceed into loving and creating and planning for our third child without any increased risk of miscarriage or stillbirth. No more tests. No more statistics, no more risk factors.
I wanted to hear, "it's a girl."
I know in my heart, this was another daughter, and that will have to be enough. It's never enough, never ever will be enough.
My sweet little girls, I'm so sorry. I am suffering so much, but you will never have to. I'm doing two extra lifetimes worth of suffering, just for you. Take good care of each other. Sleep tight and wait for me. My little cherry on top, I'm so sorry I didn't get to know you better. I loved you, I wanted you, I grieve for you, don't you ever think that I'm only grieving your big sissy... you have a special place in my heart too. There are tears shed just for you, tears for Kathlyn, and tears for both of you together, and my poor broken and overeducated heart can tell which are which.
There are so many broken hearts out there too, little one, broken hearts that prayed for hours over you, broken hearts who smile and think of you when they see cherries now.
