I hadn't wanted biological children. There's enough children in the world as it is, and the world is a rather horrible place to bring new children into. Also what if they made the world a worse place by making bad choices? But now I saw that in having children and discipling them in the Lord, there is also great potential to make the world a better place - children not only have the potential to be evil, but also a greater potential to be good. Ok then, I'm down. I woke up Neilson, who had always wanted at least one biological child, and told him I'm down to try having a biological child, because God said so. I pulled out my phone right then and there and made the soonest appointment to get my IUD removed. And so our adventure began.
On July 1, I had my first positive pregnancy test. We were excited. We were afraid. We were afraid of how a baby would change our lives, prevent us from hanging out with our friends, having free time and hobbies, prevent us from sleeping. I was afraid of how this thing was going to get out - it would be physically traumatic and painful no matter how or when my uterus needed to be emptied. We were afraid of miscarriage, or that it wasn't a baby growing in there at all.
On July 23, at about 7 weeks since my last period and just about the earliest you could definitively see a baby and get a heartbeat on ultrasound, I asked my colleague to do an ultrasound for me, and we saw for the first time, that there was indeed a baby inside. I allowed myself to get a little more excited, but realistically knew there was still a notable risk of miscarriage.
But we made it through the first trimester, the highest risk time for miscarriage, without issue. During that time, we found out via blood test that he was a boy - of which I had been sure of since the beginning of the pregnancy, because years ago God had given me the name "Elijah" for my future child - back when I didn't want biological children. We told our friends and our parents the news and everyone was excited. I started to show and it started to feel real. And then I started to feel his movements. They got bigger. He got bigger. I got bigger. The months passed and my initial fear of delivery melted into excitement for a baby when the baby shower gifts started coming in and I started to put together the nursery. My life would certainly look different with a baby, but I was excited to hold and rub my face against my very own squirmy child. Plus I couldn't wait for the carpal tunnel syndrome to end.
On February 4 of this year, we celebrated the upcoming arrival of Elijah with our family and friends with a large co-ed baby shower. More than anything, I wanted prayers for this baby, to support the God-sized dreams I had for him - that he would be a man after God's own heart, that like the Elijah in the Bible he would pray mighty prayers, that he would bring many into the Kingdom of God in his time. The gifts and games were nice too, but mostly I wanted the prayers. My friends prayed for safe delivery, healthy mom and healthy baby, for blessings in Elijah's life, that he would sleep well, that we would be good parents, that he would do mighty things for God's kingdom... and a plethora of other good things. From how many people celebrated with us his upcoming arrival, we knew he was already a baby well loved.
The due date came closer, and I became term at 37 weeks. We counted down the days, knowing he could come any time, fearfully hoping he would come sooner rather than later, or maybe later rather than sooner, all the while knowing we had no real control over when he chose to show up.
Then on February 21 at bedtime, Neilson casually asked if I had done my kick counts for the day. Well come to think of it, of the last four hours lying in bed scrolling on my phone, I don't remember feeling him move. Should we go to labor and delivery for an NST at this time in the middle of the night? If I were my own patient, I would say yes, I should go. So I called labor and delivery to let them know, but instead they wanted me to eat and drink something, and do a formal kick count for one hour and then call them back. For Neilson it was an excruciating one hour of anxiety. For me, I knew realistically that the vast majority of people who go to labor and delivery with decreased fetal movement actually end up with normal fetal testing, and nothing is wrong at all. Also I knew that God had plans for Elijah, so everything would end up fine. So we waited the full hour but I felt nothing. We packed up our stuff and early on February 22 - my birthday - headed to labor and delivery. I fully expected maybe some abnormal testing that would lead to either the decision to induce labor, or proceed directly to emergency C section, depending on the severity of fetal distress. It wasn't like him to not move at all for that long at night. Maybe more likely the C section. I might share a birthday with Elijah!
We arrived and checked in. I signed forms agreeing to treatment for both me and Elijah, in case he were to be born during this encounter at the hospital. We were placed in a triage room and I was told to undress and put on the gown. How strange to suddenly be on the other side of the medical encounter. The nurse immediately came to put me on the fetal monitor, but had some difficulty finding heart tones, so she called the doctor. Okay... in my experience, by the time the nurse fails to find heart tones and calls the doctor over, it's about a 50/50 chance whether there are even heart tones to be found - in other words, it's only about 50% chance that the baby still has a heartbeat at all.
The doctor came quickly and looked with the ultrasound. I strained my eyes to see if I could see that flutter of the heartbeat. After a minute of looking at what in my personal opinion were suboptimal ultrasound images, she turned to us and said, "I don't see a heartbeat. I'm sorry." Well I didn't either but I would have tweaked the settings for better images and looked for a little while longer, because no fetal heartbeat is a serious diagnosis to announce. I stared at her. I didn't believe her. Did I? I looked at Neilson and looked at the doctor. Silence. "Really?" She looked so serious. Time stood still. Bad things happen to other people. Bad things do not happen to me. The vast majority of people who present to labor and delivery with decreased fetal movement have healthy babies. I am the vast majority, I always am. God has plans for Elijah. God has always ever worked in my favor. Bad things have never happened to me.
"Do you want a second physician to confirm?" Two physicians are needed to examine a patient to confirm a diagnosis of fetal demise. In this case, she implied I was the second physician and another one who actually worked at the hospital may not be needed. ...but the suboptimal pictures... Yes, I said. Please. Turns out the second physician was in surgery and wouldn't be available for a little while, so in the meantime they gave us some space to process. As soon as they left, Neilson started pacing around the small room. Was this a dream, we wondered together? Are we going to wake up? Fear. I felt fear from Neilson. I felt nothing from myself. Disbelief. Bad things don't happen to me. God has plans for Elijah. No heartbeat? How will we tell our friends who had just been celebrating with us? How will I tell my patients, many of who had given gifts out of anticipation of Elijah's birth? I am an obstetrician. I tell people their babies have no heartbeat. No one tells me that. No one tells me that. What is this irony? Should we tell anybody now? No, I just wanted to stay in the hospital and let the hospital staff take care of us, insulated from the world outside, who was still waiting on its toes for baby Elijah to come. How will we tell our friends and family?
Finally the second physician came and showed me the heart clearly, with no blood flow within and deadly still. She convinced me. I heard Neilson trying to keep it together with deep breathing. I found I was no longer afraid of the pains of labor and delivery. Yes, we said, just induce me now. I hoped he would come on my birthday. One more thing I could share with him.
On February 23, 2024 at 1:17 am, he came at 38 weeks exactly. He was perfect at 6 lb 6.3 oz and 19 inches. We spent a glorious day and a half with him. We touched his soft skin, kissed him, held him, spoke to him, played music for him, read to him, showed him his heartbeat earlier in the pregnancy. We cried over him and cried over him and cried over him. The sounds of grieving of parents bereaved of their children before they were born is a sound not easy to forget. Now they came from me and my husband. Saying good-bye when they took him away for the last time was not easy. And we went home. We went into the hospital expecting a baby, we came home with empty arms and hearts, brand-new carseat moved to the trunk. Our new house that we bought in anticipation of Elijah and his future siblings was now too big, too empty, and everything reminded us of the baby we couldn't bring home - the signs above the bassinet welcoming Elijah home, the rocking chair where I was supposed to nurse him, the empty picture frame that was supposed to hold monthly photos of him throughout his first year of life. And instead of the cries of a newborn baby, our house was filled with the cries of freshly bereaved parents.
How can I explain the grief of losing a baby just before birth? The happy anticipation that slams into confusion and shock. The questions that arise - why did God not answer any of the prayers we had prayed over Elijah? Why me? Why him? What happened to him? Why would God give him to us only to allow him to be taken away? But three things I found comfort in - that I was not going through this alone, but rather with Neilson my best friend and husband. My unwavering belief that God is still God, and faithful to me. And the rainbows.
There were rainbows in the sky on the days of each of his three baby showers (including the surprise ones thrown for me by coworkers). During the coming days, there would continue to be rainbows in the sky, rainbows that our friends and acquaintances would share with us without knowing what it meant to us. When I was in eighth grade, I had made the rainbow a sign between me and God, to remind me whenever I saw one that He is with me. When the rainbows appeared at Elijah's baby showers, I felt there was significance, but didn't understand what it was. Now I did. God had left me signs to remind me that he is still with me, even before I needed them. And then there is the concept of the "rainbow baby," which usually refers to babies born after a previous pregnancy loss. Elijah is not a rainbow baby in that sense, but in a new sense he is our rainbow baby. Elijah, mommy and daddy love and miss you so much but we hope you are having fun among the rainbows with Jesus. We will see you and hold you again soon, and we just can't wait.
