It was just six hours from midnight, from the infamous ball drop, from a New Year’s kiss, from the start of something new. We had company at our house, but my body didn’t care. Instead, I often excused myself to nervously pace the hallway and bedroom floor, timing my contractions to four to five minutes.
We joked about a New Year’s baby and our faces plastered on the front page of our local paper. By eight o’clock, the timing entered the two to three minute arena, and after a quick call to Labor and Delivery, our guests were wishing us the best as I grabbed our hospital bag.
I was scared but also excited and the magic of, we “are going to have a baby” floated in the air.
The car ride to the hospital was quiet. I squeezed my husband’s hand and breathed through each contraction feeling a sense of Déjà vu.
It was exactly one year ago, minus one day that my husband and I made that same drive. We drove along the same highway, passed the same winding river, took the same exit, and anxiously pulled into the same ER.
One year prior, the car was just as quiet, our hands locked together in a similar manner, and I breathed heavy but this time fear was the emotion.
The bleeding had also begun, a call was made to the same Labor and Delivery, and the same response, “You should come in,” echoed on the other line.
You see, at this time, one year prior, I was miscarrying my baby. I knew it deep in my soul but prayed a doctor would tell me different. When my initial bloodwork looked good, they sent me home, but asked that I come back the next day, which was New Year’s Eve of 2017, for an additional follow-up.
This New Year’s Eve, as I waddled into the ER at 37 plus weeks pregnant with a look in my eyes and heavy breathing, a wheelchair was quickly whisked in. The ER staff jovially chatted up my husband about the possibility of a New Year’s baby and giggled as they asked me to try to restrain from having a baby en route to Labor and Delivery.
When the ER doors opened, a wave of emotions and flashbacks came crashing back. There was the small bathroom I excused myself to every 30 minutes, praying the bleeding had stopped. There was the nurses station where I tried to watch our doctor’s reaction each time she left our room. There was the room, the room I laid helpless in, staring at the ceiling, squeezing my husband’s hand, tears pouring down my face, and fear and sadness filled my heart.
You see, just one year ago on New Year’s Eve, I returned to the hospital as directed for follow up bloodwork, then made my way to the grocery store to pickup items for dinner. It was there, a few hours later, in the grocery store parking lot that the hospital called me and confirmed my fears. I was indeed losing our baby.
It was the following morning, New Year’s Day, when my body decided to say goodbye to what could have been. I never left our bed that day and my heart sank in a desperate grief.
I don’t know why God works the way He does. I don’t understand His plan, but the sadness and heartbreak I endured exactly one year prior, was replaced with joy, happiness, and an extreme gratefulness this year.
Our son was born exactly one year to the day when we lost our second pregnancy. He will never replace the baby that never came to be. He doesn’t fill the void that exists in my heart for that loss. A loss, that only women who have endured a miscarriage know and understand, but he did bring me a happiness I longed for. The opportunity to bring another child into this world, to hold a newborn, to grow our family, and for all of those things I am so blessed.
As I laid in the hospital holding our newborn son, I couldn’t help but think back to one year prior. I was reminded of the pain and sorrow I had felt. But there’s was also light at the end of the darkness. There was happiness after immense sadness. There were smiles after tears. There were sweet newborn cries. There was a hello after a goodbye.
And while there is a place the my heart that will always be empty and a feeling of longing of what could have been, my heart grew to make way for this sunshine of a baby, our son, and rainbow baby.
Ashli, I am always so emotional when I read your posts. Sitting at my desk now with tears down my cheeks. Sad tears for the angel you have not met yet and tears of joy for that sweet baby you rock in your arms. Sending love and hugs to you……
Debbie, I appreciate you so! Thank for reading and being a great supporter. Much love.
Thank you for capturing so beautifully both the pain but also excitement of having a baby after loss. There is no such thing as a replacement, certainly more anxiety and terrible memories, but also joy.