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My Angel...GabrielJul 02 '05 Write an essay on this topic.The Bottom Line Find support, give yourself time to grieve, and know that no matter what anyone else says, this is a real death and should be dealt with accordingly. I got the positive pregnancy test one morning this past February. I had such difficulty conceiving my first born, I was shocked the stick showed a positive. An hour later, I took another test. Over the course of the next 3 days, I would take two more. No doubt about it, I was expecting! I was so thrilled, and my husband was equally as excited. I made my first prenatal appointment, and was overjoyed when I started experiencing morning sickness, because I had always been told that it meant your hormones were working well and everything was ok. How wrong that would prove to be! I had a few complications with my first pregnancy, so when I saw my OB/GYN for the first time, we decided to go ahead and schedule me for an ultrasound to sneak a peak at the baby and determine my due date. I was so anxious for the ultrasound. The night finally came. It was supposed to be a joyous, happy night. And I never in my worst nightmare could of prepared for what was about to happen. I went into the exam room alone. The place I had my ultrasound at wouldn't allow my husband or son in with me. I laid on the table and the scan began. It was taking forever, and I couldn't understand why the technician kept asking me to hold my breath. (I would later find out it was to determine if there was any blood flow within the fetus). I asked if everything was alright, and judging by the look on her face, it wasn't. She told me she didn't want me to panic, but she was having a hard time finding the heartbeat. She left the room to get a doctor. As I laid there on that table, I had a little conversation with God, and I tried so hard to assure myself this was a mistake, and that there was surely nothing wrong with my baby. The doctor came in, poked and prodded around a little bit with the wand, and finally turned the screen my way. There on the screen was my beautiful baby. S/he looked so perfect, so little, so still... The doctor told me there was no heartbeat. She showed me that there was no blood flowing through the fetus. I was 8 weeks along, based on the size of the baby, s/he had gone nearly 2 weeks ago, before my first prenatal appointment. I heard words like "no heartbeat", "fetal demise", and "D&C". I felt like I needed to vomit, I felt like the room was spinning, I felt like I was living through a sick and twisted nightmare. Surely they were joking with me. I was told to get dressed and go. I was asked if I wanted them to bring my husband back into the room. I said no, I could tell him on my own. I sat on the table and sobbed like a baby. How in the hell did this happen? I was doing everything right. No wait--I had a bad cold two weeks ago. Dammit. Why did I let myself take that cough medicine? Why did I take that Tylenol when I got a fever? Why? Why? Why me? I got dressed and took one last look at the ultrasound screen. I touched the image of my beautiful baby on the screen, knowing that would be the first and last time I'd see her/him. I had to walk down a very long hallway to get to the waiting room. The whole long walk, I could see my husband and my son in the waiting room. You could see the joy on my husband's face, anticipating seeing a picture of the baby. Anticipating some good news. He looked so happy... My heart broke all over again as I had to look my husband in the face and tell him it was done, all over. That our baby had no heartbeat. That our future was gone. The rest of that night and the next few days were a blur to me. I had heard from my OB/GYN who got the results. She was just as sad as I was. Being that I had plans to go out of town, she scheduled my D&C for the next couple of days. In the meantime, all I could do was go through the motions of being a mom to my toddler and being a wife to my husband. I've never felt a depression like that in my entire life. The night I found out about the baby, I couldn't sleep. I laid awake all night sobbing silently into my pillow. I finally drifted off from exhaustion and had a dream. In my dream, an angel came to me and told me my baby was going to be ok, taken care of. The angel's name was Gabriel. The next day I hopped online to look up the angel Gabriel. He is a messenger of God. Surely this was a sign. I named my baby Gabriel. A few days later, I had my D&C. The surgery itself was nothing. I was knocked out for it, and given a healthy dose of Demerol afterwards. The worst part for me was the loss itself. It was the fact that virtually no one acknowledged my baby had died. No one. To most people, Gabriel was a 6 week old fetus. To me it went so much deeper then that. Gabriel was my child, my flesh, my blood, my dreams, my hopes and my future. Gabriel was a brother or sister to my son. Gabriel was my baby. And the fact that no one even acknowledged him/her, killed me emotionally. I bounce back and forth between good and bad memories. The hospital where I had my D&C is a Catholic hospital. All of the remains from the miscarried babies are buried at a cemetery and they have a beautiful shrine there. I visit often. I tried going to the memorial service, but the wounds were still so fresh at the time. I couldn't stay. I know Gabriel is safe where s/he is. When you first enter the cemetery, the first street you come across is St. Gabriel. There is no real point to my story. I just wanted to share my story with everyone. I find that as the days go by, the loss gets easier. There isn't a day when I don't think of Gabriel. Having a miscarriage, no matter how far along you may be, is devastating. It's a death, no matter how you look at it. It's the saddest thing I have ever gone through. One thing I do recommend after a loss like this is finding a support group, whether it be online or in person. Having someone to talk to, who has "been there, done that" helps tremendously.  |
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