It's Supposed to be His Birthday

It is March 1st, 2022

I should be holding, or at least about to welcome my 6th child into this world. My 4th son. My sweet baby, Nathaniel Dean, baby Nate. 

I wasn't sure if I wanted to try for another baby. It had taken us 2.5 years and so many fertility treatments and different doctors to finally get pregnant with Henry, and I knew that if we started trying again, and i wasn't able to get pregnant naturally, that I would be heading to do another embryo transfer. I wasn't sure that I wanted to do another embryo transfer because all the hormones were so hard with Henry. So, I prayed. 

I practically begged God to let me get pregnant easily and naturally. He heard me, and I was pregnant within 2 months of our decision to have another baby. 

I was so excited and, frankly, stunned. It only took two months! As I sat in my friend Ashleigh's garden, showing her the two little lines on those first tests, we talked and planned for the spring. My baby would come in the early spring, soon enough that I would still be able to plant a garden that year. I would sit in my garden and rock my baby. I would sip some sweet tea and nurse my baby while surrounded by the beauty of all that I had grown.

13 week ultrasound - a healthy baby boy

At 13 weeks, we saw his little face and heard his little heart beating so strong. We counter fingers and toes, and excitedly shared the first pictures that we had of our sweet baby. Since they now have amazing testing that can tell you with a lab draw if your baby is at risk for several birth defects, and the gender as early as 9 weeks, we knew he was a sweet baby boy! Henry was going to have a baby brother to grow up with. They would be best friends. 

I returned for a routine prenatal check at 15 weeks and 5 days pregnant. It was September 13th. We discussed how I was feeling, what appointments were coming up, and then the doctor said we should take a listen to the baby. He couldn't find the heartbeat on his doppler, and I was annoyed! He was looking to high up. I had just found it a few days prior. I wasn't worried because I had just felt the baby kick for the first time the day before. Those first kicks aren't felt very often, so I was excited and impatient for them to become more frequent. 

After a minute or so, the doctor gave up and said we should just pop on over to the ultrasound room because they can quickly locate the baby to see the heartbeat and listen to it. I texted Ashleigh to say how annoyed I was that he gave up so fast and that I now had to bother with the ultrasound. 

Once I was in the room, on the ultrasound table, and the tech began her scan, I knew. I knew something was wrong. See, I had 5 children at home and have had a couple dozen ultrasounds. When everything is fine, they turn up the sound and turn the screen to show you your baby. It was silent except the clicks of the keyboard making notes, and a radio playing softly in the background. She never turned the screen to show me my son. She never turned up the volume to let me hear his little fluttering heartbeat. When she looked at the doctor and put the ultrasound wand away, I was positive. I remember saying "He's not there, is he?" Through watering eyes and a shaky voice, she said "No, I am so sorry. What do you need?" 

In that moment, I needed my husband. The problem was, I knew my husband. I knew he would be there in an instant no matter what he was doing. I knew that he would support me and do anything I asked him. I also knew that he would be broken by the news. He would hurt deeply. More so than some. For a lot of men, though they love babies, and are excited to become fathers, the idea of a baby and the pregnancy is sort of abstract in a way. It isn't completely tangible to them until they hold their child. That isn't the case for my husband. He is a bit of a unicorn that way. He gets fully invested and 100% attached from the start. I needed him, but I couldn't bear the idea of being the one to hurt him in that way. I couldn't be the one who told him our son had died. The ultrasound tech, bless her, took his number and went to the hall to call him for me. 

Everything after that happened so fast and so slow all at once. I remember sitting in the ultrasound room. My doctor was with me at first, but he had patients to see. The tech stayed with me. She was trying to hide her tears, but I appreciated them. Somebody else was grieving with me. She told me that my husband was coming. She had told him about our baby and to get there safely. He was about 35-40 minutes away at work and I remember feeling like I wouldn't survive that long alone. I texted Ashleigh and told her "Ashleigh. My baby is gone. He died. I don't know what to do." I didn't I had no idea what happened next. I sat there in the dim room, listen to the music. Lover by Taylor Swift was playing. I loved that song. Would I still love it now? I wondered. I remember asking to use the restroom and trying so hard to stop sobbing in the hallway. I didn't want to make any of the other expectant mothers anxious. I think it was easier to worry about someone else than to think about how I felt. After about 15 or 20 minutes, I moved to an exam room to wait for my husband so that we could talk to the doctor when he got there. I just sat and waited and cried. I had texted my sister and asked her to call my mom. I couldn't find her number quickly and it was easier not to be the one to tell her. I never texted Tim. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how to look him in the eye and hurt him again. It's not that I felt responsible or at fault, but to look at me, he had to also look at my pregnant belly. He had to see that reminder of his dead son to be able to see me. When he got to the exam room and walked in, I burst into tears again and said I was sorry. I was so sad for his pain. 

In the hours that followed, we told our children. We told our families. We made arrangements. my friend brought us dinner and sat with me for a while. We had decided at the doctor's before heading home to schedule an induction for the following day. I asked repeatedly if they were absolutely sure my baby was gone. There was no heartbeat. No blood flow from the placenta. There was no room for error. With that knowledge, I decided an induction was best. It gave me control, mitigated the risks to my health, and allowed me to make sure that Tim would be with me. I couldn't do this without him. 

So, at 5:30am, we got up, woke our oldest child to move to our bed so she would hear the baby when he woke, and we headed to the hospital. 

Rocking with his daddy

The staff that day was amazing. They were kind and gentle. They answered every question, and allowed my awkward and uncomfortable comments, because I tend to be awkward and uncomfortable with me humor in these situations. They were quick and never left me sitting and waiting for anything. The induction began around 7:15 I think. Our son was born at 12:00pm. We held him and each other. He rocked with his daddy just like all his older siblings had done. I was so afraid I would hurt him or that he would get cold. He was so tiny. It seems silly to some, I am sure. But I wanted to protect him. Even when there was nothing to protect him from anymore. 

Nate's tiny feet the day he was born

Today was supposed to be his birthday. Instead, he was born on September 14th, 2021, at 12:00pm weighing just 2.8 ounces and measuring 7 inches long. We said hello and goodbye all at once. We had basically every test you can have after Nate was born. Everything came back normal. He was perfect. His placenta was perfect. His chromosomal count was normal. We have no answer for what happened to him except that it is "just one of those things". It is both a relief to know it is unlikely to repeat and angering to think it had to happen at all. We will always love and miss our son.