There was a heartbeat. I saw it on the ultrasound, but I knew immediately something wasn’t quite right. Was it too slow? Yes, the ultrasound tech said she noticed that too and gave me the wise, all knowing look of a Black grandma who can’t quite tell her granddaughter that something is wrong.
And then there was none at the ultrasound 2 weeks later. I asked the next ultrasound tech to angle the screen when I didn’t see movement. Saw the look on the Radiologist's face and then the Fellow. No heartbeat. The tears began to flow. My body began to shake. I held in the sob knowing if it began here with these strangers it wouldn’t end until I was safely tucked away at home.
You were there. I saw you. You were there. And now you’re not. When did you leave me? My heart breaks. I type through my tears.
I am at home. Grieving. Surrounded by loved ones.
I cry now as I type.
“Mama, are you crying? Did you have a nightmare? Are you frightened?” I stifle my tears. Say to Zo through closed door “I’m okay. Mama’s okay.” He calls out for me and O from his room after bedtime. O goes and comforts him and calls me into his room. I gather myself, wipe my tears, blow my nose. Zo rushes into my arms “Mama, are you okay? I was having a good dream but then I woke up. Why are you crying? Everything will be okay.” As he gently rubs my face with his amazingly soft 5-year-old hands. As he pats my back. As he rubs my belly. As our family holds one another.
All is not lost in spite of this major loss. You were there. I saw you. You were with me. Now you are not there. But my husband is here. And my Zo is here. Their hearts are strong. My heart is strong.
The stories from friends poured in over the last few years. We are all in our 30s. Gut-wrenching stories of second trimester terminations due to fetal diagnoses incompatible with life. The heartbreaking call telling us of a stillborn nephew. Friends with years of infertility. A family member with seven losses. Stories of rainbow babies after loss. Countless miscarriages. Flashbacks from medical school of being present with sobbing women in the antepartum unit when their ultrasounds showed the absence of heartbeats. I didn’t understand then how the loss of something (a baby? A fetus? I didn’t know what to call it then) not yet realized could cause these women to sob uncontrollably. But I do now. From the moment I saw the positive sign I was hooked. Head over heels. Then the heartbeat. My growing belly. Zo’s “mama, is there a baby in there cuz I think there is.”
I was so excited to tell him he was going to be a big brother but I didn’t because I knew things weren’t quite right and it was all too soon, too early, too many things could go wrong - and they did. But he knew. He knew yet we feigned ignorance.Told him I would go to the doctor to find out.
All is not lost. You were there. We were together. Our family is still here and you will always be with us. We will go on. For we are not lost.