Bittersweet memory

Several years ago I was in Las Cruces with my family for a late Thanksgiving. It is always a good time when we get together, but better still, knowing I was pregnant with our fourth child. Some of us got sick, just a cold- it was nothing to keep us from enjoying the occasion. Pregnancy was a part of life by now and living with the symptoms of the early weeks was familiar. I spent one day laying around on the air mattress feeling terrible before we left for home.
On the car ride home I noticed an uncomfortable itching on my elbow and forearm. When I changed into my pajamas that night I noticed the rash.
My life has turned on a dime several times in my life but only twice because of illness. This was the first. The next day I called my family Dr. to tell him about the rash and that I needed to be seen. When I told them I was pregnant they cut me off-

"You'll need to be seen by an OB/GYN"

"He is my family Dr. and has delivered all of our other children. I don't have another OB." I answer

"I can refer you to one, or you can go to the emergency room." she mutters, sans feeling.

"It's not an emergency, I just need to be seen for the rash."

"I'm sorry, but we cannot see you if you are pregnant."

I hang up feeling extremely depressed. It was a feeling that would only deepen as I tried to schedule an appointment with an OB that I had never seen before. New patient appointments stretched three weeks into the future.
Every inch of my body was covered in this unfamiliar, lacey rash. My joints ached terribly and I could barely move. We decided it was time to go to the emergency room, silly or not.

In the emergency room they drew my blood for every test known to man. Apparently my condition was too rare to be diagnosed by an emergency room doctor. I lay there for two hours. They checked the baby through ultrasound and she was fine. They couldn't decide what to do with me but to tell me to take some Tylenol and they got me in to see an OB the following week.

The day of my first OB visit with Dr. Ranka was bad. They examined me and decided to draw blood for a Parvovirus B-19 titer. It came back "high". High means bad. High means do an ultrasound. "Fifth's Disease." Such a dumb name.

Anyone who has had an ultrasound during pregnancy knows what they're looking at. When I saw our tiny baby laying lifeless at the bottom of the screen I knew her journey was over. There was no heartbeat, and for a moment, I had lost a few too. Dr. Ranka touched me lightly on the knee and said, "I don't have to tell you, I know." I wished I had Tod there with me instead of home with the other kids. I wished I could roll back the clock and tell the doctors in the emergency room what they were missing, not that it would help. I wished I didn't have to drive home through my tears and tell my loving husband that my being sick had cost our baby its life.
Everything happened so quickly. They scheduled a time for me to go into the hospital. I wandered like a swollen-eyed zombie out into the waiting room, papers in hand. The looks of the nameless people in the waiting room said it all- pain, loss, suffering, confusion, fear, and dread.

Miscarriage. Such a dumb name. I carried her as well as I knew how. I prayed for her and loved her and planned for her as well as any of our other kids. There were few words about it between Tod and I. I handed him the stupid pamphlet on coping with the loss of a child and it said it all to him. He was my rock, my mouthpiece when I was too overwhelmed to speak. He held my hand as I was wheeled into the operating room and when I was wheeled out to the car- babyless, empty and beaten.

If there is a word to describe those dark days in my life, it would be "void". As painful as it is to describe again, I was jerked back there yesterday when I was reading a blog recommended by a friend. She of course had no idea what it would mean to me. The woman who writes this blog was describing the life of her young son, a survivor of in utero Fifth's disease. It was amazing to hear what our baby's future could have held if she had survived. The body shuts down in an attempt to maintain the organs. Bone marrow, red blood cells and limbs are sacrificed in an attempt to preserve the brain, heart and lungs. Needless to say, complications after birth are many and difficult.

While we grieve still for the loss of this beloved child, she is blessed to know a perfect body, never feeling the weight of imperfection. She will never face the challenges that survivors of this devastating disease feel. While I cannot hold her in my arms as I do my other children, I know that she is being held in the most loving of arms, more perfect than my own, waiting for the day when we will all be together again. I hope my arms do not disappoint.

I feel bonded to this mother in an indescribable way. She battles this demon daily as I do.

I don't want to sound whiney, not by any means. This story is only awakened because of my reading that blog. I don't want to punish any of you, because in a way this is a story of hope. It is a story about how just because something is taken away, it is not our fault. We are all given a life, short or long to do something great. My family is eternal, all 9 of us. We all have our struggles and none is any smaller or greater than another's, it is all based on what we are capable of dealing with, with grace. That is what makes this a bittersweet memory. I am stronger. God was training me to deal with pain so that I could survive my own struggles and be here for the 5 kiddos that need me. I have learned to never take the Lord's timing for granted. His sight is perfect, but mine is only 20/20 at best ;)