Losing Baby

The doctor told us. I knew he was about to tell bad news, but not from anything my body ever said to me. My body had been clicking along without a clue. 

Maybe it was when the nurse visibly stiffened, or when no one exclaimed "there's baby!" when we knew that fuzzy out of focus bean was the baby, maybe that's when I started to know. 

I had a dream the day before. In my dream there was no baby. Maybe that's where, deep down, in the places you don't want to go, I knew.  

Regardless, I knew it was bad news before the doctor opened his mouth, before he put his tongue to the back of his teeth to make the, "th," sound. The sound in the beginning of the word, "there's."

"There's no heartbeat." And there it was. The Bad News. 

What does a first time expectant mother do with that kind of Bad News? 

I cried. I laid my head on the back of that stupid plastic bed and cried a soundless cry. I stared at those stupid fluorescent light fixtures in the ceiling and cried. I thought about how stupid I was for telling everyone so soon, and I cried. I thought about that stupid gallon of paint in the soon-to-be nursery and I cried. I thought about that stupid baby shower gift list I started, the phone calls, the plans, the dreams. I felt cheated. And I cried.

I wasn't thinking about my husband, I wasn't thinking about Dad. I could sense him next to me, his hand on my shoulder, in my hair, reaching for my hands. Just because his eyes were dry doesn't mean he wasn't crying. I know he was. 

The TV screen was angled invitingly for eager parents to get the first or, if they're lucky the second, third, fourth pictures of their little one. On our screen, for about five minutes, was the black and white image of our baby. And even though the "cameras were rolling," or in other words, we were watching in real time, it looked like a photograph - everything was so frustratingly still. 

I just wanted one little wiggle. 

The doctor asked if we wanted a picture. I guess some people say yes, and they tote home the photo of their dead baby stowed away in purses, clenched hands, breast pockets, back pockets, tucked in bibles, etc. But I declined.  

We'll never forget the doctor's cursor moving over our still little bean while he explained that at 10 weeks there really should be a heartbeat.