I will never know why

It’s not healthy.

It’s not healthy the way I keep going over and over and over and over and over in my mind –

How it happened, how it could have been different. 

I will never figure out the ‘why’;

I constantly think about the way my baby was taken away after only a glance.  Why did something so unfair have to happen?  As if the baby coming out of my body so prematurely wasn’t bad enough.  But to be robbed of the one moment in time I could have shared with my little child?  Why was I not given the opportunity to hold my baby?  To possibly find out if it was a boy or girl?  To possibly find out why it didn’t survive in the first place?

For people who believe that everything happens for a reason, then there was some reason behind WHY I was not supposed or allowed to see my little baby up close.  There has to be a REASON for why the only memory I will ever have is of my baby in its gestational sac, one moment lying so still in the toilet bowl, the next its little body being whisked away to the most horrible place I could imagine.  WHY WHY WHY did that have to be my fate and my baby’s?

I play it out in my mind. 

I know it’s not healthy.

I think, what if I wasn’t so concerned about making a mess in the stupid emergency room bathroom?  FOR FUCK SAKE’S, WHAT WAS I THINKING?? 

I imagine myself doing what I was going to do right after I got the paper towel in my hand.  I imagine grabbing that baby out of the toilet and having my moment to hold it.  To sob over its lifelessness, but nonetheless to hold it in my hands.  To touch it.  To count its teensy tiny little fingers and toes.  To most likely be horrified by how alien it might seem, yet feel comforted by its beauty.  Because it was MY BABY and even if it wasn’t ‘life size’ yet, it was mine.  I imagine having to call out the door for a nurse, to get them to find my husband, who I would then have to give options to:  Do you want to see the baby or not?


At least I would not find myself saying NO, NO, NO, as if it were a nightmare, only it was actually REAL.  At least I would not have to walk back to the waiting room, my hand firmly covering my mouth, trying to keep my cool, eyes to the ground.  At least I wouldn’t have to then sob to my husband with people sitting around me listening, about how my baby came out and the toilet self-flushed and I lost my one and only chance.

I close my eyes and try to go back.  To before the bleeding started.  Or to the first ultrasound, and instead of the doctor saying it looked ‘concerning,’ he would show us an image of a baby dancing around in my uterus, and all would be well.  Writing this right now, the baby bump would be so big that I wouldn’t be able to have my computer resting on it while I lay down and type.

I know I shouldn’t go on about it the way that I do.  (DO I know that?)  I know I should stop thinking about all the ‘what if’ scenarios.  There are many of them, but none of them bring my baby back.  Apparently there is a reason for why it all had to work out this way, I just have no idea what that reason is.  I have a feeling even if I knew what that ‘reason’ was, it would not sit well with me.


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