Holding Baby B

August 6, 2008

I had given hubby the option not to see or hold the baby.  Initially we both had been against holding him because in our minds, he was already gone.  What was left was just his body.  It wasn’t the sweet baby who was kicking like crazy, waving his arm during ultrasounds or the baby who would hide his face from the ultrasound as if to say, “no pictures please” – like he was an actor hiding from paparazzi.  As the delivery came closer and closer, I realized that I wanted – no, I needed to see him.  I knew that I would forever regret not seeing him and not holding him.  I told hubby that I needed to hold him and see him and he was free to leave the room but that I needed to do this.  Hubby was extremely supportive and said that he would stay.

So another nurse brought Baby B into the room and closed the door.  She said to me, “he is a perfect 1 pound baby boy.”  I thought to myself, “perfect?  He died.  That’s so far from perfect.”  But as I looked at him, I realized, he was perfect.  He was a tiny perfect little boy.  He was wearing a little blue striped cap and wrapped in a blue and white striped blanket.  The nurse put him in my arms and he didn’t feel like anything.  He was so light and so small.  We pulled the blanket back and just looked at his tiny face.  We both began to cry.  I rubbed his cheek, told him I loved him and that I was so very sorry but that I would see him again soon and when he was ready to be born, we would be waiting for him.  I asked hubby if he wanted to hold him but he said no.  I handed him back to the nurse and we collapsed together on the bed, sobbing. 

I had held my little boy for about 10 minutes.  It seemed like an eternity but also so short.

I am not sorry that I held him or that I saw him.  When I close my eyes, I can see his small face.  Even at 22 weeks, he looked so much my like my husband that sometimes, when I watch my husband sleep, I start to cry because Baby B looked so much like him.  There are pictures of him but they are with a relative that works at the hospital.  I don’t need them, I have my memory.

The rest of that Monday pasted quietly and quickly.  I slept until dinner time and then ate my first real meal since Saturday morning although I didn’t eat much.  I was due to be released at 8pm and was looking forward to sleeping in my own bed.  Unfortunately, with all the “invasive” procedures, I had developed a mild urinary tract infection as well as infections in both my hands from infiltrated IVs which caused me to spike a fever.  I would be kept overnight again.

I was finally released on Tuesday morning.  I left the hospital without either one of my little boys.  I went home with a broken heart, wondering how I was going to face an empty house with an empty crib.

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