Dear Baby: Letters to the Ones I Never Held

Thursday, March 17, 2016



These are letters I wrote to our babies we never got to hold in our arms. I didn't know if I would ever share them, but it feels right to put them out there now. I have been writing to our Baby Girl, as well, and I'll be sharing those letters here at a later time.

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Dear Baby,

We barely knew that you existed before we were worried you would leave us.  I found out on a Monday, December 15, 2015, that you were there, and two Wednesdays after that, I thought I might be losing you when I saw a few tiny drops of blood in my underwear. I had blood drawn and we saw you on the ultrasound that day, and we were so glad that you looked okay. Except you weren’t okay. It took 3 more weeks after that, but you probably had never been okay, not even on that day we saw you at the end of December. By the end of January, you were gone, out of my body; I felt like I had lost my heart as well. It took almost two months for my body to get over losing you, but my mind still hasn’t healed. I carry you with me, in everything I do. I think about the little person you would have been. 

When your due date came and went on August 26th, my heart felt as heavy as my arms felt light. Everyone says that I never have to forget you, but I don’t know many people who understand how impossible that would be, like it was even an option. I don’t know why, but you dad and I were convinced that you were a girl. It doesn’t matter who you were; we will love you always, and we will never forget you. Never.

I didn’t know why this was happening. I still don’t know why it happened. I had been so thrilled to know that I could get pregnant that I never thought that I could have a miscarriage. I wrote about losing you, and slowly, women began to come out of the woodwork. So many had lost their own babies, and even more people I knew had known others who had lost theirs. I had felt so alone, but I wasn’t. I was surrounded by other women, other families, who were broken and hurting and feeling alone. I decided that I would tell my story, our story, as many times as I needed to so no one else would ever feel as alone as I did in that moment.
I will always miss you. You will always be my first baby, even if I never got to hold you in my arms.
                                                                                                               
Love always,
Mama

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Dear Baby,

You were the result of fertility meds and our second IUI. On the day that we were supposed to bring home the baby that we conceived in December, we found out that you were here. We were so happy; we said that our first baby had sent you to us, to make sure we wouldn’t be too sad on my original due date. That was a Thursday. On Friday, the nurse told me that my lab results were good; I was definitely pregnant! Four days later, I had more bloodwork drawn. It was not good news. Two days later, more bloodwork, more bad news. You were leaving us.  A few days later, it was all over. In less than a week, we had gone from the highest of highs to the lowest low. It all happened so fast, my head felt like it was spinning. My body recovered quickly, but my heart still hurt. Continues to hurt.

I began to think that there was something wrong with me, with my body. One miscarriage was awful and painful and bad luck, but an absurdly high percentage of pregnancies (some say between 25% and 40%!) end in miscarriage. Two miscarriages made me even more suspicious of my usually-disobedient body. I made an appointment with a reproductive immunologist, despite the fact that it’s considered “snake oil” by a lot of reproductive endocrinologists, including my own. I had lab work done, and it came back that while my antiphospholipid antibodies were negative, my natural killer cells were elevated. I know these are all really big words, my baby, but it means that sometimes, according to my immunologist, my body has the capacity to attack a tiny embryo because of a variety of reasons. I hated to think that my body was the reason you couldn’t stay. Once again, we’ll never know.

Even though you were only a part of our lives for 6 days, you left a mark on us that we won’t forget. You went back to be with our first baby, wherever you are. Mama and Daddy love you, baby.
                                                                                                                               
Love always,
Mama

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To anyone trying to conceive and finding it far more difficult than they anticipated, are dealing with infertility, or are struggling through the heartbreak of a miscarriage, know that you are not alone. Please reach out to someone, and if you feel like you have no one, then reach out to me. I'm here to listen.



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