That night

We went to our first Solace meeting tonight. I think it will be a positive thing. Not easy, but a step in the right direction. It's nice to talk with people who really understand what we're going through.

The day that we lost Jesse was not really just an average day. It was the last day of school before winter break, Friday, December 18. We'd taken the whole school to see The Princess and the Frog. I'd felt good all day; there was no indication that anything was amiss. I had been having some back pain earlier in the week, and I did call my doctor's office to ask about it and they said it sounded normal. I chalked it up to too much standing the Sunday before when we had our annual Christmas candy-making day with Billy's family. Anyway, I was feeling good and excited about the winter break, excited about our 20 week ultrasound, which was scheduled for the following Tuesday. I was positive that the baby was a girl, but we were excited to find out for sure. Billy wanted a boy in the worst way!

We went to eat at Old Chicago that night, and after dinner I started having stomach pains. I thought, honestly, that it was gas. Thinking back, I should've known something was wrong. I'd never had gas pains like that before, but I guess my mind just wouldn't let me think that it could be a problem with the baby. I went home to lie down and rest. I was so sure it was nothing that I told Billy to stay and finish his drink, that there was no reason for him to leave a perfectly good beer sitting there because of a little stomach ache. He was going to take a cab when he finished, and I drove myself home. I laid down for a while, but the pains did not go away. It wasn't much later that my water broke. I remember being completely confused about what was happening, not comprehending. And then there was blood. Lots of it. Billy couldn't hear his phone ringing, so I called his parents instead. They live 20 minutes away, but reached our place in 15. We collected Billy on the way to the hospital, and arrived around 8:30 p.m.

When we got to the E.R. it felt like an eternity while we waited for them to decide whether to keep me there or send me "upstairs." Finally, someone pushed my wheelchair to an elevator. I didn't really get where we were headed at this point, but when I saw the signs for Labor & Delivery, my heart sank. I was going to have this baby tonight. This was NOT what I'd pictured my first visit here to be. I do have to say that the staff on duty, especially our nurse, Sarah, were phenomenal. I was the only patient on that wing, and I do feel exceptionally fortunate to have had such compassionate care.

They did an ultrasound, and it showed that there was no fluid around the baby. There was a heartbeat, but it was slow, about 60 beats per minute. They couldn't tell the gender from the ultrasound. The doctor told me that the only option was to induce labor, and that obviously, it was too early. They left us to digest this. By this time I was just numb. The whole scene was surreal. I remember Billy saying over and over that the baby was going to be okay, but I knew that he didn't have a chance. I felt oddly calm throughout this time. They induced labor at about 11:30 and then we waited. It wasn't long. I remember thinking that my baby was dying inside me as I lay there. Around 1 a.m., the nurse came in and checked me and said that we could probably start to push. The labor itself was not difficult. He was so tiny...

At 1:45, our precious baby was born in silence. A little boy. Sarah cleaned him and wrapped him in a blanket. We had decided that we would hold him; that it might be hard, but we would regret it if we didn't take this opportunity. He was tiny. Perfect. Sleeping. We held him for a short time and then he was taken to another room. Exhausted, we slept then, or tried to, Billy on the couch he pushed up against my hospital bed.

On Saturday around noon, I checked out of the hospital. How empty I felt as the nurse wheeled me out to the car. No baby. Only the crushing emptiness. How empty the apartment felt when we came home. Sami was with her mother for the first part of the break. How empty I felt, literally, the life I'd carried for 19 weeks, gone. Just like that.