No one tells you about after. No one knows what happened after I had to share with my family and friends, on Facebook and through tear filled phone calls or texts, that I had just lost my baby girl just shy of 17 weeks gestation. If you don’t mind hearing the honesty, continue to read.
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I woke up from recovery screaming her name. I cried, sobbed, and let out a voice that was alien to even myself. I was met with nurses who quickly shot sedatives back in my IV so to keep me quiet (since I was on the same floor as laboring mothers with healthy, living newborns). This went on for 12+ hours. On day two, the nurses were tired of me grieving for my dead daughter and the doctor tried to discharge me. I was an inconvenience and nuisance at this point. This ridiculous, sobbing, foolish woman holding to something that didn’t exist anymore. My husband at the time knew I wasn’t ready to head home yet and pushed for my stay to be extended the full four days. He called our insurance company and it was approved. We stayed. The nurses were less than pleased. Why didn’t they care about my overall health would’ve been a better question, but being a nuisance was more of their concern.
I woke out of a drugged state every 3-4 hours screaming and crying all over again, begging to see my baby. Nurses would rush in immediately and the cycle would repeat. The doctor refused to allow us to see Molli. She said it was best that way. She had no idea of the huge gaping hole in my heart that needed this closure. She would never understand. I never got to hold my baby girl. My first born, stillborn, beautiful baby. I never even got to have her remains for cremation or burial. They denied me of everything as they swept their “mistake” under the rug. They never ordered the pathology tests they ensured me and my family that they had “sent off” for. I was robbed of the knowledge of knowing why or how it happened or even who she would have looked like.
I had family stop by, send flowers, and stay with me through those hours. My cousin held fellowship with me and prayed as he held me. To think of how broken I was in this moment, yet I still opened my heart to the idea of a higher power with a greater purpose, still amazes me. My cousin’s wife brought me tons of snacks and goodies while talking with me through the pain. Not once did they ever judge me though!!! I adore my cousin, who’s always been like a brother to me, and his brother’s wife (my other cousin who is also like a brother to me). They didn’t have to be there, but they were! It wasn’t their grief to bear, but they let me know I wasn’t alone.
My Mother came and cried with me. My sister and brother both were there. My husband at the time only left my side to prepare our home for when I had to return. I later found out he had to clean the mess in our living room from my water breaking, do the sorrowful laundry, clean the bathroom floor, take all of Molli’s things and tuck them into her nursery before shutting the door, as well as care for our two dogs whom didn’t have a clue what had happened and why we weren’t home for four days straight. As for that nursery door, the same door I had to walk down the hallway and pass just to get to our bedroom, that is an emptiness that no one warns you about. You could feel the pain from the outside of that door.
You see, no one warns you that just because your world was completely shattered... that everyone else’s continues to spin without so much as a bump. I sat in that hospital room and heard when a new baby was born across the hall or adjacent to my room. I heard when the lullaby played on the maternity speakers. I heard families celebrating and talking in the halls, as it should be. I stepped out of my room to go to the nurse’s station for snacks or a drink, because at this point the nurses couldn’t be bothered with me. I saw the ribbons adorned on the doors, bright pink and baby blues, while my door had a single leaf that held a tear. That signifies to all those around me that our room was a grieving room. Our room wasn’t full of happiness and photos to share with a birth announcement. Our room was hollow, creepily eerie, full of pain, and a mother with a broken heart.
Each time I went into a hospital to give birth to one of my rainbows, following the loss of Molli, I would often wonder which door would have that weeping leaf taped to it. Which mother was just like me, on the other side of that door, grieving her entire world as it slipped out of her fingers while being reminded of the happiness around her from the lullaby being played over the speakers. I never forgot. I never will. I grieve with each of you who’ve been in my shoes and I stand with you. You are not alone.
This is why October is so important to me. My first positive test with Crimsyn Molli was on October 4, 2011. I never knew that following October in 2012 would mean something completely different for us. I never knew that October meant anything except breast cancer awareness (which is a wonderful and worthy cause too) before that day. Most of you probably didn’t know this either and why should you? I hope you never do with all of my soul. If I could shield you from this grief, I would in a heartbeat. Things they never tell you though.... the echoes of an empty heart that stings with pain every time a cold wind blows through. What is on the other side of that door with the tear stained leaf.
