the ultrasound

on thursday i would have been 12 weeks pregnant. 

we had our 12 week ultrasound booked the day before. as my husband and i walked from the car to the clinic, my stomach grew uneasy and i felt the need to pause and express: i’m nervous. something feels different this time. what if it’s bad? at least this location has very kind technicians. i don’t want to jinx it but, my experience has really been positive with them so far.

while some might assume that that’s a normal way to feel in anticipation of that milestone, that’s not how i felt weeks earlier at my 7 week ultrasound. by contrast, i was eager and filled with excited anticipation. 

i grabbed alex’s hand and we continued our way to the clinic. we checked in for the appointment and as we waited to get called in, a technician came out and loudly exclaimed: oh no, not another pregnancy ultrasound. i refuse to do this. to which the front desk associate replied: i’m sorry but, we all must share the burden. 

i sat, shocked at the inconsiderate nature of that dialogue, trying to quell the knot that uncomfortably tightened within my stomach. well, i guess i did jinx it. why would witnessing the creation of life be a burden? i thought to myself, while wondering what must have caused a technician who i had seen just a week earlier to feel so frustrated. 

another technician appeared several minutes later and called me into the room. sounds like you have had a lot of pregnancy ultrasounds this week? she looked at me with confusion and then seemingly embarrassingly explained that: the other technician was having a day. that was unprofessional of her. i nodded and we exchanged slight smiles as i slid onto the bed. will my husband be able to join? to which she replied yes, after the medical portion is complete. after lifting my sweater and lowering my leggings to reveal my bloated abdomen, she applied the cold lubricant and began to glide the camera around.

her silence was deafening and energetic shift was palpable as she concentrated on the screen. it was clear that something was wrong. after what felt like an eternity, she asked me to please use the washroom, put on a gown and return for the transvaginal ultrasound.

i opened the door, saw her standing in the doorway of another room and heard her say yes, 12 weeks. she turned, our eyes met and i gave her a weak smile as we walked back into the room. as she proceeded with the next part of the ultrasound, i forced myself to focus on taking slow, deep belly breaths to avoid melting into a panic. 

she completed the ultrasound, asked me to get dressed and advised that i call my midwife as soon as possible. so i guess my husband won’t be coming in? her avoidant gaze and uncomfortable disposition caused my eyes to sting with the reality of what i knew would soon be affirmed. i can’t say anything, call your midwife.

i quickly left the room and walked straight out of the clinic, passing alex in the waiting room as i urgently whispered: it’s bad. with a waterfall of tears streaming down my face, i fumbled for my phone and left a message for my midwife. 

we stumbled back to the car and sat in silence, hand in hand. our plans to enjoy a celebratory lunch shifted into the decision to pick-up takeout and drive straight home. 

over an hour later, the midwife called: the ultrasound tech could not detect a heartbeat, the baby passed around 10 weeks 5 days and what i was experiencing was a missed miscarriage. in other words, my body had not yet recognized that the life inside of me was no longer there. she would refer me to the early pregnancy assessment clinic to discuss my options for medical intervention but to her knowledge, they were only open on mondays and wednesdays so, she was not sure how soon i would hear from them - hopefully soon.

i hung up the phone unsure of how to feel or what to say. i nestled as deeply as i could into alex’s arms, cradled in the corner of our couch, overcome by a wave of deep sorrow. 

are you hungry? he asked. 
no i replied. 
me neither.  

we spent a few hours in that corner, allowing our bodies to surrender to the slumber of sadness.

the wait

we awoke to the evening sunlight softly pouring through the slats of the window, illuminating our living room with a soft glow. 

we should probably eat, he suggested. so we untangled ourselves from our embrace within the couch and stepped towards the kitchen.

as we sat at the kitchen table, i couldn’t help but incessantly check my phone to be sure i had not missed a call from the clinic. layered on top of that, i felt an urgency to inform the few who knew about the pregnancy of the news. not because i felt that they should know so soon but, to prevent a well-intended check-in that would be met with a painful yet honest response of: there was no heartbeat. 

between gentle stabs of the greens in my bowl, i drafted each message with care. how could i even begin to express what was on my mind without eliciting a wave of questions which would surely push me over the edge? i quickly understood that this was the first boundary i needed to set, to cautiously bolster my precarious state of being.

i then realized i needed to turn my focus to my business and relieve the pressure of any commitments amidst the uncertainty. i first had to inform ju, who i had yet to tell about the pregnancy, as it felt necessary for her to understand what i was going through and the potential short-term impact to her workload. i then decided to reschedule 1:1 strategy sessions, to ensure that i could focus on my needs without compromising the presence that i owe to my clients. i was met with nothing but love and understanding.

after what felt like an eternity, a day later, i finally received a call from the clinic. the earliest that they could see me was the following wednesday. they were only open from 9-12 on mondays and wednesdays for appointments and on fridays for procedures. 

but what do i do until then? 
stay home, rest and if your body begins to recognize the pregnancy, only go to the hospital if you have heavy bleeding (ie. soaking through 2-3 pads in an hour) and severe pain or a fever. 

my mind went blank and my throat closed so tightly that i could not express myself. 

are you still there? 

yes, i shakily whispered through tears. i know that this isn’t your fault, i’m just in shock and feel unsupported in the uncertainty of what’s to come. are you sure there isn’t an appointment available sooner?

i’m sorry. unfortunately, we are booked solid. many others are going through what you are too.

over the coming minutes, hours and days confusion, frustration and anger slowly overpowered the sadness. 

confusion as i would tenderly touch my belly, asking it why it wasn’t ready to let go. 
frustration as i would pace aimlessly within my space, knowing that the worst had yet to come but not knowing when or how it would all unfold. 
anger as i would delve into the depths of google, only to recognize the limitations of the western medical system with respect to the female body. 

do you want to watch something to distract yourself? 
yes. but what?
how about perfect match?

and indeed, it was the perfect distraction to provide moments of reprieve from the weight of our predicament.

the miscarriage

why is this happening? i asked the baby in sadness. and i heard, you know why. i suddenly remembered something i had once written which might have the answer. i quickly made my way into my home office and dug into a drawer filled with half-written journals. i found the one i was looking for and upon cracking it open, landed on the exact page that left a hazy imprint on my memory:

july 5th, 2022

to my little one:

i am here to bring you into this world. to love you unconditionally. and i suspect you will come into this world to crack my heart wide open. to teach me of a love that i never knew could exist. you will teach me to receive love in ways i have not before. to ask for support from your father. to trust that he will provide it and know that while it may take him time, he will soon understand. i need to give him space to learn. 

little one, you are here to make us stronger.

i sat on our tufted rug in tears of disbelief. i guess i did know why this would happen.

that evening, while i lay in bed with the endless murmur of my thoughts, my grandmother came to mind. i have always felt her presence nearby and on occasion, i would speak to her but i had never asked for her help. so in that moment, with my left hand on my belly, i decided to. i had nothing more to lose.

yiayia, i know that you are always by my side and i really need your help. please let the baby know that they will be safe with you and that it is ok for them to let go of their physical body. that i will honour them and they will always be a part of me, even if they will no longer be physically. 

shortly after i drifted off to sleep.

the next morning, i woke up with discomfort in my abdomen and went to the bathroom; i had started to bleed.

thank you yiayia. 

my eyes began to well with tears and i felt equal parts:

relief, knowing that my body had finally clued in,
hope, knowing that there was a chance my body would handle things naturally without medical intervention and
dread, still not knowing what exactly to expect.

my acupuncturist had previously offered to come see me and provide a treatment to support my body and while at first i was hesitant, i now knew that i needed to receive that support. so we arranged for her to come on sunday afternoon.

on sunday morning, i was woken up by strong cramping which slowly increased in intensity throughout the day. the acupuncturist came and went and alex and i even went on a walk to ease our nerves. wow, i thought, maybe this won’t be as bad as i’m anticipating.

by 11pm that evening, the pain became unbearable. it was unlike anything i had ever experienced before and completely unresponsive to the heating pads that we had on rotation and maximum doses of over the counter pain medication. i found myself running from the couch to the bathroom and back in attempt to relieve the relentless pressure that only seemed to amplify the pain, only finding myself confused to see that the bleeding had almost entirely stopped. it soon dawned on me: these are not cramps, these are contractions.

we moved from the couch to the bedroom with the hope that a change in environment would offer some source of comfort, but nothing changed. the sprint from bed to bathroom continued. at one point i rolled off the bed onto my yiayia’s egyptian rug in child’s pose, in attempt to feel more grounded. alex reached over the edge of the bed to place a steady hand on my back. as i bawled my eyes out and felt the coarse rug beneath my finger tips, i whispered yiayia, i really need your help. please. 

another grip of pain took over my body and i ran to the bathroom once more. as i landed on the toilet, the single bulb above me started to flicker. it’s you. thank you for letting me know that you’re here. i slowly looked up at the light and it stopped flickering. 

alex, she’s here. 

i got up, returned to the bedroom and he wrapped his arms around me in a tight embrace just as another contraction forced me out of it and back into the bathroom. 

before i could settle onto the toilet something that felt like a small water balloon flew out of me and splashed into the bowl. in that moment i knew our baby was out of my body and in the embrace of the toilet. 

alex, please grab a spoon and tupperware. fast.

what happened to the pain, i do not know - my mind had a new objective. with extreme care, i used the large spoon to scoop an amniotic sac with the placenta and the tiniest human i had ever seen into a tupperware. and we both sat on the cold marble floor, speechless, staring at it. 

it was a boy. with 20 perfect fingers and toes decorated with soft fingernail indents. he was the most hauntingly beautiful thing we had ever seen.

i can’t believe we created him. 
i know, that’s pretty incredible.
what do we do with him? we cannot flush him down the toilet. he’s not a goldfish. do we have any potting soil? it’s too cold to bury him outside - the earth is frozen.
i think we do, i’ll go check.

the honouring

alex searched our closet and storage locker but, there was no soil. to his protest, i delicately rinsed the baby’s body with water. and we agreed to clear a shelf in the fridge and keep him there temporarily, until we could wake up and purchase a plant the next day.

i lit a small tealight handle next to a bouquet of beautiful flowers sent by a friend, and asked alex to sit next to me on the couch. it felt important for us to verbally process what we just witnessed and honour our baby boy for the short time that he was with us.

what is his name? i asked myself. i immediately heard adrian. 
that’s not a name we had ever considered before, i wonder what it means?

my eyes widened in response to a quick google search which yielded: 
“of the adriatic”

it is a name of roman origins that referred to someone living in the hadria region of northern italy, near the adriatic sea.

on a walk by the lake just weeks before that moment, i asked alex what natural element does the baby feel like to you? to which he replied water, and earth. i smiled as i expressed that every time i touch my belly, i see and feel the ocean.

he was born a pisces, before his likely arrival as a virgo. signs of water and earth. 

how are you feeling right now? 

honestly, this may sound bizarre but, i feel excited. we created a miracle. and while it wasn’t the outcome we had hoped for, i am in awe of what my body is capable of. i feel stronger. i feel hopeful. and i’m excited by the idea that one day, what we hope for may come. but most importantly, i know that whatever happens next, everything will be ok. 

yeah, me too.

we sat in each others’ arms in silence, allowing the resonance of those words to sink in. as the adrenaline began to give way to exhaustion, we both felt the need to rest.

before we go to bed, what would you like to thank adrian for teaching us?
that we are stronger than ever before. 

and we both looked at each other in somber disbelief at the clarity we finally felt.

after a night of uncomfortable sleep, we woke up and knew we needed to fuel our bodies for what we had planned for the day ahead. alex made pancakes with tea and we sat in our dining room, slowly savouring the sweetness of the maple syrup and warmth of the fruit that decorated the stacks. 

i knew i was in no condition to leave the house but, my desire to honour our baby gave me the strength i needed to move forward. 

to commemorate the memory of our water and earth baby, alex bought me a meaningful token from bluboho - my favourite jewlery shop. 

“our tree of life carved medallion pendant necklace punctuates the strength, grounding and transformation gained from our journey. our tree of life necklace reminds us that regardless of the circumstances we endure, we can look to our foundation for strength and support.”

we then made our way to home depot to select a plant, soil and pot for the burial. after walking in circles of confusion and indecision, we finally settled on a ficus. a later google search on the symbolism of the ficus would reveal that: 

“in ancient egypt, pharaohs believed that when they died their souls would encounter a ficus sycomorus fig tree at the edge of the desert, and that the goddess hathor would emerge from the foliage to welcome them to heaven.” from folklore thursday 

ironically, i have kept a carving of the goddess hathor by my bedside from the time we were trying to conceive until now, to support fertility and pregnancy. 

at homesense, we found a simple, white pot decorated with circles to represent new beginnings and the circle of life. 

once we made it back home, we prepared ourselves for the burial. we put on ‘underwater’ by ludovico einaudi on the record player. and we delicately began the process of returning our little one to the earth. 

do you have anything else you’d like to say to him? 
no, because i realized that he’s not going anywhere. he’ll always be with us.

little one, you came to make us stronger.

 

cover image captured captured by amber ellis of creating light studio.