I’ve been sulking in bed the last few days. My husband put my sister in charge of making sure I don’t just melt into the mattress. So when I wasn’t being dragged out by my sister, I was trying absorb myself in the bed. The first 24 hours after we found out there was no heartbeat, I had sobbing fits on and off. My husband held me while I cried, trying to be the strength I needed him to be while he held back tears of his own.
But after all that, I just haven’t had any words. People showered me with love and encouraged me to keep talking about it. They’d ask me how I was doing; even my husband texted the same thing to me while he was at work. But how was I supposed to answer that? I still don’t know.
I don’t know how I’m doing.
Was I ever really even pregnant? I haven’t started bleeding, maybe there’s a chance my baby is still developing… Am I a mom now? I don’t know.
I never even got to see anything inside me. The small bits of the screen from the pelvic ultrasound made me look empty. When she did the transvaginal ultrasound, I couldn’t see the screen; but LG said he saw it. He saw something inside me. It’s still in there. I don’t know. What did it look like, I asked him. Did it look like it would be a big 9lb baby boy with a mustache, just like in my dreams? I wish I got to see. I really wanted to see.
I’ve had no words, because I’ve been so confused. I don’t know what I am anymore. I don’t know what my baby could have been. I don’t know what it’s going to be like when this pregnancy is really over. I don’t know.
I really only know one thing. I want to shout it out, because it hurts me so much to have it be the only truth that my brain comprehends right now. I want to let it go and not be real. I want it to be a bad dream.
My baby is dead.
There’s nothing I can do. There is no way to revive my baby. There is no chance to change this situation. There’s no way to make my baby’s heat start beating.
How am I supposed to deal with that?
I don’t know.