Even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget
falls drop by drop upon the heart,
until, in our own despair,
against our will,
comes wisdom
through the awful grace of God.


Memories hit me when I least expect it, or sometimes on days like today when I do expect it, and I still lose myself in them. But the types of memories are changing.

During the first procedure when I was laying on the bed. I had said my goodbye to The Husband and it was just me, the doctor, nurse and anesthesiologist. In two days it will be four years since this happened, but when I call it up it plays back in my mind like a familiar movie. I was nervous and scared and sad – I had never had stitches, never mind being put under. I looked around and said ‘I’m scared’ and the nurse, Stephanie, grabbed my hand and said “It’s okay” and that is the last thing I remember.

During the second procedure, laying in the same room. Dr. R looked at my ruby ring and mentioned how pretty it is. I told her why I bought it – for our first baby, who would have been due the past July. I remember her sad smile and the look in her eyes. A few months ago I wrote her a letter, because I never thanked her. It may seem odd to thank the doctor who ended two of your wanted pregnancies, but I was thankful I had the choice and a highly skilled doctor to perform the procedures. If not for that choice and doctors like her, where would I have been? I don’t know. So I wrote her to express that to her.

Before the third procedure, laying in the bed. Telling the nurse, Caitlin, how thirsty and hungry I was. Wondering how long the delay would last. She told me that when I was out of the procedure and awake she would have toast and coffee or tea waiting for me – I asked for tea. She said she makes amazing tea and it would be the best tea I ever had. It was. Occasionally, when making my nightly cup of tea, I think of her. Seeing Dr. T a few minutes later – a few minutes after the calming medications had kicked in – and telling her how nice her teeth were – so straight, so white and I hadn’t noticed until then.

I remember laying in bed four years ago tonight. So nervous, so sad. The Husband came in and kneeled by the bed to talk to me, trying his best to be optimistic. Telling me that maybe I was just dehydrated, or maybe the baby was just in a bad position, or maybe the ultrasound tech didn’t know what she was doing. I remember laying there curled up, staring at the television. I knew it wasn’t any of that. I knew the next day wouldn’t bring me good news. I just knew. He doesn’t remember the date but I do.

This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

12 Responses to Memories

  1. lyra211 says:

    I think it’s so beautiful that you wrote to your doctor to express your gratitude for her skilled and compassionate care. I wish I’d had a doctor like that when we lost our daughter. Doctors seem to be in one of those professions that always get the blame when things go wrong, but rarely get the credit when things go right — and in your case, things went very, very wrong, but your doctor handled it as well as possible, and it’s amazing that you were able to recognize that and express your appreciation. Thinking of you. These days of intense memories can be so hard. (Mine was September 11.)

    Liked by 1 person

    • I felt very strongly that I wanted to write to her – more so to her than my old OB. After I did it was like a weight lifted. She actually even sent me a note back, which I wasn’t expecting but it was nice to know she received the letter and cared. And yes, these days are hard. February and July 21 (first due date) seem to be the worst for me, but we get through them – somehow.


  2. This is so beautifully written it is actually achingly painful to read. I could barely breathe by the end. These are very real losses with very real grief attached, and while having a baby in your arms can bring you so much joy that it eases the pain, nothing takes away the scars… the memories. You carry them with you the same way you carry the babies you lost with you. Thank you for sharing. ❤

    Liked by 1 person

    • Very real losses indeed – something I think other people who may not have struggled with IF or RPL kind of gloss over. Not all, but some. I am glad to have a tribe here on this blog who understand and accept it, the highs and lows! Thank you for getting it. I hope you are doing well. xxx.


  3. Your post is powerful and heartbreaking. It takes me back. Thank you for sharing. Hope you are well.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. RJ says:

    I am moved to tears by this post. Beautifully written and your memories of those who were there are crystal clear. Sending you love.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you – it’s funny that the memories now seem more “people oriented” instead of “shock and trauma oriented” like they were in the immediate aftermath. Maybe it’s our brain or sub conscious way of protecting ourselves and not reopening old wounds. Who knows? xxx.


  5. sbach1222 says:

    Broken hearted just reading these memories.

    Hope all is well.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. This just broke my heart. ❤ ❤ ❤

    Liked by 1 person

Let me know what you think...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s