I 'Lost' Him
A story of loss.
“Do you feel pregnant?”
My heart stops. My breath stops. The world stops. And then I’m angry and hurt even more than I thought possible.
I scream, “It doesn’t matter if I feel pregnant! I am pregnant! The baby is right there!” though the scream remains locked in my thoughts. I’m unable to bring the sound to life.
This is what the doctor asked me after he told me that my baby had died.
It was a routine ultrasound appointment. I was 11 weeks and some odd days into my very first pregnancy. My husband couldn’t get off work to join me, to which I was partly excited about because, for just a moment, I could have this baby to myself and be the one to share the pictures and the awareness of him to my husband and everyone else later. I felt like I held the keys to our happiness—to our life.
Until I didn’t.
I lost the baby. Lost.
Why do we say lost? As if it was my responsibility to watch him at the park and when I wasn’t looking…Poof. He’s gone.
I was all smiles as the Ultrasound Tech began spreading the jelly on my, admittedly, very flat stomach. I watched the screen with my heart bursting in happiness trying to guess what I was looking at in the fuzz of black and white.
But the Tech remained silent.
“Why isn’t she saying anything?” I kept thinking. I am getting nervous now.
And then she gets up and tells me she’ll be right back. She exits the room.
I hold my breath. Waiting. Hoping. Wondering...maybe this is routine? Yes, this is routine. I’ve never done this before, maybe she can’t say anything. Maybe that’s what the doctor is for?
But that doesn’t seem right.
No. Something is definitely wrong.
A man I don’t know walks in and introduces himself as the doctor in charge of the department. “There is no heartbeat. It appears that the baby stopped growing around 6 weeks and likely died around that time.”
I’m stunned. I can’t say anything. I’m frozen and heartbroken. Why did I come here alone?
“Do you feel pregnant?”, he asks.
The fucking balls, right? Who the fuck says that?
They can see my shock and stillness and don’t know what to do with me. Tears are falling down my cheeks, but silently. I know I can’t let the wall drop here—not now. I won’t be able to stop and there are people everywhere.
I lost the baby.
He’s still with me, in me… but…lost.
They send me upstairs to my OB. I can tell this isn’t routine, but they seem at odds to know what to do with the statue I’ve become. They offer to call my husband. They ask if I want to call him while I sit with them—to which I whisper, “I can’t. If I say it, I won’t be able to stop crying.”
I don’t know how much time has passed but I finally make to my car. I call my husband and shatter.
This piece was written and contributed by:
Founder + Executive Managing Editor at Kind Publishing Co. Energy Healer
Alyssa is an Enneagram 5, Manifesting Generator who loves matcha lattés, reading books, and expanding her spiritual self + awareness. After years of struggling with chronic illness and then finding empowerment in healing her mind, body, and soul through a wide range of practices, Alyssa was called to start Kind Publishing Co., a lifestyle publication that merges health, happiness, and woo. Here, she and guest contributors share practices, techniques, and stories to empower you to find your own health and happiness. Her mission is to normalize every aspect of the human experience, while advocating for a continues evolution and curiosity for the betterment of you.
Alyssa is also Reiki Master through Usui/Holy Fire® III Reiki III and provides energy healing and intuitive guidance through The Kind Witch.