The Loss of One More

Staring up at the ceiling

Fluorescent lights

My eyes fixated on a black smudge of something stuck to its surface.  No telling how long it has been there.  “How many others have looked up at this same spot?” I wonder. 

I wonder a lot of things as I focus all of my attention above; anywhere but below.

I grab onto that stained light as an anchor.  “Help me from looking!” my heart begs.

My eyes dart to my left and I see tears in his eyes- then quick, back to the ceiling; to the smudge.  He squeezes my hand and I know that it’s over. 

I must focus if I wish to keep from being swallowed by the pain. 

“Lord, I cannot do this.  Please don’t make me do this.” 

My body trembles uncontrollably beneath the blankets that desperately offer their warmth; my insides too cold to receive any.

My teeth chatter and I know that He is near.

With sympathetic eyes the nurse asks, “Is this your first baby?”

“No, my sixth,” I hear myself reply. 

Relief floods her face; her sympathy muted.  I pull the blanket over my face then.  Like a child, I retreat.  If I close my eyes the truth can’t find me. 

“Five kids at home, huh?  You have a full house!” she laughs as my eyes are drawn once more to the ceiling.  I suppose my house should not feel the loss of one more.

She finishes then and whispers, “Thank you” as she leaves.  I wonder briefly if I should say, “You’re welcome.”

Alone with him in the room again, I pray he won’t speak.  My eyes once again penetrate the smudge on fluorescence, and “It’s going to be okay,” slams my body into the fetal position as I gasp for air; choking on the ocean of tears I’ve been restraining.

“Breathe,” he says, and I do, and I squeeze his hand, building up the courage to look into his eyes again.

The Doctor walks in then and says there is no heartbeat.

I see that his eyes are kind and they are gentle.  He tells me how sorry he is and that he wishes it had turned out differently.

So do I.

Just like that, it’s over.

We gather our things together and go home.

10 thoughts on “The Loss of One More

  1. Hugs and prayers to you! I am so sorry. ❤

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I have been there. Thanks for being vulnerable and sharing your story. It helps to know we are not alone. Praying for you and your family!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you so much. I’m so sorry that you have been here as well 😦


  3. Jessica Heinrich October 31, 2020 — 9:45 pm

    I love you

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Im so very sorry Laura. Praying hard for your heart💔

    Liked by 1 person

  5. I cried when I read this. I felt your pain in sharing. I see you were 7 weeks and one day. The pain is as great at 7 weeks or 7 months. It is a loss, a void of what was to be. I lost my first little boy 1/17/71. I will never forget him. Stillborn. I went on to have 3 more kids and have 9 grandkids, I will still never forget him. I have done ultrasound over 35 years. I say a pray EVERY single time I do a baby that the heartbeat be there. I never turn the screen until I see it. I dont have the words to explain, and after all you’ve been there. But I sit with the girl ( and guy) I hold them, I dont talk, I just am there. It is one of life’s most devastating moments. I read your story and I cried. God bless you and your family. My heart is with you. Your unborn baby and mine are angels in heaven.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you so much 😭 I am so so sorry to hear about your loss as well.
      Your work is holy work. I have considered becoming an ultrasound specialist myself


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