Five years ago, at this minute, I was at St. Marks hospital in a hospital bed. I had learned earlier that day that the baby I had been carrying for 20 weeks had died. It came as quite a shock. I remember being so excited that John and I were finally going to try to have a baby. When I found out we were pregnant I was so happy. That innocent joy only lasted about 2 weeks. Then the sickness set in. I had heard the term "morning sickness" before, but never had I thought about what it meant or that it could happen to me. I was so sick. I had to take a leave of absence from my job. All I could do was lay on the couch, if I made it to the couch. Even thinking about eating made my stomach heave. Everyone told me that it was a good sign of a healthy pregnancy. Unfortunately I took comfort in that.
At 19 weeks I had my regular OB appointment. Everything was fine. I distinctly remember the doctor saying what a strong heartbeat the baby had. I had a blood test at the appointment. I also scheduled the ultrasound appointment for the following week where we would find out the gender of the baby. I had been feeling a little better the last few weeks and felt that things were looking up. I even started going back to work. The day before the ultrasound I got a call from the doctor's office saying that my blood test raised a red flag, but it was most likely nothing. I was supposed to make an appointment with a perinatologist just to make sure everything was fine. They said not to worry about it, that it was no big deal. I was upset and asked to leave work for awhile to calm down, which I did. I wasn't thinking about it at all on the way to the ultrasound. I was just excited. We even stopped on the way to get a video tape to record the baby.
We went in and the ultrasound tech started. She asked if we wanted to know the gender and of course we did. John was holding my hand. He was excited too. I realized something was amiss first. The tech would search the screen and then turn to my chart. She asked when my last appointment was. She asked me to hold my breath. She forgot to tell me that I could breathe again. We laughed a little. It was then that I said, "Can you not find a heartbeat?" She said, "No, I can't." That's when it hit me. I started to cry. It took John a little longer to understand. When he realized what it meant he cried too.
We opted to go straight to hospital where I would be induced. Jake came to the hospital to help John give me a blessing. He cried when he saw me. I have such sweet, sensitive brothers. My parents got there as soon as they could. It took quite a long time. I was induced around 1:00. The pain started getting bad around 10:00 pm. For some reason I chose to wait to get an epidural--until it was too late. Literally seconds after I got the epidural the baby was born. The nurse told us it was a boy. I had somehow known. I think it was around 5 am on February 8, 2007.
We decided to name him Jonah Smith. We buried him on Saturday, February 10th in a cemetery in Taylorsville, not far from where we live now. Although we have moved forward in our lives, he is never too far from my thoughts. I just wanted him to be remembered on his birthday.
