Heartbeats

The rain poured down on the window outside the Perinatal unit of the hospital as Josh and I waited for the nurse to call my name. I felt calm. The last ultrasound gave us good news, so I had no reason to believe this one would be any different. The nurse called my name and led us to the ultrasound room. I pulled my shirt up to expose my belly and laid down slowly on the paper-covered surface next to the ultrasound technician.

She started with Roman, our bigger baby. Normal growth, normal heartbeat, normal amniotic fluid. Roman was doing fantastic - as usual.

Next she measured Raven, our littler baby. He was measuring more than three weeks behind in growth. I watched as she changed to the setting where you should be able to see blood flow in the umbilical cord, as indicated by bright red and blue spots on the screen. I didn't want to register the fact that there was almost no red and no blue this time.

"Is your doctor Dr. Gainer?" she said, standing up.

I told her that it was. But there was something she wasn't telling us.

"Did you look at the heartbeat?" I asked, hoping she'd just forgotten.

She gave me a look I'll never forget. A look that has forever been etched into my memory. A look of pity--or was it sympathy? A look that told me my answer, before she uttered another word.

"There was no heartbeat. I'm so sorry."

I remember turning back to the screen, and for one moment I didn't react. For one moment I thought I could handle the news calmly and rationally. For one moment, everything went blank.

And then the moment was over, and I felt a sob escape from my lungs. The tears came and didn't stop. The technician left the room and Josh just stood there, holding me. The rest of the visit was a blur. The doctor came in, looked at Raven's heart on the ultrasound, and confirmed the technician's news. She told us that both babies would stay in there until Roman is ready to come out. She told us about the free cremation services that the hospital offers, and how the little urn would be about the size of a golf ball. She told us about the fact that there is a 15% chance that Raven's death caused some brain damage in Roman. She went on and on and after a while I just stopped listening. All I could think of was "there used to be a heartbeat, and now it isn't there." I kept repeating this in my mind over and over, unable to accept the truth of what had happened.

So now we have one baby.  And now, somehow, we have to deal with this invisible loss - a loss that no one can see because no one else has ever met this baby. No one else has ever heard or seen the steady beating of his fighting heart. No one else has felt him move, or sensed his presence. Or imagined what he'd look like, what his personality would be like, or how his life would be.

It's during times like these that I always turn to a particular scripture - one that gives me comfort when trials come upon me.

"And if thou shouldst be cast into the pit, or into the hands of murderers, and the sentence of death passed upon thee; if thou be cast into the deep; if the billowing surge conspire against thee; if fierce winds become thine enemy; if the heavens gather blackness, and all the elements combine to hedge up the way; and above all, if the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good." - D&C 122:7

Now I wonder if I'll ever be able to listen to this song again and maintain my composure: