Wednesday, June 11, 2008


In the morning, we dressed for the final set of photos. It was an occasion of sorts. We didn't bother to dress up, even though it was a funeral of sorts as well. In our fleece and baggy pants, we looked like just a regular couple coming in for a regular check up. We got in the car, drove, and parked like any other day.

Smacking on her gum and swiveling back and forth in her chair, the receptionist click clacked on her keyboard with her palm tree painted finger nails after making me spell out my name twice.

- Oh? How do you spell that again? O-H, you said? I don't see no O-H in here. When'd you make your appointment?

- Just last night. I called in because I was bleeding, and the nurse on the phone told me to come in this morning at 9:45.

- Well, I don't see no O-H here. Have a seat.

We sat and we sat and we sat. After forty minutes of doctors and technicians passing back and forth in the hallway, with not even a glance in our direction, looking officious and preoccupied, a young asian woman in green garbs called my name. As she walked us to the ultrasound room, she smiled and introduced herself. And I turned to her, as if to make a confession, and burst out, I lost my baby, and my eyes exploded into tears. I presented the photo of the ultrasound we had taken just two weeks earlier, of the little creature that had a heartbeat, as if to plead my case.

She probed, and we saw the image of the empty uterus and of the void where "the gestation had taken place." Having been told what we already knew, it now became a reality because someone else now knew it to be true and told us so.

After I dressed, we slowly walked to the elevator, and with a start, I realized that we had left the photo behind. Jeff, after asking if I really wanted to keep it, ran back to get it.

While waiting for the D&C, we walked to AG Ferrari down the street for lunch but really to kill time. I ordered a prosciutto sandwich, and I bit through the focaccia, mozzarella, capers, organic greens until I reached the prosciutto and slowly clamped my teeth through the thinly sliced pieces of ham. As I chewed, I felt the prosciutto
fill the crevices between my teeth and dig into my gums, and I savored each bite, seeking compensation. I wanted to load my body with all that I had foregone, as if to say, there, I am getting something out of this.


  1. I'm not much of a crier myself. My father died only four years ago at the age of 43 - a victim of bad decisions by the pilots of a plane in the mountains of Afghanistan. He was my best friend. Still, I only allowed myself one good cry. I had to be strong for my siblings and family.

    Then, last year, my wife ran in the room at 5:45 in the morning to tell me the stick had a plus sign. You know the joy. But, like you, that joy was fleeting. After only nine weeks our baby was gone too. I had never seen this little thing growing. We hadn't yet gotten a picture. But I felt like I had just lost a child...because I had. I cried for days.

    But there is hope. This Friday my wife will be induced and give birth for the first time to our second child.

    I appreciate you story. Good luck and all hope to you.


  2. I'm sorry. I've been there and it's an awful thing.

  3. I'm drifting over here because of ABA coverage, but I've had to do this thing, with the empty ultrasound, and the lost child and - for me - months of crying and darkness.

    I wish you well.

  4. Drifting over b/c of the ABA Journal coverage as well. I cried as I read your posts having been there and done that myself. Miscarried at nearly 10 weeks -- then went through nearly 3 months of anger followed by nearly 3 months of sadness. I still tear up when I think about that time in my life and the loss I suffered. Now I have two children, and everyone I know who miscarried ultimately went on to have children (whether through birth or adoption). I wish you the best. Peace.

  5. It's been years for me and I cry still. I have two healthy children now, but I remember the darkness.
    Have more seaweed soup. There will be a baby one day soon.

  6. Shinyung - my heart goes out to you. As a woman who has been through 2 D&C's and one 2nd trimester loss since Feb. 2007, I know that it sucks and I am sorry that you are joining the club, so to speak. And as a lawyer, for knowing that having kids is supposed to be such a wonderful thing, but it always gets fraught with work BS. Stay strong and keep trying. Good luck.

  7. Denise - I'm so sorry for your loss. I've BTDT myself -- twice -- before Brian and I have Brody and Sabrina. Devastating. (At the time, I had no kids so besides losing the babies, I was losing hope that I'd ever be a mother.) M/C is so common and yet no one talks about it. Just know you're not alone and that I'm sending you my best wishes for a sticky pregnancy soon.

    ~ Lori Baker (Brian's wife)
    Email me if you need to talk...