But this year is different. This year, the memories of an ER, an ultrasound, and an unspeakable joy after a terrible scare slap me upside the head, pierce deep into my heart, and wake me up to remember the miracle of our Baby Valentine.
You see, I once lost a baby. You can call it "miscarriage" and understand that scientifically speaking, a "blighted ovum" means an actual embryo never developed inside the pregnancy sac. You can reason that an early loss is somehow "better" because of developmental problems, and you can try to convince yourself that losing deformed tissue is less traumatic than passing the actual form of a baby. You can battle all these thoughts pounding inside your head, but you cannot convince a mother that she did not carry life. Because when it's gone, you know what death feels like. And when you are blessed with another chance to become pregnant again, you feel especially alive.
Dear Pudgie,
On June 6, 2009, Mommy and Daddy discovered you were in Mommy's tummy. We were so excited. You gave us hope we thought we had lost.
But our joy was short-lived. One Friday evening, Mommy thought she was losing you. She knew the symptoms well. It was not that long ago your brother or sister went to live with Jesus, and Mommy was scared Jesus was taking you before she was ready to let you go.
We called the doctor. When he told Mommy to relax at home for an hour, Mommy crumpled on the couch with one horrible memory pounding in her head, "Not again!" Your big brother Will was so brave, quietly standing beside the couch as Daddy wrapped his arms around Mommy. It was hard for Mommy to see your brother looking so confused, but sometimes even grown-ups have to cry.
After one long hour, we drove to the hospital. Your first ultrasound could not find you, but God saw you, little Pudgie Bear, and He already knew your name. After 3-1/2 hours, Mommy still felt your life slip away. Every time she talked with the doctor on the phone, he repeated, "We'll probably have to do a D&C." Someday, you will know what this means. Mommy knew what it meant, and God filled me with uncommon boldness. So when the doctor tried to convince Mommy yet again, Mommy replied, "Absolutely not!"
PJ, those two words saved your life.
The kind lady doctor at the ER championed Mommy's decision, and Mommy and Daddy came home to wait for the inevitable.
But the inevitable never happened. Two days later, all symptoms that we were losing you suddenly stopped. And Mommy dared to hope.
On Monday morning, she called her doctor's office and they cleared an appointment at the end of the day. Early that afternoon, they suddenly called Mommy and asked her to come in early for another ultrasound. It just so happened God gave your case to a knowledgeable CNP, who was not happy with the quality of the hospital ultrasound results. When Mommy arrived at the doctor's office, they took her straight to the ultrasound room. An entire team stayed past the office's closing time, just for you, PJ. Just for the hope of you being alive.
Because you were still very tiny, the kind ultrasound tech cautioned we might not see anything on screen. So Mommy prepared herself to not get her hopes up too high as she waited to begin.
But there you were. A little speck of a thing, smaller than a grain of rice, the tech said. She turned on the sound. And there was your heartbeat. Then Mommy cried. We thought we lost you, PJ, but there you were, a little dot on the screen, a tiny bar faintly blinking, reassuring us, "Here I am! I'm alive!"
Knowing you now, knowing your happy-go-lucky personality, I can't help but wonder if you were laughing at us, thinking this was all a hilarious joke. But we weren't joking in that ultrasound room. Mommy was wiping her eyes, and she could tell the ultrasound tech had a moment to remind herself why she loved her job. Even from the very start, Pudgie Bear, you have had this special way of reminding us of the moments worth living for.
We called you our little miracle. Mommy learned the scientific explanation of what made her believe she was losing you, but she chooses to believe you are a fighter. When we learned you were due to arrive on Valentine's Day, we named you "Baby Valentine". Appropriate indeed, because you had already stolen our hearts.
PJ, carrying you caused Mommy to hold onto faith like never before. And Mommy learned to grasp the moments of reassurance as gifts from the Lord. When Mommy struggled with anxiety, she received an encouraging email from a woman who had shared a similar journey. When the Lord knew exactly the moment Mommy needed an extra touch of peace, Mommy felt you move in her tummy at an uncommonly early stage of your life. You taught us the faith it takes to live, and you rewarded us with absolute joy.
Now that you have been in our world for one whole year, you have reminded us every day how to smile. How to laugh. How to receive the joy God gifts us in the ordinary miracles of today. Your grandpa tells you that you have a smile that just won't quit! We stand amazed how one pudgy little redhead can breathe fresh life into the worst of days. God knew we needed you, Pudgie Bear, and you will always be our special Valentine.
Happy 1st Birthday!
With Love,
Mommy
I always hesitate to share the details of this story. Although it would be very easy to direct angry remarks towards the doctor who very well could have murdered my child, it is really my desire that we learn about our bodies and how human life actually forms. Listening to the various radio programs during Sanctity of Human Life Month, I was bothered by how many women chose to believe what some organization told them about their babies' development without actually researching it for themselves. I am not easily shocked, but to hear in this age of scientific achievements how very few women truly understand the stages of pregnancy and that you normally cannot see a baby via ultrasound until after 6 weeks at the earliest, flabbergasted me. Had I not known this detail myself, I very well could have listened to the doctor's advice and unknowingly ended PJ's life. I certainly do not want to hop on the "doctors are evil" bandwagon, like so many do when they hear of one bad doctor making one bad decision. I do not fault the doctor. Rather, I choose to remain thankful for my efforts of researching the facts about God's design for life, and also for the knowledge I gained from my previous miscarriage that since I did not need a D&C at 8-1/2 weeks, I certainly did not need one at 5-1/2 weeks. Admittedly, that particular doctor is not my favorite in the group practice I patient, but it must also be said that the concern and proactive efforts of the CNP and ultrasound tech there, truly represent the other doctors I have had the pleasure to meet.
