A week ago I wrote a post about some of the reasons I am choosing to have a home birth this time around. You can check it out here if you missed it. In that post, I gave some background of my previous births and four reasons why I am choosing to to give birth at home. Those reasons are based on my past experiences and are slightly medical in nature. Now I’d like to share a more personal reason that led to this decision.
A little over a year ago I had a miscarriage. At my 15 week prenatal appointment they couldn’t find a heartbeat with the doppler so they brought in an ultrasound machine to find it that way. I wasn’t worried, as it is often hard for the doctors to find my little ones heartbeats early in my pregnancies. But as soon as I saw that little body, and didn’t see a flutter where the heart should be, I knew. I knew before the doctor said anything.
Immediately I burst into tears. I had never imagined that I would have a miscarriage. I never realized how deep a sense of loss I would feel for this tiny person I hadn’t even met yet. There were so many emotions flooding my heart all at once. Grief. Sorrow. And shame. I was ashamed that my body couldn’t protect this helpless life that was inside me. I know that was an irrational emotion, but one I felt nonetheless. I remember not wanting to tell anyone. I didn’t want to see their looks of pity or hear their feeble attempts at comfort.
Luckily I had a friend I could go to that understood. She prayed with me and made me feel a little better, and when I left her house I was able to call my husband at work. He came home right away and we grieved. And he handled telling everyone because I just wasn’t able to. All I wanted to do was clean the outside of our house so I wouldn’t have to see the people inside.
My poor children were so understanding. Even now, a year later they talk about their baby brother who is waiting for them in Heaven. They were so sweet to me, cuddling with me in bed when I needed a hug. I am so thankful that I had them with me.
Later that day I went into the hospital for them to induce the miscarriage. The doctors had said I could wait and my body would likely do it on its own, but knowing that I was carrying my dead baby inside me was too much, so I called and they told me to come on in. They put me in a small room off to the side of the labor and delivery ward and started the drugs to ripen my cervix and start contractions. Many hours later, in the middle of the night, my angel was born.
The nurses were all amazing. My husband and I were able to hold our baby for as long as we wanted and say goodbye. We were given an infant loss package with a tiny little handmade blanket, foot and hand prints of our little guy, a grief journal and some other things. The journal really came in handy over the next few months as a place I could write out my thoughts and emotions. I will always be thankful for the support and love we were given.
Although I’m glad I got to have that experience there with the labor and delivery nurses and their hearts of gold, it was only a few doors down from where my other babies were born. A place that once held such fond memories of seeing my children for the first time now will always hold a memory for me of when I saw my angel baby for the only time. I saw the little hands that would never hold my own. The little feet I would never hear running down the hall. The little mouth I would never hear call my name. I know I will see him, perfect and whole in Heaven one day, but until then there will be a place missing in my life.
And that is why I want to have this baby at home. Away from a hospital that sees death as much as life. Away from the sterile lights and the busyness. Away from a place where my child and I are just passing through, but don’t really belong. We belong at home, surrounded by love and life. That’s the environment I want my baby to experience for the first time. Love. Warmth. Home.
linked up at Good Morning Mondays