It was December 31, 2011 and as we did every year since becoming husband and wife we were at church ringing in the New Year the right way.

Our Pastor had made an alter call for all married couples looking to conceive to come up to the altar for a prayer of blessing, I grabbed my husband and up we went.

We had been trying for a while and nothing was happening, so why not humble ourselves and walk up in front of all these people and let the mega church’s parishioner know that we can’t have a baby.

The pastor prayed a fervent prayer, and there I stood, believing in God’s promises. “We will reconvene at this alter New Year’s Eve 2012, I am confident that the Lord has heard our prayers” said my Pastor.

We were already expecting, we just didn’t know.

April 2011

It was unseasonably warm for a Sunday afternoon in April. Hubby and I had got out of church and decided to stop by the grocery store to replenish our food stock. I had quite a ravenous appetite and the supermarket had become our second home.

“Hey baby, I think I’m a throw some meat on the grill” he said. “OK, let me go get some fruits, I’ll meet you in aisle 3” I replied.

I had a spring in my step that day. The week before had been a painful one. I was in and out of the hospital trying to relieve excruciating abdominal pain. Doctors sent me home with a diagnosis of “everything is fine” and “some women experience pain during the first stages of pregnancy”.

I accepted the physician’s analysis and went on about my business.

When we finally got home we unloaded our bags and prepped for a late lunch. While I diced fruit, hubby grilled.

I was thinking about the week ahead and the fun things I planned to do, when I felt a tiny drop of liquid roll down my inner thigh.

Didn’t really think much of it.

Unbeknownst to me, that drop was the prequel to a gush.

At that very moment, between thoughts the upcoming week and the dicing of watermelon and mangoes, the unthinkable happened.

That one thing you don’t expect 152 days into your pregnancy.

That one thing you don’t expect after standing at the altar praying to God for a child because you’re about to be 31 and you’ve been married for 6 years and people are talking.

“Honeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeyy” I screamed, but he couldn’t hear me. The glass balcony doors were closed to prevent BBQ smoke from coming inside the condo.

I screamed again and this time he heard me. Hubby came in and there I stood, paralyzed with fear, in a puddle of clear water.

A small stream of the warm liquid slowly trickling down my leg turning my light grey sweatpants into a darker shade.

We stood there, staring at each other. In utter shock. Trying to make sense of the situation until the silence was broken.

“I’m taking you to the hospital” he said calmly.

After a few tests, we finally were able to get some results.

I was informed that the gush of water was caused by the amniotic sac’s premature rupture and that I had lost 90% of my amniotic fluid.

And the heartbeat.

The heartbeat of our unborn son, that sweet beat that is music to expecting parent’s ears, it was gone.

“Mrs. B, given the circumstances we’re going to have to remove the baby to avoid any infections to your body. There are a few ways to go about this, but because of the baby’s size we will have to move you to the delivery room and proceed with delivering him”.

I was induced and labor began.

I delivered him.

The next day, after running a few more tests, I was informed that there were no real explanations why my amniotic sac had ruptured prematurely. I was also informed that I had fibroids and I should consider having them removed or conceiving would be very difficult. That surgery would be a good option but the downside would be a waiting period of 2 to 3 years before trying to conceive again.

As I laid there after giving birth to a son that would never come home with us, and the devastating news, I thought about that prayer at the altar on December 31, 2011 and wondered why He had let this happen.

I was shaken and so was my faith.

I felt alone.

That awful feeling of loneliness.

That solitude that we’ve all felt at one point in our lives.

That intangible emotion that is so strong it’s almost tangible.

Pure emptiness.

Realizing right at that moment, that my womb was now an empty nest.

Charlotte

image credit: self portrait of Charlotte