Deja Vu

It comes back so clearly, so easily. I have a new friend on bedrest. I visited her a few weeks ago, a week after she lost one of her twins in utero. They had twin to twin transfusion syndrome.

Mid afternoon, I got a call about a woman I needed to visit. At that time, she was only 19 weeks. When we met, we had THAT connection. The connection that comes only once in a while and is immediate when I meet someone who has lost a baby. And the connection that only a former bedrester feels when you see a pregnant Mom laying in bed, feet higher than head, hanging on for dear life to that little life that is still growing inside.

We talked for a while; her loss was still really fresh. She was sorta stoic, strong and scared. Things had calmed a bit and seemed stable with the living baby. Her emotions were conflicted – moving between such sadness & devastation for the loss, but staying strong and optimistic for the living baby. What a tough place to be. We laughed a little, cried a little and talked about things a little. The real grief comes later – but there are much more important things at hand now, like the living baby.

I got a call last night from my new friend. When I called her back, I learned that things had taken a turn the wrong direction and she was in a very precarious place. Her cervix had changed and there was only a very thin membrane separating her baby from the world. She was scared. And sad. And having a hard time staying positive. She’s 23 weeks now and almost to the viability mark. One more week and she can get the steroid shots for the baby, which increases the odds of survival if born soon. They tilted her bed even further back, so she’s standing on her head (almost). Gravity is working in the opposite direction to take the pressure off. Imagine eating, drinking and existing with your head 45 degrees below your feet. She has a headache. It’s no fun.

Just typing this gives me butterflies in my belly and makes my heart hurt. Sadly, there are no words for her except “one day at a time & stay positive”. But I’ve been there. I’ve been THAT scared. There’s nothing worse than being completely out of control of your situation and just having to sit and wait. Alone. Every minute that goes by, you wonder what will happen next. You pray for nothing to happen. It changes so quickly, and without warning. The nurses come and go. The visitors come and go. The husband and family come and go. And you and the baby(ies) stay there, hoping.

As I walked to the car after our short visit this morning, I cried. I cried for her because I know how scary it is. I know how lonely it is. I know how that helpless out of control feeling feels. I cried because I couldn’t find any words at all to say to help her. I get it, L. I get it. And I'm sorry you have to endure this. In the meantime, we pray for a happy ending...