Bethany Joy

It was July 2002. I had recently come back from a long trip for a family visit with my 6 month old daughter and my parents. Oh how sweet it was to be reunited with my husband. Now, I had found out I was pregnant. What bliss! For 20 weeks I carried this unknown child, love growing as time went on. We had an ultrasound which showed a cyst on the baby's brain. Possibly Trisomy 18? A second ultrasound a week later ruled that out and the cyst had disappeared.

I had a girl; I was ready for a boy. My husband would be excited for sure. But we wanted to be surprised. Days, weeks, months passed on and the baby grew. I could feel the hiccups on occasion. And those feet! Wow, definitely a kicker. Each doctor's visit would send me home with a good report.

Monday, February 3, 2003 dawned to a beautiful day. I carried on with my typical SAHM business: tending for my now 1 year old daughter, cleaning house, preparing supper for my husband's return from work. As the day wore on, it seemed I was not feeling much movement from the baby. No worries since I was 33 weeks. This being my second child, it was close to time for the baby to descend, readying for delivery. As big as I was getting, there couldn't be too much room to kick and squirm as often anyway. I poked at a little nub of knee, or maybe a heel, I don't know. It was protruding from just under my ribcage. I felt it move at my prodding and my concerns fled.

9pm, we had put DD to bed and were sitting quietly discussing the day. I shared with him my thoughts on the baby, again pressing that persistent little foot, mentally noting it was in the exact same spot. I had a doctor's appointment scheduled the next morning, so I planned to ask about when movements slowed down. And we went to bed ourselves.

My appointment was at 11am, DH was at work and DD was with a friend. The nurse came in, checked my bp, weight, etc. Then she pulled out the Doppler to hear the heartbeat. This was my favorite time of each visit. But with the first try, she couldn't find a rhythm. A second and even a third with no results. "I am going to get the doctor, maybe I am not doing something right." "Sure, go ahead," I thought. "She is not going to find it either." Already, I knew in my heart that this baby was gone. So I prepared myself for the worst. I wanted to get off the table and call my husband, but the doctor came in with two other nurses before I could get up. She squeezed the goo on my belly and tried the Doppler herself. The only sound heard was the "whoosh-whoosh" of the placenta and a faint, slow and steady heartbeat: mine. We moved to another room; one with an ultrasound machine. I was hooked up and watched the screen for signs of life...anything. And there was nothing. The heart was still, the baby was still. I asked to find out the gender. Doctor tried to comfort me with "it's not your fault" and "please don't blame us." I was numb. I wanted my husband; I wanted my mom. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't.

She led me to her personal office and told me to call whoever I needed. I had time to decide when to deliver the baby. I called my husband first. "She's gone!" was all I could get out around the lump in my throat. I heard his muffled cry, "No!!!" and then, "who?" "The baby." We had discussed boy's names but never considered a girl. He told his boss and immediately left work to come to me.

I called my mom, trying to sound chipper for her sake. She was on her way to the hospital. My sister-in-law was in labor with her first child. I broke down.

We decided to wait 2 days to deliver, so that family and friend could travel to be there. Thursday, February 6 started with snow. We had to be at the hospital at 5am for the induction. My parents were there. His mom was there. Friends dropped in to pray with us and encourage us. At 4:12pm I pushed a beautiful 4 lb. 12 oz. baby girl out. But there was no cry. Only the sound of the busy doctor and nurses cutting the cord, wiping her off and telling me to push for the afterbirth. They laid the baby in my arms. She looked so content, her arms folded across her tummy, her eyelids closed. Wait... did her eyes move? No, only my wild imagination hoping against hope. We were left alone for a few minutes, just my husband, our baby and me. We wept silently. Then we asked for our DD to come in. She didn't understand the solemnity. The baby was "icky" and she didn't want to hold her. I nearly hated having to share my baby with the visitors, but I knew they shared in my loss, somehow. We named her Bethany Joy.

I was released from the hospital on Friday. My heart was heavy, and my arms were empty. Instead of carrying a baby in my arms, I carried a plant. Someone was thoughtful enough to send one to the hospital. But it didn't replace the aching I felt.

Saturday, we had the graveside service for her. It was cold sitting outside, but I felt a warmth inside from peace that only God could give. I was given Bethany to hold during the entire service. I felt as if I was given a second opportunity to tell her goodbye. As friends and family came by to comfort us, they hugged our necks. Some kissed the baby, others felt it too morbid. No matter, she wasn't really there anyway. My goodbye wasn't final that day we laid her to rest. She is in heaven with her Father. And there she waits for me. We don't know what caused her death, but we do know that now, today she is whole and happy. She never had to face the suffering we face here on earth. No sickness or pain for her. Only eternal joy in the presence of God. That was the peace I felt, the peace I feel today. She may be gone, but her memory lives on, even if it was only a brief one.

"Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." Psalm 30:5b

God blessed again...