January 31, 2014 didn’t fit the norm. I had switched my day off with a co-worker and dragged my feet toward the doctor’s office to figure out why hadn’t felt up to par as of late. As I pulled into the parking lot, I tried my hardest to prepare for what lay ahead. Though I only waited in the lobby a few minutes, they seemed like an eternity. When my turn arrived to head toward the examination room, I fought to maintain my composure even as it quickly dwindled away. I felt like a lifeless shell going through the motions.
After completing the test, the young lady looked confused and said we needed to wait another minute, as something didn’t seem right. I suspected the outcome, but wasn’t fully prepared to hear it.
“Congratulations, Miss Hood, you are pregnant.”
Anyone who knows me can attest that I want nothing more in this world than to be a wife and mother. Every emotion imaginable whirled inside me at once. I was a happy, emotional, nervous wreck.
As I attempted to pull myself together to safely make it home, the reality started to sink in. I was going to have a baby. Like any newly expecting mother, I started looking up everything I could related to babies, and my excitement grew with time. I also began to accept the fact that it didn’t go as planned or the way I had been raised. But I would take the bull by the horns and forge a future for myself — for us.
During this time, I craved chips all the time and couldn’t go a day without Raising Cane chicken (yes, I know what you are probably thinking), but I couldn’t rid myself of those cravings. I felt fat and gross every day but was okay with it because I knew that soon I would hold my new baby, or so I thought.
Not knowing what to expect while expecting, I Googled everything and asked my sister and best friend if things progressed normally. But nothing prepared me for what would come. I remember Wednesday, February 19, 2014 as if it happened yesterday. A few hours remained in my work shift, but something didn’t feel right, so I called the nurse and she told me to go to the hospital immediately. I was a wreck. I hadn’t planned for my parents to find out this way. I hadn’t even gone for my first ultrasound. As we drove to the hospital, I tried to convince myself that it couldn’t possibly be happening to me. That day proved to be the longest, most emotionally and physically draining day I’ve ever experienced.
The nurses ran tests and did ultrasounds but couldn’t tell me anything. Was I not as far along as I initially thought? Or had I just lost my baby girl? (Though still too early to know the gender, my gut told me I carried a girl.) But how could they not know for sure what was wrong with my baby?
I went to a specialist they recommended for blood work, and yet again, no one could give me answers. The days that followed seemed like an eternity as they passed with no word from the doctors. Then, while on my way to dinner with my boyfriend, I received the dreaded call.
“Miss Hood, I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Someone might as well have sucked the life right out of me. The effect proved no different. Why was this happening to me?
At times, I still fight anger and sadness, but I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that my day will come. Someday I will become a wife and mother, and experience that unconditional love. I never had the chance to feel her kick, but one day I will hold her in my arms and count her fingers and toes. I long for that moment, but for now God isn’t done with me here. I will always carry that pain, but I also hold the hope of a future. So until then, Baby Girl, Mommy loves you much and yearns to wrap you in her arms.
Guest post by Caitlin Hood.