My Babies, Never-to-Be-Known

Just 18 and married six months, we decided a baby would be fun. Off the Pill and quickly pregnant, we waited to miss two periods due to irregular cycles.
But at nine weeks, I started to bleed.

After sending my husband out to buy more sanitary pads, I passed my baby -- alone -- in the toilet. The doctor had said to save any tissue, so I scooped my tiny baby into a jar. It looked just like the pictures in the book.
I cried most of the night.

In the morning, I went to the hospital alone. The emergency room doctor examined me, and said I was too young to even know if I was pregnant. I left in tears . . . carrying my tiny jarred baby in my purse, unseen.
I later named this baby Christopher.

Nine months passed, with many late periods and all negative tests. My doctor suggested I might be losing a baby every month!

Finally a baby sparked once more! Thirteen and a half short weeks of hoping, loving, growing, ended bleeding again. Hemorrhaging, going into shock, my water broke as we entered the hospital. Through my fog, I heard someone say, "She's losing twins."

My husband sat beside my bedside and cried.

I asked the doctor why I kept miscarrying and he said that the babies had been normal, I was just physically immature inside. (But there are 14 year olds carrying to term!?)
I later named these babies Charlie and Sarah.

At last . . . two beautiful sons carried. I thought the worst was finally over. All the pain and tears, I'd paid my dues.
I named them Jason and Michael.

Doubling over one day, in a cramping pain, I thought - strange, this period is ending. Why am I suddenly bleeding again? Was this period later than usual? Another miscarriage, at seven weeks.
This baby I later named Neil.

Still confused over what had happened, six months later I had another chance. Seven weeks of plans and dreaming, bled down the toilet, along with my tears. The tiny body didn't pass for two more months. In a drive-in movie washroom, I said my good-byes.
This baby I later named Shauna.

Six long, empty years . . . grieving and in sorrow. I was hoping again. A special baby, conceived under the Christmas tree. But, after weeks of bleeding and tests, hoping and fears, pleading, why must you take this baby too? A doctor took the last of my baby with a D & C. He said it was silly to cry. Many "girls" lose babies, it's no big deal!
This baby I later named Rachael.

Months followed, grieving and weeping. I found it difficult to function or care. Did I have the courage to try one more time? Was there a live baby in my future? After painful tests, I was declared normal, no physical reason found.

To help resolve my grief, I read many books, attended support meetings and started a miscarriage newsletter. I felt less alone. I named my babies, and designed a baby ring necklace which I had made in white gold, each tiny ring engraved with the date of loss, in remembrance. I kept a journal and wrote poetry.
Finally, I was ready to move on.

Vitamins, basal thermometers and timid love-making, my eighth pregnancy bloomed. Months of cramps and premature labour. Bed rest, boredom, anxiety and despair. Visualizing, homeopathic remedies and positive thinking.

A planned home birth ends in a dramatic ambulance ride for fetal distress, a dropping heartbeat and meconium in the waters. Born "flat", needing resuscitation, a beautiful baby boy entered the world and my heart.
I named him Joshua, which means "one whom God has saved".

Three hours later, at home in my own bed, baby snuggled in my arms. I look at him in wonder, marvelling at his very existance. That he survived - to nuzzle at my breast and share my life.

Six babies gone, never-to-be-know. It makes me realize just how special my three boys are. Through these months and years, I have found new courage, a new belief in the sanctity of life and a stronger sense of love for the babies who have shared my life and the babies who share my soul.

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