From the moment I found out I was pregnant with my second child, something in me knew that something was wrong. Call it instinct or mother’s intuition but for some reason I didn’t let myself get too excited. I really had no reason to feel this way as I was fortunate in that, aside from my first son being extremely large (10lbs 4oz, 22 inches), I had had an easy pregnancy.
On February 7, 2005, an ultrasound confirmed my fears. The moment the technician asked me if she could do a transvaginal ultrasound, I knew something was wrong. She completed her exam and suggested that I go see my family physician as soon as possible. I don’t remember the car ride to the doctor’s office or too much from the days that ensued other than that at 10 weeks there was no heart beat and the doctor wanted me to lose the baby naturally; no pills, no D&C. So, for 13 days I carried my baby inside me until finally, on February 20, 2005, my body decided to let him/her go.
In the early days that followed I felt lucky, lucky that I wasn’t further along in my pregnancy and as a result didn’t actually have to bury a child. But as time went on I realized that this wasn’t the case. I’ll never know if my baby was a boy or a girl and I have nothing to show that my child ever existed. No picture, no hand or foot prints, no lock of hair, no memory box and, more importantly, no closure.
While we were too early in the pregnancy to pick names, in my mind I wanted Alexander for a boy and Alexandra for a girl. Imagine the shock when, months down the road, a dear friend of mine, who was due four days after me, announced that she was having a boy and they were naming him Alexander. She had no way of knowing, and to this day I don’t think I’ve ever told her, but when they left our place that night I remember going to my room and crying. The fact that they were naming their son the same name that I wanted for the child I lost, was so difficult to hear.
Fast forward a few months later and I’m seven months pregnant at my godson Alexander’s christening. Life has an interesting way of throwing us curveballs at times. I’m a firm believer that things happen for a reason and when I look at my youngest son I am reminded of this. Had it not been for my miscarriage he would not be here today.