When I see pregnant women or new babies, my heart hurts, but not as bad as one might think. I ache to hold my babies again, but I hold myself together rather well.
When I see cute baby things or someone's new baby pictures, my heart hurts. I feel happiness for the parents of the baby, but I ache so badly to hold my own smiling baby for pictures.
Yesterday's doctor visit broke me.
The wall behind the receptionist is covered in birth announcements. They usually don't bother me. There were new ones up. I couldn't stop looking at them. I had to bite my lip to keep from crying.
Every piece of reading material in that place is a magazine about being pregnant or caring for a baby. Everything. I couldn't even get a brochure about breast cancer or Pap smears to distract me for a few minutes. I think my lip might have had a hole in it by this point.
The nurses recognize me and talk to me on a first name basis. Even those I have never met. They only know me from all the others because my baby died. It makes me happy that they remember. It breaks my heart that my dead baby is the reason.
Even with all of that, I was still holding myself together really well, except for that really sore lip.
Then I went to the lab.
The guy sitting next to me was playing with his baby, who was only about 3 months old. As long as I didn't look up or make eye contact, I was fine. I could drown it out. Until the baby went back for bloodwork and started screaming.
For the first time, I realized that I never heard my babies cry. I'd never thought about it before. And with that baby screaming, it was ALL I could think about. Both of my babies were alive when they came out. Both of my babies lived for about 10 minutes. Neither of them were able to make a sound.
I broke down. I couldn't fight it any longer.
Their silence haunts me now. I would give anything to hear their voices, even if it meant reliving those nightmares all over again.