The Dying of the Sun

The dying of the sun.  We all know it will happen one day, but as much as we want to live long lives, I don't know of anyone that wants to live to see it happen.  That no doubt powerful, inevitable, sense of fear and doom that would likely run through you in the days leading up to it.  Then the destruction that would crush you when it finally came to pass.  My son was my whole world, and by some curse that lays over me, I lived to see that day and the destruction that followed.

It began with September 15, 2021.  I had hit week 16.  It was a milestone.  Every day was an accomplishment and every week.  I was in the second trimester and statistics say that you're more likely to be able to have a sigh of relief at that point than a tragedy.  I had eaten some Taco Bell that day and packed up some books.  The food didn't sit well in my stomach and to this day, I know I'll never eat Taco Bell again.

Up until that day, my pregnancy with Semaj was painless, barely a symptom to speak of.  In the earlier weeks of my pregnancy, I was doing much googling and was concerned I would have or had already had a missed miscarriage or MMC, so I would get private ultrasounds done as often as I could.  Food aversion was consistent though, and was progressively worse as I got further along, near the end, I could barely eat at all. The most notable symptom was the carpal tunnel I had in my hand for maybe a week and then that was gone too.  Now though, I was having stomach pains.

I'd done my reading.  Google is the worst and best friend, but all I had at the moment.  Could be round ligament pain, could be Braxton Hicks or false contractions, those were said to start in the 16th week.  Lastly, it could be real contractions.  The pain was tolerable though.  I didn't think it could be real contractions or true labor.  Yet over the next few days, the pain had gotten worse.

September 17, 2021.  3:47am.  I was in great pain. I wanted to cry and curl up.  I was terrified and trying not to be negative.  Negativity is frowned upon, but alas, both positive and negative things and events exist in this world and in our own bubbles of our lives.  It's best not to blindly ignore them.  A very good friend of mine stayed on the phone with me as I struggled to breathe.  I was scared, worried, and telling myself Braxton Hicks, though it felt so strong and painful.  She thought so too, so she had me time them.  I did.  They came and went in a pattern.  She was worried they were real contractions. She was worried that I was in so much obvious pain when my pain tolerance is high. The pain went away eventually and I went to sleep.

September 18, 2021.  Around 4 - 5am.  I couldn't just think it was normal anymore.  I had to check on my child to make sure he was okay and maybe get help with the pain.  I was his sole source of his life and no one could do anything to try and help or care for him but me.  If I didn't go to find help, they would surely be no chance of any.  Nothing anyone else said was going to stop me from going.  It was my right to see to the health of my child.  I was the one suffering the pain and I may have never been pregnant before but I knew something was not right and I needed help.  So I went to the ER.

They did an ultrasound.  Heartbeart was there, he was there with normal movement.  He was low.  What I later learned was in breech position.  The ultrasound tech didn't have to even search for him, he was so low.  It suprised her, as it should.  Babies usually are all over the place in there.  And I knew that Semaj hadn't been that low in a long time.  It only took her one try to find him.  It terrified me but they were calm and complacent.

They found fibroids.  Three of various sizes.  Said all looked fine and it was probably the fibroids causing round ligament pain because while I was in my 16th week, I appeared like I was in the 24th week judging by my size.  My uterus was just making my round ligaments work harder to hold up my heavy belly.  I didn't feel like it was true, but it would be better for that to be the cause than for it to be my worst nightmare.  I was willing to suffer pain.  That much pain everyday would be hard but I would have done it and found ways to try and manage the pain.

They said I was dehydrated.  Offered me an IV or water.  I chose to drink water and of course, that is one of the moments where I wonder if I should have done differently.  Would the IV somehow have fixed things?  In the aftermath, every choice you didn't take is what would have saved them.  Even two months and 4 days later, I still wonder what if and still hold blame for myself more than anyone.  They told me to get a belly band to hold my belly up for the round ligament pain and handed me two heat packs to use.  Right before I left, I was asked if I was alright.  The pain I was in was very visible and seemed to bemuse and confuse them. I was terrified and out of options.

At around 5:50 pm, just as I thought the heating pad I'd gotten was working and I felt good enough to go get something to eat...I stood up. I felt a sensation in my lower belly like two gears grinding against each other about to break, it bent me over, both hands over my lower belly, and then there was a pop that I both heard and felt....and my water broke.  It wasn't like when you pee, though I've heard it described that way.  I couldn't feel this flow or control it, it was a rush of fluid just falling out of me and creating a puddle of liquid on the floor that my son needed to survive. This is another moment I look back on and wonder, if maybe I hadn't stood up yet, would he still be alive?

In that moment, I knew he was dead.  I went to the ER.  I told them what happened.  That once the fluid rushed out of me, all of the pain stopped.  It was a feeling of relief.  I could breathe and feel normal and feeling well and okay was never horrifying to me before.  That feeling will stay with me forever and it confused them as well.  Usually when your water breaks, that's when the pain begins.  It's the signal that the show is ready to start.  Yet I didn't go into labor.

They took me to Labor and Delivery again.  Another ultrasound.  Looking for the heartbeat.  I knew it wouldn't be there.  I didn't have hope.  I'd tried to save my son and I'd failed.  She tried again and thought she'd found it.  But I knew she hadn't.  144 bpm.  That's how fast my heart was racing, knowing my son had died and there was nothing I could do.  Knowing I didn't protect him.  Knowing I wasn't going to be able to bring him back to his father.  Knowing I would have to live the next few moments and the rest of my life and having no idea what would happen to me or if I could do it.

The OB examined me and apologized.  Nothing to do to save him.  It took me a second, but that's when I finally started crying.  For weeks, I used to live in that moment, every day.  Now, I can transport myself to that room, but not feel what I felt in that moment as vividly as what I feel now.  I asked her what happens now.  Well, I'll have to be induced.  I could go home or do it now but if I went home, I'd still need to come back soon.  It was a terrifying thought, I had no idea what it all entailed.  Much of my time in the hospital was uninformed stretches of pain in an alien reality.  

She handed me my phone and I called James to tell him our son was dead.  He'd known I was going to the ER, but now I had the result.  I don't know how he felt in that moment, men don't often like to say or feel they can't. I told him the next steps and that I was going to do it now. Days of turmoil and pain and fear led up to that moment.  All I could do was stare, petrified and overwhelmed with all of the horror I knew had to be coming.  Nothing can prepare you.  Nothing can save you.  Nothing can console you.  It's like looking at your very own death falling down upon you and there is nothing that you can do to stop it. That was how the sun died. How our son died.  Destruction and devastation followed.