His Reports

My OB told me we should receive Baby's pathology (placenta and karyotype) reports 2-3 weeks after the fact.

5 weeks later, we still had not received any information on the reports.

I followed up with my OB, who told me the reports had been sent to the high-risk OB. Ugh. He then summarized the reports: The placenta and karyotype came back as normal. Baby had all 46 chromosomes, ie Baby did not have a chromosomal abnormality as the doctors had suspected.

"We don't know what happened. I am so sorry."
          The hand of God kept running through my mind with a lump in my throat.

Somehow I asked for a copy of the reports (not normally sent to patients).

My OB assured me he would mail them first thing the next morning.

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In the meantime, Derrick and I discussed the surprising results.

I had felt prepared for results that were a chromosomal abnormality or inconclusive... but normal? Our baby was anything but normal. Derrick had to remind me that even people with 23 healthy pairs of chromosomes get very sick and die. I even had a few moments of panic, wondering if we should have terminated.

In the end, we concluded that this was again God's grace: this would not significantly affect future children, and God was marvelously displaying His might and sovereignty. The doctors (and we) would never know what happened during Baby's development, but God did. I quite liked this "ending". We trusted and submitted ourselves to Him, even when we did not understand.

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The reports got lost for another week.

I reached into our mailbox every day to instead find more (hefty) hospital bills for labor/delivery, labs, and extra scans/procedures due to Baby's condition. Such insult to injury...

I followed up again, and was advised to physically pick up the reports. There was just 1 remaining receptionist, obviously unhappy that she was staying over her shift. I thanked her and grasping the envelope to my heart, I explained that our baby had died at 20 weeks and the reports would explain what happened to her. The receptionist's countenance immediately shifted and softened. "I am sorry... for your loss." I nodded and gave a small smile, then shuffled away with the reports burning in my hands.

I ducked into a quiet waiting area, and attentively read through every word of the detailed reports. I could not restrain the (flooding) tears as I read about our baby described as a specimen arriving to the laboratory in saline, minimized to measurements of body parts, that part of Baby's head had split open by the time of examination, and then I read that Baby had XY chromosomes.
          We had a boy and not a girl.

My head was spinning, and I texted Derrick immediately. He could not believe it, either. He was rational and by the end of the night, said it did not change things much for him.

But for me, it did tremendously. And it was intensely painful and sad.

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It felt like we had grieved the wrong baby. It was also an acute reminder that I was grieving this person I never knew, and now was even more a stranger. It felt like 2 additional losses: loss of a daughter we had so desired but now needed to stop grieving midway, and loss of a son I wished I could grieve when he was with us.

I withdrew a bit. I remember texting my sister: "I just feel like I keep losing and losing."

I removed every remembrance of Odelia in our home. She was really, dead. Good thing I was only halfway through her (his?) birth photobook?

The children were confused even more by this news, as they had not fully grasped the initial news.

And I felt more left behind Derrick in grief. At least when we thought Baby was a girl, we could feel and process together. This was no longer the case. I even grew angry with Derrick when he referred to his feelings as "we".
          "You mean 'I'. You can't use 'we' anymore, because we we are not the same anymore," I snapped.

I felt majorly set back in my process with grief, as I had labored through a considerable portion of it. I did not know where to start again, or if I should.

I had never felt so alone.

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Yet God was showing us again His might and sovereignty. We were not in control of Baby's outcome even if chromosomes looked perfect, nor were we in control of Baby's gender, nor were we in control of our grieving, even.

So once more, this time with more profound conviction and humility, we entrusted our family and lives unto our loving God.

Hear my cry, O God,
    listen to my prayer;
from the end of the earth I call to You
    when my heart is faint.
Lead me to the rock
    that is higher than I,
for You have been my refuge,
    a strong tower against the enemy.

- Psalm 61:1-3