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Not Forgotten
Remembering the Children By Amanda Formaro
I was 22 years old and had been reunited with my high school sweetheart just one year prior. When I got pregnant I was overjoyed at the prospect of having a baby. I had the urge to be a mother from the time I was 17, when my mother had a surprise pregnancy. Due to her health she gave the baby up for adoption. But before she did, I had the privilege of looking into those beautiful baby-blue saucer eyes of my tiny 5-pound brother. I melted.
So, it was with great excitement that I shared my news with everyone I knew and came in contact with. I couldn't wait to see an ultrasound or hear the heartbeat pounding out of the doctor's Doppler. Thoughts of motherhood fleeted through my mind. The sounds of a baby's cry, the touch of his or her tiny fingers, the feel of baby's breath on my cheek. I simply couldn't wait!
I was only six weeks along when I started to bleed. I phoned the doctor in a panic. That day I went into the office for an ultrasound. But everything was normal. There he was, just as alive as can be. The technician pointed to a tiny flashing speck on the screen, which indicated the baby's heartbeat. I was instructed not to panic and to keep the doctor informed.
So I went home, unsatisfied, even after seeing the living child on that screen. Several days passed and I continued to bleed...and cry. I was so scared. I didn't know what to do. I had told everyone how excited I was, and now only a week later everything had changed.
I kept calling the doctor's office and telling them that I was still bleeding. I was brought in for yet another ultrasound only three days after the first. Again, the baby was fine. A couple of days later the bleeding increased. The flow became a bit heavier and I panicked. When I phoned the doctor he was short with me and told me that there was nothing else that they could do. We just had to wait it out. Easy for him to say. My mind was in turmoil and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
