Meeting Matthew

Something was off. It couldn’t be, could it?
I bought a pregnancy test, negative. Whew.
I still didn’t feel right. I bought another one. Negative.
Perimenopause? I was only 35, wasn’t that too early?

We hadn’t been in Florida all that long, so I hadn’t yet gotten around to finding a new doctor. I thought I’d better find one and see what was going on.
Pregnant… SHIT! Now what do I do?

I already had two difficult pregnancies (and deliveries) and my doctor in LA was not at all subtle when she told me it would not be good for me to get pregnant again, ever. My body just couldn’t handle it and the risk to my wellbeing was significant. Now I was, faced with the most difficult choice a woman can make.

I was (still am) happily married and we had two wonderful, happy, healthy boys so what’s the big deal in having one more? That’s the question, right?

When it was time to deliver my oldest son, among other issues, I developed pre-eclampsia. I had planned on a natural birth but, that kid wasn’t coming out for love or money. After eighteen drug free hours and six more on Pitocin, my doctor said C-Section. By that time, the baby and I were both in distress and it’s what needed to happen.

I thought C-Section was the last thing I wanted to hear but it turned out, hearing my doctor exclaim, “Oh my god!” after slicing my abdomen from hip to hip, tops that. We were in trouble. My belly was filled with meconium, that ooey stuff of baby’s first poop, and the minute she cut me open, it was everywhere; not good. Plus, I was bleeding too much and suddenly a lot of things were moving around the operating room. Recovery was slow, but we were both ok and that’s all that mattered.

Eli is now twenty-three and towers over me, though he is a lot nicer about it than his brother. Dylan, who revels in calling me shorty, came along three years later, almost to the day and, I spent the last 6 weeks of his pregnancy in bed, trying stave off the same issues that no one saw coming the first time around. Even with all the precautions, a C-section was the only option my doctor would support.

Back in an operating room, there were more problems and more drama. The epidural had not been inserted correctly and refused to take hold, even after tipping the operating table downward so my head was aimed at the floor! It was taking too long so, they went ahead, using a cauterizing scalpel to get the baby out. That sucked about as much as you’d think.

Born a full two weeks early, Dylan was still 8lbs, 2oz. and I felt like my body had been plundered in his wake. I was meant for motherhood, I knew that but, I was clearly not meant for pregnancy or delivery; with which my doctor wholeheartedly agreed. She strongly suggested this baby be our last and expressed genuine concern about my odds of survival should there be a next time. We always thought about having three children, but I felt the truth of her words.
I’m grateful every day for my two amazing sons, even as I felt the loss of what could be.

And now, sitting on an exam table, the paper sheet still covering my lap, I can’t even imagine the look on my face when the doctor announced, “you’re pregnant!”

“Well, I need not to be!” I blurted out. The fear I’d felt in giving birth to our sons was nothing compared to the panic rising within me. The doctor informed me she was not able to help if that was my choice, and I respected her for it. She gently encouraged me to go home and think about it for a few days, to give this new information time to sink in before making any decisions. I respected her for that as well.

My boys were in 1st grade and pre-school, and I loved being their mom. As a work at home mom, my office was often ‘guarded’ by princes, warriors, spies, or Storm Troopers. Could I risk abandoning them, or leaving my husband to care for them alone, when his job took him away half the time? My brain kept churning…

Pregnancy was not a guaranteed death sentence. There was no way to know for sure but, the odds of me having the same problems again were extremely high and I agonized back and forth for days.

I believed our boys were born to us for a reason. They chose us to be their parents and we had an obligation to be there for them for as long as they needed us. I had already been lucky twice and I decided I wasn’t willing to roll the dice again. You can judge me if you like but it was my choice and my husband, and I were the only ones who got a vote.

That was it, or so I thought but, my relationship with this baby did not end there. Like his brothers, he had a purpose in coming to me but, I closed my heart and pushed the grief away, so I couldn’t hear him talking to me. I just wanted to move forward and not think about it again, ever. I knew I made the right decision, but I never allowed myself to grieve.
I never forget but, I never mourned either.

Years later, I learned the soul of this child had never left me. It remained with me for more than a decade, waiting for me to be ready. One evening, not so long after I had decided to open myself back up to the metaphysical world, I sat in my car in the parking lot of my local mall and, as I put the key into the ignition, I suddenly stopped. I felt the presence of someone, something, and it was lifting up and out of my body. Hovering in front of me, as if perched on the dashboard of my car, was a cloud of shadow and light. In center, a baby was smiling at me and I knew instantly this was my unborn child, another son.

Had he stayed with me all these years, waiting for me to re-open myself to the other side? Then why choose to leave now? At the mall?

Later, he told me he had indeed stayed to be part of my spiritual reawakening but, that’s a story for another day.