Invisible Mom
- Michelle Elaine
- May 8, 2016
- 2 min read
Dedicated to all the 'Invisible Moms’
6:13 p.m.
“There’s no heartbeat,” my doctor explained as Erik, and I glared at a motionless body on the emergency ultrasound screen. Just a few hours earlier, she had been fine. 154 beats per minute. At every appointment, no matter what 154 beats per minute. Oh, how I loved that sound. But, on that day, January 14, 2016, we heard nothing but deafening, debilitating death. Many questions go on in my head. “Was this my fault?” Was it my bout pneumonia that caused this? Was it my fibroid? Why is my body failing me? Is it my age? Doctor or nurses couldn’t say for sure. What they could tell me was, they couldn’t stop what was happening. I couldn’t stop what was happening. So it happened…
7:00 p.m.
In between the pain of contractions and salty tears, I say, “She doesn’t have a name yet.” Erik holds me tighter and says, “Let’s name her now.” For over a month, we couldn’t decide on a name. We wanted her name to have a purpose and a story. In a matter of minutes, we decided on our two favorite choices. I chose Naomi. Erik chose Cadence. Naomi Cadence Farley.
9:12 p.m.
After two failed epidurals and a temperature of 104. I delivered a tiny framed 19-week old little girl. Our girl. She was beautiful. She was perfect. I struggle with looking at her because I know once I see her; I will never be the same. I was right. She had my nose and Erik’s hands. Part of me died with her.
1:00 a.m.
Blankly, I stare at the ceiling in my hospital room. Erik lays beside me. We are silent.
Healing
The days and weeks after my release I was broken. Living, but not fully present. I cried constantly. I cried openly. I cried silently. I avoided looking at my reflection in any mirror. My baby bump became a memory, and I became an invisible mom. Healing is multifaceted; the process is indefinite, and the outcome is ever changing. I refuse to put a time limit on my pain. I realize I don’t have to hide in the shadow of my sadness. I don’t have to be overly spiritual and bind up my feelings. I have the right to grieve. I have the right to be angry. I have the right to question why this happened. I have the right to remain optimistic and believe that Naomi’s death was not in vain. I have the right to surrender my will and the faith to believe my peace will shower over me in due time.
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