We found love in a hopeless place...

Thursday night. The night I lost the baby, I waited exactly 2 hours before the phone rang. On the other end was my husband. He told me he was coming home.

I slept very little that night. Maybe 2 hours. In total.

I ate nothing.

The next day, friday, I don't think I left the sofa. I don't remember.

Saturday afternoon there was a knock on the door.

I opened it.

There stood Michael. Skinny, but finally home. 

I barely moved from Thursday to Sunday. Terrified of bleeding/cramping before Sunday. I was instructed by Dr. Rosin to go immediately to the Klinikum if I had either symptom. I became so angry at the idea of any other doctor doing the procedure. Angry and nervous. 

It hit me as to why I needed it to be Dr. Rosin. He was the only person in the world who had been with me. He was the only one who saw the baby alive, and then he was the one to tell me the baby was no longer alive.

Saturday at 9pm, was the last sip of water I had before the surgery. I had to fast for at least 8 hours before. 

Sunday arrived, and Heike took us to the Hospital. Not before hugging me, and securing my seatbelt for me. 

At the hospital she did all the German stuff for us, while we just followed her lead. We went to a waiting room, and shortly after, there was Dr. Rosin standing in his white coat, calling my name. He did another scan to make sure.

I saw the scan with clear eyes. The perfect shape of a perfect baby, motionless inside me. My body pretending it was still pregnant. I said "I just don't want to look anymore." He said "That's ok. You don't have to look." I turned my head and cried. The 2nd opinion girl told the doctor in German that it was correct, there was no heartbeat.

My husband looked defeated. This was the first time he saw his child.

I got dressed, and Dr. Rosin explained how everything would go. He told me I could try again for a baby when "you are ok here." and pointed to his head. I nodded. 

He lead me, Mike and Heike up to the 13th floor. We waited and waited for what seemed like endless hours.

The doctor came in to apologize for our long wait. There was an emergency surgery which pushed us back. I shrugged. He told me my body was NOT ready for the miscarriage and he gave me medicine to start the process, in addition to an IV to "Take away the thirsty."

The time finally arrived, and the nurses helped me get dressed in the gowns and leggings. The nurse and Michael wheeled me in my bed to the operating room. My husband kissed me and told me he loved me. Then through the doors I went.

The operating room was cold. So cold I was shivering. The nurse told the operating room nurse "Sie spricht kein Deutsch"

And even though I do, I didn't really care. They helped me up onto a warm conveyor belt. I was shivering from the cold. The operating room nurse piled hot blankets on me. The other nurse told me she would see me soon.

I felt like I was going to fall right off the conveyor belt, but really I was just being transferred to another bed.

The operating room nurse put a green hair cover on me, and strapped my legs to the table. I thought to myself "This is some crazy nazi shit."

She then wheeled me over to the operating area. Another nurse came up. I started crying. Not from fear of being put to sleep. I trust my doctor. I knew I was in good hands.

I was crying because this was truly goodbye.

Goodbye to my baby that I'd never meet. I'd never know what color his/her eyes would be. Or if it was a him/her.

Another nurse came up. I heard someone say to her "Sie spricht nur Englisch. Sie hat keine anderen Kinder."

The new nurse rubbed my face and said "What can I say? Nothing. Let the tears flow."

The anesthesiologist said "I just give her tranquilizah now."

I heard Dr. Rosin say "No! You Wait."

Then Dr. Rosin said "Mrs. Suman. Mrs. Suman. Look at me." He was standing by my feet. I saw only his eyes, as his mouth and head were covered in green. He said "It is me. I am here for you. I said I would be here for you. It is me."
Then he told the anesthesiologist to give me the medicine. 

Dr. Rosin said "Mrs. Suman keep looking at me. I am here for you."

I said "Oh. Thank you. Should I feel dizzy?"
He said "Yes, you should."

Then I closed my eyes.

I remember hearing a lady say again that I only speak english. So I muttered, "I can speak German."

Dr. Rosin said "Mrs. Suman, say something in German for us."

I slowly from far away said "Blah blah blah."

He said "VERY good, Mrs. Suman."

The next thing I remember He was rubbing my upper arm saying "Mrs. Suman. Mrs. Suman."

I said "Is it over?" But I felt so far away.
He said "Yes. It is over."
I said "Oh. I don't have a baby anymore."
He said "Soon. Mrs. Suman You will have your baby soon."

I then said "My doctor is a Saint."

I'm pretty sure I told EVERYONE that. Although I can't say for sure. It all felt very dream like.

The first face I saw was my husband's. He assured me that I even told him that Dr. Rosin was a 'saint.'
While I was having the D&C my husband bought my favorite German candy bar for me. When I could eat, he went to the hospital 'buffet' and made a sandwich for me, which tasted like heaven. Then he broke off pieces of my chocolate bar and fed them to me.

Dr. Rosin came into my room later. He asked Michael if I was better or still talking a lot. Which made me sort of laugh, because I know I was saying all kind of things before I was fully awake.

He gave me the updates on everything and told me I was free to go home.

Even though, we decided to stay over because I was SO exhausted. I couldn't keep my eyes open enough to get home.

My darling husband slept in 3 chairs mushed together, RIGHT by my side. Waking with a start everytime I had to go to the bathroom. He helped me there each time. He would get up and straighten out the tights they made me wear.  I look at him with a whole new deeper love now. I realize how amazingly lucky I am. And how beautiful our love truly is.

The next morning the nurse told us to get breakfast, and would we like it at the buffet, or in our room? I said "We can go to the buffet."

I stepped in and saw the breakfast items and there, in his bassinet a brand new baby. I felt frozen. I felt paralyzed. I felt short of breath.

I broke down crying.

The nurse hurried me back to my room and Michael got my breakfast, and so did she. She came in with a huge tray, and I thought "wow. My husband picked out some strange things for me." 

Then in walks Mike with my typical breakfast. 

Later that morning I went home. The sun was shining. 

I sat on the sofa, and cried.

When I went the following week to see the doctor for the post-op control visit, he told us that he sees no reason why we cannot try after one cycle, and that my chances of miscarriage are now lower. He told us that he wants us to not try to get pregnant but to not try to not get pregnant.

Miscarriage is something no one wants to talk about, really. I've struggled with blaming myself. Even though my dear doctor assured me that it was no fault of my own. It is hard. I need someone to blame. Yet, logically, I know there is no one to blame.

I have to say, out of that horrible experience, I found SO much love. Love from strangers. Kindness and tenderness from people who were under no obligation to bestow it upon me.

I see the good interwoven in the saddness that happened. 

Even in my broken hearted state, G-d showed me a love so deep that I am humbled and astounded. 

From the elderly man on the bus, to the girl who offered me a tissue to wipe my tears, the nurse who helped me dress, to Josie my dear friend who made phone calls to get my husband home, to the army who rushed to get him back for the procedure, to my dearest German friend who took time out of her Sunday to drive us to the Hospital, to the nurse who rubbed my face, to the doctor who cried with me when my baby died, and made sure I knew it was him who was in the operating room to my darling husband who truly was there in every way for me.

What did I do to deserve such benevolence?