10 years

Translated with ChatGPT

Since we are not at home, my sister has lit a candle at Max Sander's today.

Today marks 10 years since my dream turned into a nightmare. I was at work, playing with the kids when something felt wrong. I went to the restroom and saw blood. I had spotted earlier in the pregnancy, but now, my motherly instincts told me I needed to do something. It felt urgent and very wrong. I informed my colleagues and got into my car. First, I called the gynecologist. She told me to start driving down, and they would examine me when I arrived. This had happened several times before, and since it was an in vitro fertilization (IVF) pregnancy, they were very patient and helpful in reassuring and calming me. They were now too, but I couldn't calm down. I called Morten and explained the situation. He quickly got ready, and we met at home before heading to the hospital.

At the gynecologist's office, the news was not good. Things had started happening, things that weren't supposed to occur for several more months. She said I had a shortening of the cervix or something like that. I remember the confusion mostly. Then she said, "Labor has begun." It made no sense. It was way too early, and I wasn't experiencing any contractions. But my body had started preparing for labor. Three months too soon. I was told to recline the car seat as far back as possible and lie down during the 10-minute drive to the hospital. Once I arrived, I was taken into a bed. They examined, checked, and evaluated. They tried everything they could, but it couldn't be stopped. Despite our best efforts, my water broke the next day. He had to come out. He was alive, but we didn't know if he would survive his birth. I didn't want to push, but I couldn't avoid it. It was so painful, not physically. They gave me medication for that. But emotionally, it was excruciating.

We knew that even if he survived the birth, he wouldn't make it. And no one would do anything to help him survive. He was too small, too weak, too underdeveloped. I had no idea what this meant. I had no idea what he would look like. But when he eventually emerged and they handed him to me, I cried. Out of pride, love, grief, and pain. He had a body. He was beautiful. He was my little star. But he wasn't breathing. He would never breathe. He was gone.

We didn't have much time to process this before I had to go to surgery. The placenta was stuck. The following days were filled with tears, antibiotics, and arrangements for his grave and the choice of a tombstone.

I'll never forget the overwhelming storm of emotions I experienced during those days. It still brings me to tears. I'm not as affected as often now, but it still impacts me. Fortunately, I have a belief that he's up in heaven watching over me. Alongside his grandmother, great-grandparents, and some more family. I'm sure they're proud of how we live our lives down here. They probably laugh at us occasionally too. I think they sometimes help me when I'm struggling. Because sometimes, I can feel him on my lap. And sometimes, when I wonder what he would have been like, a boy his age comes by and shows me.

So even though I find today to be heavy with painful memories, I have so much to look forward to and many people to care about 🧡⭐️