Yesterday evening, I received a text message from my friend A, announcing the arrival of baby Amanda, as well as her birth weight and length. I am glad I was outside when I received the message because I might have brawled my eyes out. Anyway, I did what I had to do, i.e. send back a congratulatory reply to the happy parents. I am genuinely happy for them, it's just that behind that happiness, I also feel a pang of heartache and envy. (Mark was pretty annoyed by the SMS cos he felt that A wasn't being very sensitive to me... but I told him we can't blame her because she's merely sharing her joy, and how would she have guessed the state of my mind? Then again, how many people would know the pain of a miscarriage, or two in my case?)
Every morning once I boot up my computer, I will open 3 applications... my Outlook (for office emails), my Facebook and my blog. I don't think I help myself at all sometimes... Once I opened up my Facebook this morning, the first thing that greeted me were photos of A and little Amanda that were posted by A's hubby. Naturally I had to click on it...
I think little Amanda looks really sweet and adorable. I can't help but think back on the discussions A and I had previously... on how Amanda and Chloe would be friends, how we will organise playdates in future, etc. While Amanda is here now, happy and very healthy, Chloe is gone. A's hubby also commented on one of the photos that A had a 'glow' after she delivered Amanda... and I think he's right cos she did have a nice glow on her face in the photo of her holding Amanda. I guess that is the glow of a very proud, happy and contented mother holding her pride and joy... This is the joy of motherhood, it is also the joy that I had been robbed and deprived of twice.
I am sure A's hubby must have been ecstatic over the birth of his firstborn... like how any proud father would. At the precise moment a baby is born, the woman becomes a 'mommy' and the man becomes a 'daddy'. I feel extremely guilty towards Mark because while most husbands accompany their wives into the delivery suite to witness the happy occasion on the birth of their babies, my poor, long-suffering husband accompanied me into the delivery suite twice to cry with me, to suppport me and to witness the birth and death of our much loved babies. It's really so unfair to him cos he did not ask for this. He did not do anything wrong. His body did not fail him. The only reason why he had to go through this is because he married me.
The images of the delivery suite in the photos were all too familiar to me. It was only 4 months ago that I was in a delivery suite myself... hooked up with wires (to monitor the rate of Chloe's heart beat), with needles and tubes sticking from my arms and back (for the epidural) and going through the worst pain in my life, i.e. labour pains combined with the pain in my heart from knowing that Chloe will not be coming home with us. Going against the natural progression of the onset of labour, I wanted so badly to stop myself from 'pushing' because I knew that once Chloe leaves the security of my womb, she would not be able to survive for long due to her prematurity. Sadly, my body betrayed me again and again...
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