"What brings you in today?" The lady at the front desk of the maternity department asked me as if she had rehearsed that line all night.
"My son hasn't moved all morning."
She had so much love in her eyes.
I updated my information in their system and was asked to have a seat. It was about noon and I was the only one in the waiting room. Holy Cross Hospital has a beautiful waiting room. It's so welcoming, I kind of didn't mind waiting. Almost as soon as I had a seat next to my mother, the doors opened up and I was called to come to the back.
I remember walking down triage to the room nearly at the end of the small hallway, room three. I passed many rooms only guarded by a shower-like curtain. Because expecting mothers weren't mean't to stay there long, there was no need for a door. I heard that sound as I walked. Those beautiful heartbeats, that pleasant symphony of heartbeats from other babies who had not yet entered the world. That sound of wind moving between trees as the babies moved suddenly in the womb. The sound of slight moans from their mother's followed almost directly after.
"Please undress and place on this robe."
I did as she said when she left the room.
The same nurse returned with a contraction monitor and heart monitor. She put the cold gel to my stomach and then the heart monitor on after.
She moved the heart monitor across my stomach, searching for your heartbeat, searching for life.
...silence.
She left out the room saying she would be right back. I tried to be strong and hold in the tears, but I couldn't. I wept quietly thinking to myself "maybe the machine is broke."
My mother, sitting in the corner looking out the window, watched as the rain drops rolled from top to bottom.
She returned, the same nurse still, but this time she wasn't alone. Another nurse, or doctor, I can't remember, came in smiling and introduced herself. She said something along the lines of "lets use this machine, it's a little more powerful."
Silence still echoed my little room.
Other nurses and doctors crowded my small room almost on cue. This time with an ultrasound machine.
I began to cry again, this time a little harder. Almost like a fearful cry that I tried to hold in.
My mother got up from her seat and sat on the bed and held my hand.
I couldn't look while they performed the ultrasound. I turned away placing my head in my mother's arms. I could feel them, the doctors, pressing hard with the prob searching for life; your life Cam.
They didn't have to say it, I already knew.
My mother hugged me tighter and I knew she knew also.
Another nurse, the one performing the ultrasound, an Asian one, softly called my name.
I looked at her as she said with so much compassion..
"I know you already know this..."I didn't let her finish. She was forced to stop speaking by a loud and terrifying wail I produced. It was a scream and a cry mixed.
She continued.
"I'm so sorry..."I hurt, physically. It was as if someone had ripped my beating heart right out from my chest suddenly.
I felt like I needed to throw up.
I wanted to die instantly.
More nurses flooded in the room as they moved the machine out.
I wanted to stop crying; stop screaming that awful scream, but I couldn't.
I felt like I couldn't breathe and went to stand up to catch my breath. The nurses told me not to. I understood why they said that.
I instantly fell to the floor. My legs felt like sand. They felt lifeless.
The nurse, I don't remember which one, lifted me off the floor and into her arms. She hugged me so tightly. She whispered sweet soothing "shhh's" in my ear saying "it's going to be ok" and "it's ok to cry".
She did it the same way I would've done to you Cameron if you had hurt yourself or were upset about something.
Two hearts stopped that day, June 7, 2013.
My mother gathered up my belongings as I was helped over to the wheelchair; hurt, broken, afraid and lost. I placed my head in my hands, crying still, as they wheeled me out of triage.
Leaving behind that beautiful sound, that beautiful symphony of heartbeats I would never hear again.
You, Cameron David Miller. My beautiful baby boy, my son, was now gone.
Love Always,
Mommy
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