This is a response to a post by Bon on Glow in the Woods, called this cup pass from me.
I wept last night, after reading this post. Hard. Bon, you've touched on so many things. So much that resonates.
What did me in, though, was that last big paragraph, and the line preceding. My water broke at almost 20 weeks. One of my sons was already gone. The question was, do we try to save the other or just let him go? No doctor would recommend anything. It was up to us. We talked to expert after expert to find out what our chances were, of making it to 24, 28, 32 weeks. What the effect of no fluid around the baby would be. What kind of problems we would face at birth at each gestational milestone, were we lucky enough to make it that far.
I didn't want to let go. A big part of me wanted to try anyway, but the numbers kept not being in our favor, in the least. Especially for a white male fetus. I kept hoping my body would decide for us, that I would go into labor spontaneously, or that it would be clear infection was setting in. At every ultrasound to check for fluid levels, (heaven forgive me) I actually hoped his heart would be still so the decision would be made for us.
No dice. We had to decide. And hearing what the outcomes would likely be, C and I knew we could not put our son through what would likely be a short life full of painful interventions that probably would not work anyway. Or if they did, what kind of a life would he have?
It occurs to me that so much of the pain I'm feeling (and I'm sure what many of us feel) is that I didn't want to let go. I didn't want to give up. How could I let go of my child? No matter what? It came down to doing what would be best for him, not for me. But how could I let go?
Some of those close to me say that there really wasn't any choice to make. I don't know that I agree. In the end, I realize now, I had to choose my pain over his. The pain I feel now, I feel it so he didn't have to.