This Is The Day My Baby Boy Died

How is it that this day is just a day like every other when all my world is taken from me?

photo of mother and baby by Unkar — purchased by the author

My husband and I had walked around the county fair all day. My walk was more of a waddle at 8 months pregnant, but I was workin’ that waddle! By that I mean I worked my way to a wide bench. I made a pretty picture with an oversized corn dog in one hand, a giant soda in the other, and baby bump in the middle.

I was half-way through the corn dog when I realized the gas was not gas. I’d been wondering (since the day I peed on a stick and it declared me a plus and not a minus) what a contraction would feel like. I’d just figured it out.

An hour later I was spread eagle on a hospital bed. As had become the usual routine since blossoming with child, I lowered myself to below zero modesty.

“Hello, New Nurse. Oh, you’d like to stick a popsicle stick in my anus for a fecal sample? No problem!”

I was also hooked up to about 30 different bottles and hoses and stuck with needles in both arms. Nurses and doctors and student doctors had been in an out, pinching, pushing buttons, and taking notes. I knew they weren’t worried because they all smiled and nodded, reassuring me I was…