Today marks the 7th year since my Noah was born.
I was 18 weeks pregnant when I started bleeding. Large bursts of bright-red blood. I was at work, terrified, I called for one of the ladies in the office to help me. The bleeding had stopped by the time I got to the doctor's office, and the doctor had no clue what had happened. I was on bedrest, with cramping and more bleeding for the next 4 weeks.
At 22 weeks, I was in the hospital being dosed with as much magnesium sulphate as they could possibly give me. After 5 straight days, my body reflexes were gone, I was delirious and my family was convinced I wouldn't make it through another day. They gave up the mag. sulphate and contractions started pretty heavily. I delivered my son at 23 weeks, unable to survive outside my body. He lived 2 hours.
I still mourn for my lost son. I still miss him terribly. But I rarely cry for him now. My journal entries said, "Thank you God for giving me a healthy child first, so I wouldn't kill myself when you took this one." Thank goodness for the healing powers of time. Now I can smile when I think of him, how sweet he smelled, how beautiful he was, and how lucky we were to spend even those two short hours with him. I will always love you, little Noah.