Permanence

On February 26, 2008, I miscarried a baby. We were just days away from announcing to the other children that they were going to have a new baby when I felt very peculiar. I told my husband I was feeling sort of low-grade feverish and was worried. The next day the bleeding started and I went to Emergency at the nearby hospital. An ultrasound confirmed that the baby had died within me probably at about week 10 of the pregnancy. I was now nearly 13 weeks along and my body was just catching up to the reality of this lost pregnancy. I opted for a D&C rather than miscarrying at home.

I remember crying in emergency for hours as I waited for my surgery, which was scheduled for that evening. One of the three midwives from the practice I chose for prenatal care came and stayed with me for quite a while. She was a source of strength and quiet compassion, which was a great comfort. Especially since my first appointment with the midwifery group was not scheduled until the following week. Little did I know she'd be with me just over a year later and help me birth my son's lifeless body at full term.

My husband and I opted not to tell the children about the miscarriage; they had no idea I had been pregnant and we decided we needn't upset them with sad news - especially since our eldest son was only seven - it might be too confusing for them. They knew mummy was sick and had been in the hospital, but that was all. The nosy school secretary who made it her business to know why we'd both missed the annual general meeting to which attendance by one parent is mandatory told many people that I'd miscarried. It was bandied about in the schoolyard and I was incensed.

I was so sad at losing this little babe and felt angry with my body in some weird way, as though it was responsible even though I figured it was likely Fifth's Disease. This common childhood communicable disease is often fatal to first-trimester babies and both of my youngest had recently had bouts of it, as had most of the preschoolers we knew. Dismayed that this child had slipped away from me, I decided to get a tattoo. It's like a little secret mark to commemorate my children that nothing can take away. Indelible, like my love for my children despite this devastating reminder of mortality. I chose a Celtic knot called, "A Mother's Love." It is a small heart embraced by a larger heart. I had one little dot put around the heart for each of my children, including this little soul I had miscarried. I felt he was a boy but I'm not sure of course. In my mind I think of this little one as Francis because I love Saint Francis, patron saint of animals and author of the Prayer of Peace (and if I'm wrong and baby was a girl, well Frances is a lovely name).

Not too many people know about my tattoo, which sits just below my waist on the right side of my lower back. You can only see it if I show it to you. My husband was shocked that I'd gone and gotten inked, which gave me a giggle at the time. It's nice to be able to surprise someone you've been with nearly two decades. It was fun to be unpredictable and do something that was just for me and my memories.

So now, I wonder, how do I add my baby George to this permanent reminder of my motherhood? I guess I could add a dot, but it doesn't feel very inspired. Angel wings seem a bit too sacharine and over the top and just not in keeping with the design of the Celtic knots.

I'm puzzled over this and perplexed as well, now, to never acknowledge the life of this other little soul I was blessed to conceive. I think of both my lost babes, but since we never told our other children at the time I guess I'll wait till they're older. Or one of them realizes that my permanent mark counted out five babies before our little George was stillborn.

After that miscarriage and the emotional ups and downs that followed, my husband was of the mind that we should be content with four children and try to avoid pregnancy. I felt as though we were missing someone in our family and longed for just one more baby. And so, last August, my husband said we'd try once to conceive on purpose. I chart my cycles so we know timing. If we fell pregnant, the addition to our family was meant to be. If not, we would be happy with our four. I was pregnant straight away and felt peacefully that this little child was meant to be. And so he was, I guess. I just had no idea that his little soul was only with us for a little while and that I'd be holding an angel in my arms nine months later.