Patricia Hittel's Story
I was married for the second time, what I considered to be my last chance at "happily ever after." I wasn't young and, at eleven years my senior, my husband certainly wasn't either. We wanted, worked for and prayed for a baby that would glue together our blended family.
When we received the news that not only were we pregnant, but pregnant with twins, we were beyond elated. I remember the day that we went for our second sonogram like it was yesterday. We searched for parking. We saw a sign that said, “Labor & Delivery." Well into our seventh month, as we passed by that sign I said, "Not today, but soon."
When the sonogram technician started our sonogram, she focused on a perfect hand. Five perfect fingers. Only, well, they weren't moving as one would expect. Panic seized my body and soul. Bless my husband, he was so excited and only saw perfection. When the technician said she would be right back, my heart and head spun. How was I to tell my husband what my heart knew for sure? How could I crush his dreams? So I waited, and I said nothing.
When the doctor walked in to our room, she placed her hands on me and said, "There is no easy way to tell you." I'm sure she followed with something special and supportive. All I knew was that my babies were dead. The babies that were going to complete my family had already made their way to God.
The next day, when I arrived for induction, I fought the process. If the babies were in my body, they were mine. Once I delivered them, I knew it was all going to be over. Although I can't remember her name, the nurse who brought my beautiful, perfect son and daughter into this world, was surely an angel. She washed them and cared for them as if I would bring them home. She wrapped my daughter in a pink blanket and then laid her in my arms. Her tulip lips and sweet chin were sheer perfection. And, as hard as it might be for some to understand, it was one of the most beautiful moments of my life.