At age 40 I became pregnant. I knew from the early stages of my pregnancy that this would be a different experience. At my first ultrasound it was apparent that our son had a serious heart problem and would most likely need a heart transplant. However, the ob/gyn also wanted us to see a specialist. After an amniocentesis they discovered that the baby boy I was carrying had full Trisomy 18, a condition where there is an extra 18th chromosome, usually an abnormality “not compatible with life.” Some babies survive this condition but most are girls. Most full Trisomy 18 boys are either stillborn or live a short time after birth.
Needless to say, it was difficult to absorb this news. Doctors asked if I would like to abort the baby or carry on with the pregnancy. As my husband and I sat in the doctor’s office, I couldn’t believe they were talking to us. It was surreal. My heart ached to understand why and how I would make it through the pregnancy. I wondered how we would tell our other children.
We carried this knowledge for several weeks before letting people know. It was difficult to know how to respond to normal pregnancy questions. “Aren’t you so excited for this baby?” “Can we have a shower for you?” Kind hearted friends offered to share their gently used baby items. I knew in my heart that Baby Winston would never need a crib, a stroller, or baby clothes and worst of all, he would not grow old on earth with me as his mother.
The agony of knowing how best to navigate the heartache my husband and I felt was difficult. We finally let people know because the normally harmless questions felt more like irremovable barbs to my heart. I carried on with the pregnancy for several months knowing it would not end like most pregnancies.
Eight months into my pregnancy, Baby Winston stopped moving and his heart stopped beating. I knew he was gone and I wished that my own heart had stopped too.
He was delivered like my other babies but without a heart beat. We had some tender moments with our son before he was taken to the hospital morgue. Leaving the hospital with empty arms was one of the most difficult experiences. Not only were my arms empty but it was Mother’s Day as well. It seemed like a cruel joke.
The weeks following the loss were challenging to say the least. It was a dark time for me. My husband, knowing my sorrow, worked hard to help me heal. He bought me a mountain bike in hopes of encouraging me to get out. We took some rides and miracles happened. The heaviness started to lift. It was the first time I felt peace. I found that being in nature and pedaling healed my soul. I started riding as much as I could. As I rode I would feel Winston whispering to my heart that everything would be OK. My husband, however, did not like me riding the mountain trails alone when he was at work. Little by little, I found women to ride with. Women who were kind and understanding. Women who occasionally would let me cry as I rode, with no judgement. Women who were supportive and positive as I came to terms with my loss.
Despite years passing, every spring I revisit the loss as I remember my pregnancy. Spring still seems grey despite the new birth of life and color. Mother’s Day is still very hard. Gratefully, I know that I can get on my bike and be surrounded by my mountain biking friends. We are all different ages and have all different backgrounds. The group dynamic changes as women have babies and come and go due to varying life experiences. I have learned that we can deal with unimaginable pain and sorrow with the support of the right people. With the help of my family and an amazing network of women, I have learned how to deal with the loss of Baby Winston.
Women who create loving, supportive, caring environments can be incredibly empowering to one another. My mountain biking group does more than climb mountain trails. We encourage and remind each other that we are not alone in the trials we face in life. We do not compete with one another. We simple ride to improve ourselves physically, spiritually and mentally. Each of us has our own unique life trials and obstacles. As we drive to the trails, we share our hearts and offer help to one another. Then we climb the trails together. When I have been tempted to quit pedaling on a difficult trail, I have a group of people reminding me that I am stronger than I think and I am not alone.
