Surprise Baby

 

Zane was a surprise baby. 

After quitting our jobs, selling our house, and buying a Class C RV, I found out I was pregnant with Zane on day 5 of a year-long road trip to visit all the national parks in the Lower 48. I had missed my period and decided to drive from our campsite in Joshua Tree National Park to the neighboring town of Joshua Tree to buy a pregnancy test. Getting pregnant was the one thing that couldn’t happen while we were on the road. Murphy’s Law, I guess, because it did. We thought about ending our trip, but I decided I wanted to continue. I could make prenatal care work. On the road. And with the help of family members along the way, I mostly did. 

I hiked while pregnant and, at first, thought about miscarriage. If there was any time to have one, it was then. We talked about abortion, but that simply wasn’t something I could live with. There are many reasons why, but one of them was the agony I experienced when I lost two previous babies in pregnancy.

Zane was born on his due date in December. However, it was not the same, joyous birth that I had with my older son. His heart rate kept plummeting, so I was sent for an emergency C-section. There was a lot of yanking on my uterus to free him and, when they did, he was very small and rushed to the NICU. Something was very wrong with him. 

In my unpublished memoir (Off the Map) about our road trip and Zane’s birth and diagnosis, I detailed the experience.

“Who has the big ears in the family?” the doctor asked. 

Under the influence of sedation, I wondered if the baby truly had big ears until I realized it was a joke since the baby appeared to be stuck. 

When there was an incredible amount of tugging, a grimace plastered itself to Jeff’s face. Somehow, it didn’t seem so normal anymore. 

Five days after his birth, we were told he had Trisomy 18—a chromosomal disorder where only 50% of babies survive birth, and fewer than 10% make it to their first birthdays. Our kiddo had a death sentence.

But he was adorable (to me) and oh-so sweet. I loved holding him in the NICU. We divided our time between the hospital and my uncle’s vacation home where my older son stayed with my parents. After additional tests came back pertaining to his heart and kidneys, we were told he could live a couple of months, so we took him back on the road. Under hospice care. I hiked with him in a rebozo draped around me, and it suited him. We had a new member of our family—for however long he wished to stay. 

I hadn’t realized it at the time, but this was grief: the not having a traditional pregnancy; my son winding up in the NICU with unknown issues; the idea that Zane may not live as long of a life as is typical for humans. This grief was not the same as losing Zane, but it was a loss nonetheless. It was also a source of trauma, for Zane and for our family, as well. Of course, I blamed myself. At first for the undetermined reason behind his low birth weight and breathing issues, but later for his diagnosis, as well. Even though I’d been presented with facts that showed it was not my fault, I still (to this day) allow some blame to settle on me, such as having him at a more advanced age. I also wonder if there are things I could have done differently to prevent his Trisomy 18 diagnosis, even though those thoughts are illogical. 

Grief is a very nuanced and layered thing, which is why it doesn’t follow set rules and expectations that society assigns to it. And after three plus years of being on this planet without my younger son, I’ve learned that grief is something I will carry around with me for the rest of my life. Some days it’s heavier than others. But I’m okay with whatever form it decides to present during the days and the minutes of my life because the grief is an extension of the love I feel for Zane. Will always feel for him.