The woman was sobbing as they rolled my gurney into the hospital room.  Her curtain was pulled so I couldn’t see her, but her sobs would have been heartbreaking had I not been in a state of euphoria.

I had just given birth to my miracle baby.  It was a miracle we conceived him.  It was a miracle when I sensed something wrong and went to my OB’s office.  It was a miracle my OB was out of town and another doctor with much smaller hands ended up tying the knot in the cervical cerclage stitch that closed my cervix and kept me pregnant.  It was a miracle that I was in labor for 9 weeks and the drugs kept me pregnant long enough for him to be viable.  It was a miracle that he was born 9 ½ weeks early and suffered little complications.  That’s no big deal now, but in 1985 that was a miracle.

My labor had been difficult, and I was exhausted by the weeks that led up to it.  The pain endorphins transitioned to euphoria when with that last push, I finally found the strength.  I was moments away from a c-section.

They let me hold him about 10 seconds before whisking him into an isolette and down the hall to the NICU. 

They cleaned me up, monitored me for a bit, and took me to my room where the woman was sobbing.  She was alone and the room was dark.

I whispered to the nurse, “What is wrong?”

Unbelievable in this day of HIPAA, she told me.  She had been pregnant with twins.  One had died and they had to remove it via c-section.  Now she was miscarrying the other. 

My heart would have broken for her but I was too filled with joy.  Oh sure, I had empty arms and hadn’t seen Jeremy but for 10 seconds, but it was all going to be okay. 

Deep in my heart, throughout the pregnancy, I had a sense that all this stress was for naught, that it was going to be okay.  But you can’t help but wonder and worry.  It had been a long 9 weeks since that day at the office when I just didn’t feel right.

Under normal circumstances, Jeremy would have been a second-trimester miscarriage, but they went to heroic lengths to save him because my husband was supposed to be sterile. 

And it worked.

The woman next to me didn’t have a happy story.  As I lay there trying to exult in my good fortune, each sob of hers reverberated through my body.  It was heartbreaking. 

I had no doubt that her heart was literally breaking.   I have never heard such emotional pain expressed before.

I couldn’t stand it any longer. 

I was in a nightgown after my shower, but I had a bathrobe with me.  I donned it and my slippers and slipped out of my room and headed for the NICU.  They wouldn’t let me in – they were still tending to Jeremy.  I decided a cup of coffee was in order.  Oh, how I’d missed it. 

I couldn’t find the cafeteria. 

I wandered out the front door of the hospital into a perfect June day in Wisconsin.  Azure sky.  Gentle breeze.  I spotted the McDonald’s across the street and off I went in search of coffee and a place to sit and enjoy it without hearing sobbing.

My heart felt for that woman, but I wanted to wallow in my joy without the taint of her misery.  Can you blame me?

I crossed a very busy highway, bathrobe flapping and entered the McDonald’s.  I wasn’t really aware of what I was wearing.  I was riding high on elation.  And dreams of the future.  And anticipation of my first cup of coffee since November.

I ordered.  The woman at the counter looked at me and said, “Can I call someone for you?” 

I was puzzled and looked down.   I realized she was concerned. 

I gave her a big grin and told her no.  Told her that I was okay, but my hospital roommate needed some privacy. 

“Ah, she said with a raised eyebrow.  And you?”

I explained that my son had just been born and I was celebrating. 

She laughed and said, “On the house.”