Not many people know this: my wife and I lost a child to complications. Our baby would’ve been close to five-years-old by now.
Finding out we were pregnant with our second child was a cause of celebration for us, just as it had been when we found out Xaria was on her way. We had begun to talk about having more kids, especially because we wanted Xaria to have a sibling. We decided to go for it, despite knowing that we were going to experience the gamut of nerves and fears associated with pregnancy. Xaria’s birth was no exception, either, but we did all we could to be best prepared for our new child’s arrival.
Guen was in her forties when she was got pregnant this time around, and we were well aware of the potential complications associated with older age and pregnancy. We saw all the right doctors and took all the necessary tests, driving back and forth to San Francisco and Stanford. We were full throttle, all positive, and yet cautious with everything Guen did. But still, at our soul’s core, were over the moon.
We talked about names and gifts and sleeping arrangements and how happy Xaria would be and what age she would be when her baby brother or baby sister was five or six-years-old and how our lives would be made much more meaningful with more children. Xaria was getting a younger sibling, too, and she was super excited about it. We, too, were super stoked for her.
There was still a lot of work to do, and we were determined to be thorough with our preparations and medical options. We took advantage of all the advice and tests that were recommended, leaving little room for future regret. Guen and I fielded a slew of Genetic Screening questions from a specialist in San Francisco. We were asked questions about our families, on both sides, about moms and dads, grandmas and grandpas, and great grandparents. We volunteered information regarding any family health issues of which we knew. The conclusion from the screener was that everything was normal. In fact, every test Guen took had come back absolutely positive, making us even more excited to see our baby.
Because of Guen’s age, she was provided information for one more optional test. It was called a Chorionic Villus Sampling (CVS) test, a prenatal exam used to detect abnormalities, birth defects, genetic diseases, and other pregnancy problems. The test was recommended by Doctor Alexander, the same doctor that who delivered Xaria. We loved Dr. Alexander, and we trusted his opinions and judgement. Guen wholeheartedly agreed to the test
The CVS test involves removing a sample piece of the placenta. It’s done by inserting a long needle through the belly, reaching all the way to the placenta. The sample is then sent to a lab, and the results come back a few days later. Guen was a trooper during the test, a symbol of her determination to ensure a normal, healthy birth.
The CVS results had come in, and so we drove to San Francisco to hear the findings. If I remember correctly, we were apprehensive and emotionally fragile. Up to this point, we had relied on images from ultrasounds and blood samples to tell us that our pregnancy was going well. We studied our baby’s curled form, mysterious and magical on the ultrasound screen, and watched his/her heart pulsate with excitement, my urging him/her on, “C’mon, baby! You can do it! I’ll see you, soon!”
A trisomy is a type of polysomy, when an organism or species produces one extra chromosome. A normal human is equipped with 46 chromosomes. The first twenty-three chromosomes, called autosomes, look the same in both males and females. The next twenty-three, the sex chromosomes, differ between males and females. The production of extra chromosomes severely throws off the balance in an organism, which could prove dangerous, even deadly.
For women aged 40 and up, the chance of their baby being born with Down Syndrome is approximately 1 in 90. A double trisomy, two extra chromosomes, is exceedingly rare, at a rate of approximately 1 in every 10,000 births.
The CVS results confirmed that were that 1 in 10,000. We were told our baby had a double-trisomy. The double-trisomy meant our baby was to born with Down Syndrome, a disease we were ok living with, but the second trisomy meant that our baby’s life would be a stillbirth, meaning that he or she would more than likely die after approximately 24 completed weeks of pregnancy. It was blow. Dr. Alexander explained our options. He was slow and careful and empathetic.
My heart was completely broken. I can’t imagine how Guen felt, but I know she was destroyed on most every level. After all, this was not supposed to happen. Every test was positive. Every ultrasound was a celebration. Every conversation we had with our team of doctors and every piece of information we received about our baby was positive. The chance of a double trisomy was almost nil.
After many tears and long periods of depression and self-doubt, we aborted the pregnancy. Dr. Alexander assured us that our decision to do so was made much easier by the double trisomy, a surreal, reverse blessing of sorts, giving us no choice. We did not want our boy to die stillbirth.
A few days later, we were once again in San Francisco. I don’t remember the drive—only the stillness in the air, the quietude, the sadness. There were no words that day. Only feelings.
My wife asked about the sex of the baby after the termination. They told her he was a boy. He would’ve been named Luke or Santiago, or even Mark. These names were on the list.
The doctors said they were surprised that Guen got pregnant in the first place. In fact, the post-operation counselor told her that she was lucky to have gotten pregnant at all. Even after the initial fertility tests we took as we were planning to have another child, Dr. Alexander told Guen that she had a 1% chance of getting pregnant. She had defied the odds, and a month later after he told her that is was almost impossible, Guen was pregnant. That it had ended was devastating.
A day after the termination, I had a dream. I was walking into the family room from our bedroom. At the same time, Xaria was walking in through the back door of our house and into the kitchen. We met at the threshold of the kitchen and family room. I noticed her hands were cupped as she approached. “Dad, look what I found.” I looked into her hands, and she was cradling a dead bee. She was so very cautious with this creature, even though it was dead. I could tell she was connected to it on an emotional level, as I have seen Xaria in these situations before. I could sense this connection in the dream. And then I, too, was affected emotionally by the sight of the bee, and I felt drawn towards the bee, too, pulled towards it by a soft sadness. I knew in my dream that she was holding her baby brother and that I was seeing the symbol of my son.
I told Guen and Xaria about the dream. Guen knew it was our boy. She believes in these things. Xaria was mystified by its meaning. At school, she told her friends, other Kindergartners, that her brother is a bee. We had to counsel her a little from making those types of statements, as elementary kids take everything at face value. But from that point on, we started to see a lot of bees—not in swarms—but individually, and at odd times. Recently, as we were returning home from a family trip to Big Sur, a bee flew into the car. The odds of it happening were pretty crazy because I had only one window slightly open, barely at a crack. The bee found its way into the car, immediately causing excitement and joy. It hung around for a few seconds to say “hi,” and then he flew out of the car on his own, through the same window. It was pretty cool, and both Xaria and Iris knew the bee was their baby brother. I drive on with a smile.
Last week, on August 8, 2017, I turned 47 years-old. I got up particularly early that day to water the lawn and vegetable garden. After this, I went back into the house to get Guen’s car keys. When I can, I start her car for her and get Iris strapped into the car seat, little things to make Guen’s day easier. As I walked back towards the house, I noticed a speck on my car window. As I neared, it didn’t take me long to realize that it was a bee. It was just resting there, in no particular rush or posture. It was just glued to the window. I called for Xaria and Iris. ‘Xaria! Iris! Come here! You’re not going to believe what’s on my car!” “What is it!” they yelled, rushing outside to see. I was standing at the car as they ran up. “Look,” I said, “It’s your brother, my son! He’s come to wish me a happy birthday!” “Wow,” Xaria said. “That’s cool!” She didn’t seem surprised, but Iris was, and she unloaded a barrage of questions. “Is that my brudder?” “Why is the bee on your window?” “How come the bee is there, daddy?” “Why is he resting?”
I answered every one of Iris’ questions. It was my pleasure. She’s our rainbow baby, the less than 1% girl, the miracle that came after our boy left us.
Dr. Alexander didn’t think it was possible for Guen to get pregnant again, and if it happened, it could prove tumultuous. We were still reeling from the abortion, and we passed through substantial period of mourning, but Guen and I got through the aftermath together, and with the love of family and each other, we were able to move forward, emotionally and spiritually. We were ready to try again, too!
The months passed, and Guen periodically cried as she thought about our boy and what could have been. I did, too, more in secret, though, hiding my musings from Guen. My son would’ve played soccer, and I would’ve been under the car with him teaching him the difference between open-end wrenches and sockets. We would’ve fished together and he would’ve cursed and I would’ve laughed. And he would protect and take care of me when I was old.
The months went on like this. Then, on one December day, there was good news. I was napping. It was about 1:00 p.m. It was chilly and I was under the blankets. The house was unusually quiet. Xaria was asleep, too.
There was a massive bang on the door. I don’t scare easily, but I jumped, completely startled. Guen was standing at the threshold, crying hysterically. She was clutching a pregnancy test. “I’m pregnant! I’m pregnant!” she yelled. “What?” I threw off the blankets and crawled across the bed to her. She thrust the test into my face, and I read the lines. They were pink and they were positive. We cried together.
Well, here we go again! We were back at it, traveling to and from San Francisco and Stanford. We didn’t want to jinx this one, so we remained tight lipped about the pregnancy. We didn’t even talk about names. However, Guen is Guen, and so she turned to Google. She found that a baby that is born after the tragedy of a previous pregnancy, is called a “rainbow baby!” She believes in these things, and, by default, I do, too. When we found out we were having a girl, we decided on naming her Iris, the Spanish name for “rainbow,” or “arco iris.”
Iris has been a miracle, a truly magical addition to our lives. She has already proven to be fierce in her three-years of life. She is completely different from Xaria, too. Xaria wore a threadbare tutu for the first four-years of her life, pulling it up over every outfit she ever put on, until it finally fell to pieces. Iris, on the other hand, hasn’t worn a dress in almost three-years. She refuses to wear one, and she detests the color pink. Instead, she’s into soccer, baseball, basketball, skateboarding, scooters, and jumping off high places. She has already broken an arm, ridden in an ambulance, and worn several bandages. She does not walk. She runs to wherever she has to be. She may very well be our boy reincarnated, but whatever she is, I know that she is definitely meant to bee.