I was discharged from the hospital four days after delivering Aria. I needed to be closely monitored to make sure all of my symptoms of mirror syndrome had resolved, so I was in the hospital a bit longer than normal. Once my labs showed my liver was functioning again and my blood pressure was in a normal range, we were free to go.
Honestly, I was really afraid of leaving. The doctor on call that morning commented that I was probably sick of being stuck in the hospital, but I would have stayed longer if I could. Stepping out of the hospital doors meant I couldn’t hide anymore. I had to face reality and I wasn’t sure I could.
As Brian packed up the room, the lead doctor on our case came in to say goodbye. She hugged me tightly and reassured us that we were not going through this alone. Then she said the most important, and meaningful thing anyone has ever said to me.
I want you to always listen to your heart. You followed your heart with every decision you made for Aria, and every time, you were right. Trust your heart.
I have replayed those words in my head a million times since that day. They have brought me through so many moments of doubt.
After she left, Brian and I stood in the room and wept. For the first time, we understood that Aria was gone, and we had to keep going without her. We looked around the room, replaying each memory of our daughter’s brief life. Once we got ourselves together, and started to exit the room, Brian stopped. “I want to pray for the next family who uses this room.”
The Special Delivery Unit at CHOP is only used by mothers carrying babies with birth defects that need specialized and intensive care or fetal surgeries. Although they perform life saving miracles on a daily basis, they endure many losses. We were just one of many grieving families during our stay. We knew my hospital room would house more families in our situation in the future, and we prayed they would find peace. Our hearts ached as we thought about the parents who would soon know the pain we were feeling. We wished it could be different for them, and their precious babies.
As we walked out of my room and into the hallway, I cradled a colorful bouquet of flowers in my arms. I had decided that if I wasn’t walking out of here holding Aria, I was going to carry something beautiful in her honor. We were stopped every few feet by nurses, given tearful goodbyes, and warm hugs. We were told to send Christmas cards, and repeatedly reminded that we were not alone.
Somehow, we managed to walk out of the hospital and to the car without completely breaking down. Brian started the car and said “Ok, Aria. We are going to do this. We are going to be strong for you.”
As we drove away from the hospital, the sun shined on my face. It felt like a warm embrace, and it was then that I fully realized that Aria was still with me, and always would be.