Lullaby update

It was back in September of 2007, nearly two years ago, that I wrote a post about lullabies played in the hospital. JB had gotten wind that Eglin was thinking of implementing the "lullaby after baby is born" policy in their hospital. He was adamantly against its inclusion in his place of employment.

Back then, things were different for us. We had just faced IVF negative #4. We had gotten on China's adoption list. We had accepted the fact that biological children were probably something we would never have.

Fast forward to today. May 2009. A lot has changed. We have two boys. One from my body. One from Bri's.

And yet I am still, adamantly, against those darned lullabies.

Yesterday we went up to the hospital for Isaac to get his 12-month shots. As Daryl Hannah (... okay, so she's not really Daryl Hannah, but I think she looks like Daryl, so we call her that every time we go in ... not to her face of course ... although I don't think being called Daryl Hannah is offensive, is it?) ... Anyways ... as Daryl Hannah was putting my information in the computer, I heard it.

A lullaby.

Let me preface this post by saying that I totally respect those of you who don't agree with me. We had a great "comment discussion" about this back in September. I respect those of you who think the lullaby is a nice inclusion in a hospital.

I, however, am not one of them.

So back to my story. Daryl typing. Lullaby plays. I scrunch my nose. Daryl looks up from computer and smiles.

"What was that?" I asked even though I already knew.

"A lullaby," she said. "It means a baby has been born in the hospital."

"Are they playing those now?" I asked. "Every time a baby is born?"

"Yep. Isn't it great?"

I thought about nodding and smiling, but I just couldn't do it. I had to be honest.

"I don't really think so," I said.

Daryl looked visibly shocked.

"I don't know," I began. "I mean, it's wonderful that a baby has been born, but at the same time their room is celebrating, there are other women in the hospital who just got difficult news."

I listed all the possibilities. Finding out you had a miscarriage. Having a doctor tell you that your full-term baby has passed away (something JB had to do recently). Being told that you'll never have children. Getting a negative pregnancy test -- again. Being told your own child has passed away or has a terminal illness and might die.

"What about all those women?" I asked Daryl. "How would they feel?"

Daryl nodded and said she understood my point. "But if I couldn't have kids," she started, "I would just adopt."

I knew enough from past conversations with Daryl that this wasn't the case. She had told me tons about her own children and even made the comment that sneezing made her pregnant. And she had pictures on the wall behind her to prove how true that was.

I again contemplated keeping my mouth shut. But I went on. "He's adopted," I said, rubbing the top of Isaac's head. "I love him like crazy. And Elijah," I said, nodding my head toward the waiting room where he and JB were waiting, "Is an incredible blessing. But I spent five years trying to have kids. I can't imagine how painful it would have been for me to listen to a lullaby play 2, 3, 4 times a day."

Daryl was kind even though I could tell she thought I had jumped way overboard on the topic. I didn't care. I was hurting so badly inside. I was thinking of all my friends who are still waiting on children. I was thinking of people JB works with who come to that hospital every single day. And every single day they would be reminded that someone else just got what they dream of having. I was thinking of our friends who just moved and how glad I was that they moved before they had to hear this.

I walked out of the shot room with a screaming Isaac, and as JB scooped him into his arms he looked at me and said, "Did you hear the lullaby?"

The look on my face told him I had.

"I'm writing a letter," he said. "To someone." It wouldn't do any good I told him, but he didn't care.

We talked all the way out to the van. All the way back to our house. We both acknowledged that it wasn't just those people still waiting that we hurt for. The lullaby reminded us, somehow, of those years of pain. Those years that that song would have been a painful reminder. JB said it would have been so hard for him to hear that at work everyday, even as the guy, while I waited at home, with empty arms.

To those of you still waiting, I am sorry for any pain reminders bring you. To those of you who disagree with me, I totally respect that.

However, I just had to write this. I just had to say something about it to someone.

Thanks for listening.