Miscarriage and Memorial Services, Second Opinions, and Amblyopia

"Hey, when you have some time, I'd like to go back to that shrine where we held the memorial service for our miscarried babies."

That's what my wife said to me.

In the six years between the birth of our first daughter and our second, my wife and I experienced two miscarriages.

Both occurred around the eighth week of pregnancy.

"I cannot hear the baby's heartbeat."

My wife was told this by her doctor during routine checkups twice, and she had to face this harsh reality both times.

I can only imagine the immeasurable damage to her heart and body that followed in the days after the surgeries.

I remember that as a man, all I could do was try to be considerate of my wife and help out with the housework.

On top of that, the thing that relentlessly attacked my wife, who was already hurting, was the daily task of raising our first daughter. While I wonder if there were moments when she could forget the pain while being buried in the busyness of life, I imagine she must have been deeply wounded again every time she saw words like [pregnancy], [baby], or [miscarriage] on TV or in the media.

It was a painful two years.

After that, we discovered she was pregnant with our second daughter.

Of course, we were overjoyed, but at the same time, the anxiety of a [third miscarriage] crossed our minds.

To break away from that anxiety and to hold a memorial for the two who couldn't be born, we took our eldest daughter and the three of us headed to a shrine.

We chose a shrine about 160km away from Tokyo.

Some might think it would be better to go somewhere closer, but our conclusion was that we wanted to break away from our anxiety and worries, and we felt we needed a certain amount of physical distance. Also, we had visited that shrine before for prayers, so we trusted them with the memorial service for our two babies.

Our eldest daughter was in her final year of kindergarten at the time.

She seemed to somewhat understand the explanation we gave her: "We are saying goodbye to the two babies who couldn't be born."

I still remember the image of her closing her eyes and putting her small hands together with all her might.

At the end of the service, we were given two white dolls about the size of finger puppets.

"Please take good care of these dolls for a while. And when your hearts are at peace, please come back and return them here."

My wife kept those two dolls very carefully, always in a place where she could see them.

Our second daughter in the womb passed through the dreaded eighth week, which we had been so worried about, without any issues and continued to grow steadily.

It was about two months before the due date.

"I think I'd like to go return the dolls."

That's what my wife said.

"Okay. Let's go."

We visited the distant shrine again, returned the two dolls, and put our hands together in prayer.

Then, in April 2023, our second daughter was born safely, weighing 4080g.

I was present from the administration of the labor-inducing drug until the birth, and I burned every moment of my wife and second daughter's life-or-death struggle into my brain.

Calling it a life-or-death struggle to be born might be a slightly strange use of the word, but it truly was a life-or-death struggle.

Tears overflowed.

Two years and four months have passed since then.

As I mentioned at the beginning, my wife said she wanted to go to that shrine again.

"We haven't reported to the two of them that this child was born safely."

Our second daughter stands on my thighs as I sit on the sofa, balancing skillfully and smiling happily.

"That's right, this is her first time going."

A few days later, we headed to that shrine for the first time as a family of four.

"Hey Daddy, is that where the baby's grave is?"

My eldest daughter, who was still in kindergarten two years ago, must have been recalling her previous memory as she asked me that in the car.

"No, no, it's not a grave."

"Oh, then what is it?"

"Hmm, how should I put it... Maybe I should say it's where the feelings of the babies who couldn't be born are? It's difficult, isn't it?"

"Their souls?"

I was surprised that the word 'soul' came out, but since it felt close to the expression, I answered, "Yes, exactly, that's it!"

"So, big sister, tell them that your little sister was born healthy!" said my wife.

"Yeah, I got it! I'm going to tell them you were born!!!"

My eldest daughter said, teasingly talking to her little sister sitting in the child seat next to her.

"No!!"

The car erupted in laughter at the response from her little sister, who is currently in the middle of her 'no' phase, saying it in English.

Thanks to the fun conversation, the 160km journey felt like it passed in an instant.

Walking up the gravel path while holding the hand of a two-year-old takes an unusually long time, and even though it was a day of extreme heat, I made up my mind, picked her up, and proceeded up the sloping path and stairs.

Sweat was pouring from my forehead, and my shirt was sticking to my body, which was uncomfortable.

What provided some relief was that the air at this shrine is incredibly divine and clear.

Focusing on that helped distract me a little.

The plants and trees are full of vitality, and while the air seems filled with energy, I also feel a solid, calm presence.

The fact that we both loved the sacred air of this shrine and felt we wanted to hold the memorial service here and have the two of them stay here was a major factor in our choice of location.

And today, as if to welcome us, a large dragonfly is circling around us again and again.

After paying our respects at the main hall, we arrived at the memorial site.

My eldest daughter's slightly larger hands and my second daughter's still-tiny hands were both pressed together, facing the souls of the two babies.

When they close their eyes, the way their long eyelashes point straight up makes them look very similar as sisters.

I also put my hands together.

[Sorry it's been a while. My little sister was born healthy, so I came to say hello. I will raise her with all my might for the two of you as well, so I'll come back again.]

When I opened my eyes, my wife was also praying.

I'm sure she was saying something similar.

We received our fortunes and amulets and headed back down the path to the parking lot.

I felt my eldest daughter's growth as she gently held her two-year-old sister's hand, and I watched the two of them while feeling grateful once again for the ordinary days we've had until now.

My eldest daughter's fortune that day was 'Good Luck' (Kichi).

My daughter, who had drawn 'Great Luck' (Daikichi) every time until now as if it were a lie, lost a little bit of her energy.

While saying, "Well, things like that happen, it's just a fortune," I read the words on the fortune and was surprised.

[Illness: Choose your doctor. You will recover.]

This was an event from a few years before we started visiting here.

During a vision test we started playing in the living room, she looked at the 'C' as if tilting her head, which gave me a bad feeling, so I took her to an ophthalmologist.

The results of the examination showed that the doctor diagnosed her with poor eyesight, bordering on amblyopia.

When I was told, "From today, you must wear an eye patch (a sticker to cover one eye) for 8 hours every day to correct her vision," an unexpected reality sank heavily and darkly into my chest.

A pure white eye patch that must have been 10 centimeters in diameter.

8 hours every day on my cute daughter's face? My eldest daughter, who has sensitive skin, would definitely have her face irritated by the adhesive on the eye patch within a few days.

But just because it's irritated doesn't mean I can stop her from wearing the patch.

My eldest daughter crying because her skin was irritated, and parents forcing her to wear the eye patch for 8 hours a day while scolding her strictly out of worry.

My eldest daughter's red, raw face.

I could instantly imagine the hell that awaited us.

I went home and reported it to my wife.

My wife had the same expression as me, imagining the same hell.

We were thrown into an environment that was too cruel and had not a shred of salvation.

But just because we were thrown down, should we give up? We steeled ourselves, thinking of our child, and searched desperately for a hospital, finding a pediatric ophthalmology clinic and deciding to bet on a second opinion.

The specialist told us the eye patch only needed to be worn for 3 hours. And it turned out that the glasses made at the first hospital were not the right prescription for her vision.

When I desperately searched for eye patches online, I found a type that covers the glasses without using adhesive, sold by a mom who had been in a similar situation. Moreover, they came in fabrics that matched the interests of girls and boys, from cute ones to cool ones.

We visited the pediatric ophthalmology clinic we chose for our second opinion regularly for a little under two years.

Her vision gradually began to show signs of recovery, and the eye patch time progressed from 3 hours a day to 2 hours a day.

And this time, in the examination room of the hospital with the pediatric ophthalmologist we visited a few days before drawing the fortune.

"It's going well. Her vision has improved significantly. There is no difference between the left and right, and no strabismus. With her glasses on, she has 1.5 vision in both eyes."

My wife and I were on the verge of tears.

You did your best, our eldest daughter!

The doctor continued.

"You can say she has recovered from amblyopia. And, there is a possibility that she might be able to stop wearing glasses when she gets to the upper grades, in 5th or 6th grade. You worked hard!"

My eldest daughter's face lit up.

"Let's have a regular checkup in 3 months. From today, you only need to wear the eye patch for 1 hour a day."

For us, who had resigned ourselves to the idea that even if she wasn't amblyopic, she would have to wear glasses for the rest of her life, this was the happiest result possible.

I felt the importance of a second opinion once again.

Kudos to my eldest daughter for her hard work!

Let's keep doing our best without letting our guard down.

Mom and Dad will definitely cure you.

[Illness: Choose your doctor. You will recover.]

A few days after visiting the shrine.

A Demon Slayer date with my eldest daughter.

A masterpiece that lasted a full 3 hours!

Emotion after emotion, excitement after excitement.

The climax lasted for all 3 hours!

At the end, I was sobbing.

After the show, "Daddy, you were crying! Haha!"

While being teased by my daughter, I was happy and surprised at the growth of my eldest daughter, who was now able to watch a 3-hour masterpiece with me.

And I realized something.

My eldest daughter had been wearing an eye patch for 3 hours every single day, doing homework, piano, playing, etc., for over a year.

If I had been told to watch this movie today with one eye covered for 3 hours, it would have been an immeasurable amount of stress.

But here is my eldest daughter, who has been doing that all along.

"Daddy, were you that moved that you cried?" my eldest daughter continued.

I answered, putting my feelings into it for my 8-year-old hard worker.

"Yeah. I was really moved!"