Mom to Baby Christian

Born on January 27, 2012

Died on January 24, 2012

Mooresville, NC

It’s hard to even believe what has happened in the past few weeks, but I’ve been told it could be therapeutic to share my story.  I know how much it’s helped me reading other people’s stories, so here goes.

It was a typical early Tuesday morning in September of 2011; my husband kissed me goodbye, as he travels out-of-state on a weekly basis for work.  We had been trying to conceive for a few months with no luck.  Every test I took came back negative and I was getting frustrated.  That morning, after he left, I was expecting my period and I thought to myself, I’m going to take the last test in the box and if it is negative, I am done stressing.  I realized that when it’s meant to be, it will be.  A few minutes later the test read positive and I was over joyed.  I didn’t want to tell my husband over the phone so I decided to wait until Thursday night when he got home.   My two year old, Claire, and I would plan a special way to tell him.

I remember walking around that day with a permanent smile on my face.  Claire and I went and got a “big sister” shirt for her to wear, and we waited until Thursday.  When Claire ran out with the shirt on I videotaped my husband’s reaction, and I thought it was so wonderful that I could save that reaction for when this new baby grew up and could watch how excited his or her father was at the thought of adding to our already perfect family.

A few weeks passed and the dreaded morning sickness made its arrival.  I endured around-the-clock nausea for the next three and a half months.  It was just coming to an end right before our exciting 20 week ultrasound, and I felt so proud of myself that I had gotten through what is, for me, the worst part of being pregnant.

So here we were, just the three of us, walking into the ultrasound room, so excited to see our new little addition and to show Claire her brother or sister.  We wanted to keep the gender of the baby a secret and the techs promised to do so.  Halfway through the ultrasound, which we thought was going great, one of the techs left the room and walked back in with a doctor.  Immediately I knew something wasn’t right.  She sat down and told us that everything looked great except the baby’s long bones were measuring about four weeks behind.  I instantly lost it.  I started crying and my husband asked her what that even meant.  She said she honestly didn’t know, and we were referred to a high risk specialist.  This appointment was on a Friday and we couldn’t get an appointment with the high risk doctor until Monday.  First lesson we learned was never to schedule an ultrasound on a Friday.  That weekend was awful for us.  The second lesson we learned was that Google could be a nightmare when you get news regarding the health of your baby.  We tortured ourselves with terms such as dwarfism, Down syndrome, etc.

Monday finally arrived and we headed to our appointment with the hope that the OB-GYN and the ultrasound techs were wrong.  The doctor spent a long time looking at the ultrasound and finally told us with almost 100 percent certainty that the baby would have a form of Skeletal Displasia.  There are over 200 types of Skeletal Displasias, some even lethal. The doctor thought it looked like the non-lethal Achondroplasia, the most common type of dwarfism.  Our worst nightmare was coming true.  I was a mess and couldn’t even speak.  My husband became my rock and asked questions, took notes and tried to calm me down. I just couldn’t imagine that the baby I had visualized to be so perfect was now being diagnosed with Skeletal Displasia.

A genetic counselor gave us the option of having an amnio done in order to narrow down what type of Displasia and whether or not it was a lethal one.  We agreed and the next day we had the amnio done.  As the doctor removed the amnio needle from my stomach the baby’s heart rate dropped significantly.  Those few minutes felt like an eternity as the doctor monitored my baby’s heart beat.  Finally we all heard it return to normal and the doctor himself was a bit shocked that it had dropped so low.  We were presented with our options.  We could wait four weeks for the amnio and continue the pregnancy regardless of the results or we could terminate the pregnancy either before or after the results of the amnio.  I felt such defeat.  What had I done wrong?  What lesson was God trying to teach me? Typing this, I am still asking myself these questions.  The doctors have all assured me that there is nothing I did or could have done to change this.  A “new mutation” of a gene caused this and I had to accept that.

That night I didn’t feel the baby kick.  The next morning I still hadn’t felt the normal movements of the baby and we went to my OB-GYN just to be sure.  On the drive there I  just knew in my heart that God had already taken this baby to heaven.  As the ultrasound proved, I was right.  We learned it was a little boy and even though I am still trying to accept that all of this really did happen and I’m not going to wake up from the worst nightmare of my life, I am trying to look at the positive side of things.  I now have a beautiful little boy in heaven, whom we have named Christian, watching and protecting us every day.

I was induced the next day and delivered Christian in the early morning hours.  Holding him was so bittersweet.  In my eyes he was perfect.  So small, yet so developed.  He was the cutest thing I had ever seen.  How could I not know something was wrong these past four and half months?! A radiologist and a pediatric geneticist took x-rays of Christian, and they believe that the Skeletal Displasia Christian had was Thanatophoric Displasia, the most common lethal Skeletal Displasia.  Christian wouldn’t have been able to survive this. Even though the doctor isn’t really sure how it happened, Christian died because of complications with the amnio.  That is what it says on his death certificate.  However, my husband and I have put our complete faith in the fact that Christian wasn’t healthy and God decided to take him early.  We are coping, some days better than others.  My sweet Claire is the best medicine.  She gets me through the days I wake up and feel as though I can’t breathe.  Our family will always be one beautiful smile short, but we know he’s always with us and he will forever be a part of who I am.  I love you my sweet little boy.

Megan can be reached at megnordhagen@hotmail.com.

Mom to James Austin

Born on September 21, 2010

Passed away on September 21, 2010

Salem, AR

My pregnancy was a surprise. I was on birth control. Between the excitement and wonder was fear. Would our baby be okay since I was on medication? I had once envisioned I would never have children. I had lost my period for almost a year in my teens, was a smoker, a sober alcoholic (five years dry), and drank tons of caffeine. We were not married, which is usually not the ideal situation. We soon completely forgot about our fears and just looked forward to an exciting and promising future. I quit the smoking and all but a bit of caffeine.

We told only close family we were expecting in the first few months of my pregnancy. We had a beautiful wedding on April 10^th, 2010. I married the man of my dreams. I was 16 weeks along on my wedding day. Another week later, and there would have been no question that I was sporting a bump. About a month or so after our wedding, we officially announced our secret. This is about when reality began to sink in. I was going to be a mother! I had never even imagined it. Now, becoming a mom was becoming a grand purpose for me; a calling beyond worldly things like my career. I could not believe how much I loved this little human growing within my body. I was astonished by the miracle of it all. Throughout the hot summer, I waddled around, feeling James Austin’s kicks especially after pancakes in the morning.

My pregnancy was absolutely perfect. I work as an ER admissions clerk at the local hospital and all the nurses and ultrasound techs were excited. We had a total of three awesome baby showers, so we had everything we needed from diapers to clothes until he was a year old! We did a professional maternity shoot which was posted on Facebook. Although we did not have the funds for a 3d ultrasound at our 33-week appointment, the tech did a few shots “on the down low” for us. The baby was thereafter called my chubby cheeks. I couldn’t wait to kiss his cute little face. I am so thankful that the ultrasound tech did the 3D photos because little did I know these were the only pictures I would have of my baby boy alive. As my due date approached, I became more and more excited. I enjoyed placing things on top of my giant belly and watching him kick them off. My 3-year-old niece Lydia was also very excited for her “baby Austin” to arrive.

Friday, September 17^th of 2010, my uterus became hard as if it were in a constant contraction, and Austin wasn’t moving as much as he usually did. The OB told me to come in to get checked out. My doctor checked the baby with a portable ultrasound and everything looked perfect. He was head down and ready to go. Over the weekend, my uterus seemed to soften up, but the baby’s movement still seemed less to me. I thought it must be that he was getting really cramped in there! The following Monday evening, on my due date, I began having contractions. The 45-minute drive to the hospital felt like hours. I know the pain is always bad, but I had no idea! I had contractions accompanied by a constant pain. Baby’s heart rate was good but I was dilating very slowly, so no epidural was given until about 10 hours into labor. I had a not-so-common symptom arise, a fever. My doctor could not determine the cause but did not seem too alarmed. He administered IV antibiotics.

After the epidural, things progressed pretty quickly. I remember a nurse telling me to push, and telling me she could see his head and that he had blonde hair! At this point, they could no longer detect the heartbeat. I began freaking out. They reassured me it was because the baby was coming through the birth canal and the monitor could no longer detect it. The doctor came in just after and had me do my final pushes. I remember the sense of relief and joy as he pulled my little guy out and propped him up against me. His chubby little face looked the same as he did in the 3d ultrasound. This sense of joy quickly turned to confusion as  his lips were blue. Is that normal? “The nurse is going to be a little mean to him now to get his airway cleared,” the doctor said calmly as he cut the cord. And then, probably 30 seconds later, “Do we have an airway?” or ”…heart rate?” I can’t remember what he said prior to his calm demeanor turning into a state of panic and “Hit this button!” and “I need Peds in here stat!!!”

Within what seemed like seconds, my baby was surrounded by a couple of pediatricians, and several nurses. Then they took him to another room. The doctor told us “I don’t usually do this, but whatever your faith is… I need you to pray. Your baby is not breathing.” My husband began to cry. My mom and sister were frantic. I was in shock. I did not cry. During labor, my placenta had abrupted and my tailbone was dislocated. I was in, I suppose, a catatonic state.

Within around ten minutes, the doctor came back in with three other doctors to let us know that our baby had passed away. I remember hearing my mom tell someone tearfully on her phone that he didn’t make it. I didn’t cry yet. I couldn’t process the information. I suppose it was too much for me to bare. I was also distracted by the pain of my dislocated tailbone. I believe the morphine they gave me may have helped me not to go into a nervous breakdown of some sort. It numbed my mind enough for me not to go completely crazy. I could not believe or mentally fathom what had happened. I kept thinking that maybe it was a very vivid dream. It certainly could not be true.

Then they brought our perfect baby in for us to hold. That’s when I began to cry. I cried hysterically when I held his lifeless body and his perfect little hands and kissed his cold face.  Bit by bit, family and friends came in to the hospital room and told me how sorry they were. Every one of them was crying. Probably 50 to 75 different people came in over the course of the couple of days they kept me. The doctor concluded, at first, that it was a bacteria called Listeria that caused an infection in my body and uterus. I continued to run a fever and he gave me another, stronger antibiotic to accompany the first.

Days later, the autopsy determined that it was actually an even rarer food-borne illness  of the uterus called Clostridium perfringens. This bacteria is often the culprit of food poisoning of the gastrointestinal system, not the uterus. It has a 70% maternal death rate and a 100% fetal death rate if it infects the uterus. The doctor said repeatedly that I was lucky to be alive. This did not faze me at the time, but later on, I am grateful that I survived. Clostridium perfringens is most often found in meat that is undercooked or that has been left out too long in buffet or institutional settings.  The infection of this bacteria in the uterus is so rare that the doctor had never seen a case of it and said he was sure that the hospital would never see a case of it again. He had only discovered one other case after researching the infection after Austin’s passing. There is not much information online at all. I was reassured that nothing I did caused it, other than unknowingly eating infected food (probably at a Chinese buffet), and there was nothing I could have done to stop it.

It seemed that half of our small town mourned our baby’s death. There were over 200 hundred people that attended his funeral a couple of days after we left the hospital. In the subsequent weeks, I remember feeling like my arms didn’t know what to do without something to hold. Our family had removed most of his things from our home but they didn’t look inside a dresser in our bedroom that was filled with his clothes. I was glad that they missed it. I needed to look at his clothes, and his pictures, and hold the stuffed animal they laid beside him in the hospital and cry until I felt like there was no way I could cry another tear, then cry some more. I missed him more then I had ever missed anything in my life. I felt like someone had blown a whole in my chest. This was, by far, the most difficult thing I had ever endured. The pain hung on strong through the first year: every holiday, every baby.

Throughout this tragedy, I have kept my faith that God had a purpose. Many people were touched by Austin’s passing.  My husband’s good friend, James Walter, had given us his Bible while we were in the hospital. After James Austin passed, Walter turned away from drugs and alcohol and gave his life to the Lord. He called me crying on Austin’s first birthday, grateful for how his life was changed. I was and still am in school pursuing a psychology degree with the eventual ability to give therapy to troubled adolescents, substance abusers, and, now, those who have endured a loss. I do not believe there is any better teacher for helping others than life itself. I try to help those with these issues at every opportunity I am given. I hope that my education can further my efforts and make me a better instrument.

My sister gave me a book called “Mommy, Please Don’t Cry.” Although I bawled all the way through it, I would recommend it to any who has lost a child. It was therapeutic.

I am now five months pregnant with James Austin’s little brother. I must admit that I am fearful and paranoid; naturally, I am also absolutely thrilled and excited. For those of you reading who have endured a loss, hold on to the truth that even though your today and your tomorrow may be difficult, nothing stays the same. It will get better. You will heal. And know that your little one would not want their momma and daddy to be sad. Know that they will never have to endure the pain of the world. Perhaps your baby was too perfect a being to endure the hardships of the earthly life. They are waiting for you in the afterlife. Know that someday we will all walk together in the light.

Kellie can be reached at kchristine_7@hotmail.com.

Miranda

Mom to Jacob Michael Jones
Born March 8, 2009 at 9pm, and passed away March 8, 2009 at 9:03pm

and

Rylan Michael Jones
Born sleeping On September 19, 2011

Elk, Washington

Jacob’s Story

Life has been really tough on me and my fiancé the past four years. In February of 2009, we found out that we were indeed expecting a little boy. We were ecstatic! We picked out a name, Jacob Michael Jones (Michael was his father’s first name)

In March, I started bleeding on the 7th, and by the next morning I woke up to blood all over the bed, and down my legs. We made it to the hospital around noon finally (it was snowing pretty hard) and they rushed me to the ER, where they did a vaginal exam and said that my cervix was dilating and they could see the membranes pushing through. Neither of us really knew what to think, it was all so surreal, and I couldn’t think about anything else besides little Jacob suffering inside me. They took me to ultrasound and again confirmed that it was a little boy and we were 19 weeks and 2 days.

All of the things that happened after this point are somewhat a blur now. I was up in L&D, and they told me that I had to deliver, and that there was nothing they could do to save our little boy. My water had broken around 8:45pm and without any pain drugs I gave a few good pushes and little Jacob was born at 9pm, weighing only 4oz and measuring 7 and 1/2 inches long. He was absolutely perfect. They cut the umbilical cord and placed him on my chest; his little arm moved towards my pinky finger and his tiny little hand grasped it. His dad sat there next to me and touched him ever so gently. We were both in tears and crying hysterically. His little mouth opened and my heart kind of stopped for a second. His hand grasped my finger so tightly and it was almost like he was saying, “I’m strong… see, everything will be ok,” and just like that, 3 minutes after he was born… his little hand slowly let go and slid to my chest. The realization of what was happening finally set in to both of us. Our little boy was gone, and there was nothing that we could do. They put him in little clothes, and took his footprints, weighed him, measured his length, and finally handed him to his father. We got to take pictures of him and cuddle him for a few days before we had to say goodbye.

They never knew why I went into premature labor. They thought that it could have been stress related or something to do with me being so sick the month before with a high fever and the flu.

Rylan’s Story

We finally decided to start trying again, two years later. We got a positive pregnancy test at the end of April! We were so ecstatic and excited, but worried all at the same time. As the months went on all our appointments were normal, baby was looking good, and my cervix wasn’t changing. They suspected that I had an incompetent cervix (where the cervix can’t support the weight of the baby and the amniotic fluid). Our last appointment we had was August 28th, and everything was normal once again. We had our second conformation that it was a boy and he was bouncing and healthy just like he should be. The next appointment was scheduled for the 20th of September, but we didn’t make it that far.

Sunday, September 18th, 2011 was a normal morning. I woke up at 4am and got Michael off to work, made his lunch and then went back to sleep. Around 8am I woke up for work and immediately went to go pee. I wiped and saw blood so without any hesitation I found clothes and started driving to the hospital. The thoughts kept running through my head about what happened with Jacob, and how it was already too late. I didn’t want to lose little Rylan. We had all gotten so attached and were so ready for him to make his way into this world in January that I didn’t know what else to think about. I was on the phone with Michael almost the entire time driving to the hospital, crying my eyes out. We were both worried but made certain that we weren’t going to focus on the bad outcome. I got to the hospital around 9am, up to maternity by 9:15, and was put on monitors to see if I was contracting and also to check up on Rylan’s heart rate. He sounded good, heart rate of 149, no signs of contractions and he was still moving around like he usually does. Dr. Fine came in and started to examine me, and when he got his first look with the speculum immediately he said that there were membranes showing through the cervix. Right then my heart dropped, I didn’t know what to think and didn’t know how I was going to tell Michael, let alone any of the family.

I asked if there was anything that they could do to stop the unthinkable from happening and all he could say was that there “was” a chance but it wasn’t a huge one. I called Michael and told him the news, and he was on his way. My friend Dani was there with me the entire time holding my hand and telling me that everything was going to be ok. By 4:30 that night nothing had changed, there were still membranes showing and we had to make the hard decision of going through with the Emergency Cerclage (where they sew my cervix shut). There was only a 2% chance that the procedure would work and that we’d be able to make it last a few more weeks. We were given a 45 minute ultrasound where the lady measured his bones, and growth, and his heart rate. He was absolutely perfect! Wouldn’t show us his face but he would show us his “man parts”, lol. After saying goodbye to the family, I was wheeled into the OR where I got a spinal block and then the procedure started. I watched the clock for what seemed like forever, and all I remember was when the clock hit 5:37pm…Dr. Fine could only say that he was sorry. I cried so hard, not knowing what to think or tell Michael and the family. I was in recovery for about 45-50min, and finally Michael came in and I could tell that he was trying to be strong for me, but with tears in his eyes I knew he was hurting. He just sat there with me and we cried. I got back to my room and the doctor had said that he was going to induce labor if it didn’t happen overnight, because the baby couldn’t stay inside of me without putting me in danger.

That next morning, Monday, September 19th, 2011 I was given Pitocin, and the waiting process began. At around 3pm my nurse brought in the Doppler and we were trying to find his heart beat. It took a good 30 min for her to find him. He was definitely hiding and didn’t want to be noticed; but for 5 seconds we were able to hear his little heartbeat for the last time. I went into active labor around 4pm, and stopped feeling him move around 4:30. Without pain medication and what seemed like a million pushes later, he made his way into this world at 5:27pm; his head was 17cm, he weighed 10oz, and was 9 1/2 inches long. The cord was wrapped once around his neck but he was beautiful. When they cut the cord and handed him to us, it was the most amazing feeling in the world. Finally getting to hold him, and see that he was truly perfect in every way. He had his dad’s ears and my nose right off the bat, and from his fingers to his toes they were all so perfect. We’re sad because we don’t get to hold him every second of every day but we’re happy that we were chosen to be his parents. We’re grateful that God blessed us with him for 21 beautiful weeks and I’m glad that I didn’t take any of those days for granted. Rylan Michael Jones will forever be remembered, and he’s up above with his big brother Jacob perfectly perfect just how it should be. He’ll watch over us our entire lives and we’ll get to see them both again someday when it’s in God’s plan. Our next hurdle will be getting through my current pregnancy (I’m 12 weeks and due August 28th) without any problems. I know that they boys will watch over their little brother or sister and it’s in God’s hands.

You can contact Miranda at everylasting.love16@gmail.com.

Yvonne

Mom to a baby lost January 20, 2012
(EDD September 7, 2012)

Connecticut

My husband and I had been trying for six months to get pregnant. I couldn’t believe it when I (finally) got a positive pregnancy test! I took eight tests to make sure. We were so excited! We’d been together nine years, married for one year, and were ready to start our family. We kept the news to ourselves for two weeks told our immediate family about the pregnancy at six weeks. We wanted to wait until the start of the second trimester to tell everyone else.

I was seven weeks pregnant when my husband and I went for our first ultrasound. It was a Friday morning. I’d had a little bit of brown spotting and was pretty nervous going into the appointment. But we got to see our healthy baby and its heartbeat! I was relieved, but still anxious for some reason. I didn’t know it then, but I would have a spontaneous natural miscarriage later that same day.

I started bleeding after lunch. I called my doctor’s office crying. They said it wasn’t necessarily something to worry about. They reviewed my ultrasound and said the baby looked healthy and there didn’t appear to be anything wrong. They said if I had heavy bleeding or felt cramping to call back. I still felt gloomy, but slightly reassured.

That night, I thought I had a stomach ache—I get them when I’m nervous. But, even looking back, that stomach ache never felt like period cramps. I went to the bathroom a few times and there was blood in the toilet. I couldn’t tell how much. I think I passed the baby then. I am so thankful that I never saw it come out. I’m thankful I didn’t know what was happening. And I’m thankful my miscarriage didn’t require a D&C. I would not have been able to handle any of those things.

My stomach ache was gone by Saturday morning. And so was the blood. I thought that was a good sign. My husband was so optimistic (probably for my sake) and I started to believe maybe everything could be ok.

I had a pre-scheduled, routine OB exam on Tuesday with the doctor. My mom asked if she could come with me. I am so glad she did. I told the doctor the symptoms I experienced over the weekend, and she didn’t seem worried. But to put my mind at ease, the doctor offered to perform another ultrasound. She turned to my mom and said, “Do you want to see your grandbaby?” I will never forget that.

My ultrasound showed nothing. No baby. It was gone. I felt like my future was gone. The feeling of loss was overwhelming.
The worst part was telling people. The same people who—just a week before—had been so excited for us. I was devastated.
Those first few days were terrible. I felt like I lost everything. My future was gone. I’d had three and a half weeks of planning and excitement. I’d wanted that baby so badly; it didn’t seem fair I didn’t get to keep it. Mornings were the worst part of the day. I spent my days talking myself down—telling myself I was going to be ok and convincing myself this wasn’t the end of the world—but the pain was so fresh when I first woke up.

I avoided most people for a while. But once I started re-emerging into life again, it seemed like the people who knew about my miscarriage had forgotten about it. More likely, they didn’t want to upset me by talking about it. For me, it felt like the elephant in the room. But I didn’t bring it up either, to avoid awkwardness and bumming people out. I felt really alone. I was able to get support and work through my grief by visiting this website and lurking on pregnancy loss message boards. Hearing other women’s stories was infinitely reassuring.

The following quote also helped me gain perspective: ‘When life gives you a hundred reasons to cry, show life that you have a thousand reasons to smile.’ I still had so much to be grateful for. I have an amazing husband, a wonderful family, a good job, our awesome house, great friends. We’re still young and are financially secure. We have a cat we adore and spoil rotten. We have vacations to plan, home improvement projects to complete. Focusing on the positives really helped put our loss in perspective, though it didn’t keep me from sobbing uncontrollably—sometimes without warning—or give me the answer to my biggest question: why it had to happen to us in the first place.

Every day gets easier. In the beginning, I never imagined I could or would ever feel better. I’m over the initial shock now, and have accepted what happened. The loss is a part of me, but the grief isn’t all-consuming anymore. I will probably always think about what should have been. I look forward to getting pregnant again, but I’m so scared at the same time.

Katie

Mom to Drake

Lost May 17, 2011 at 20 weeks

Tipton, United Kingdom

I was 18 when I got pregnant. It wasn’t planned, but as the pregnancy progressed as every woman. I started to get excited. My pregnancy wasn’t easy and from 2 months I was continuously spitting and couldn’t stop; I had bad morning sickness up until I gave birth.

When I was 18 weeks pregnant I started bleeding heavily, went to A&E and everything was fine and they let me home the day after.

On 16th May 2011, I was 20weeks and I started bleeding again, so rushed to hospital. They checked for heartbeat a few times and found nothing. They then did a scan and told me there wasn’t any movement and that I’d lost the baby.

Six hours after, on the 17th May 2011, I was starting to go into labour. By 10.44am I’d given birth to a little boy.

We decided to name him Drake.

Four weeks later at the postmortem we found out I’d miscarried due to an infection that I’d contracted a week before. Nobody knew what or where it was in my body, so I was just given antibiotics straight away for everything.

Nearly 9months on, I’m having to deal with a cousin, now a mom to a three-month old boy.

All the anniversaries are approaching, but I’m getting stronger by the day.

You can contact Katie at katieannbayliss-92@hotmail.co.uk.

Carrie

Mom to a little one

Due June 1, 2012, lost October 29, 2011

University Place, Washington

I found out I was pregnant on September 17th. I was so happy, and a little shocked! It’s kind of funny, because even though we were trying to get pregnant, when I saw that positive test I was in a little bit of disbelief. I was thrilled, and my husband was so happy and excited.

We told our immediate family within a week of finding out. Our parents were so happy for us and excited to be grandparents. I joked to my husband, “I think my dad is more happy and excited than we are.” Our sisters and their husbands were excited to become aunts and uncles, and they were really happy for us to become parents.

It’s hard not to tell good news. In those early weeks, you really do want to tell everyone you see. We had some friends e-mail us that they were expecting and my husband said, “I want to email them back so bad and say, ‘Us too!’” I told him I did, too, but that we should wait until we’re out of the first trimester when we know that the baby has a good chance of making it. Then we could tell our friends that their baby would have a playmate two months after he or she was born.

When I was a little over five weeks pregnant, my husband and I went out to dinner at The Adriatic Grill. Of course, a lot of our conversation was about the pregnancy and the baby, and I said, “Isn’t it crazy how someone we don’t even know yet is going to make such a huge impact on our lives? I mean, think about how we changed each others’ lives so much and how we can’t imagine life without one another and how we love each other so much. It’s going to be just like that. There’s this person who is going to change the rest of our lives!” This statement is still very true, just not in the way I anticipated when I spoke those words.

This night was the last night I really felt pregnant and was confident in my pregnancy without worry in the back of my mind. At five weeks three days, my breasts were the most sore they’d been, and even my husband hugging me caused me to grimace. Although I didn’t have nausea, it was too early, so I wasn’t worried about it.

The next day I had some weird cramps in my side, and that got me Googling and worrying about an ectopic pregnancy, then a day later I got a cold sore, and I worried about that causing harm to my baby, then my breast soreness decreased quite a bit, and I thought, “This isn’t right.”

We went to our first prenatal appointment on October 7th and the nurse assured me that it was normal for my breast tenderness to go away, that if they were constantly hurting the whole pregnancy, then your breasts would be bigger than your baby bump. I never totally bought this and wasn’t completely reassured because I thought, “Yes, that’s true, but they shouldn’t stop hurting this early.” So, the next two weeks I spent worrying constantly and wishing the hours and days away.

On October 21st we had our dating ultrasound appointment. I was 8 weeks and 2 days pregnant. I was so nervous for this appointment. Although I had worries and doubts for the past two and half weeks, I’d convinced myself that everything was alright. I was pregnant and I loved my baby. My husband was worried too. I think I’d gotten to him, but he reassured me that everything was going to be fine.

I imagined telling my grandparents after this appointment, and e-mailing my cousins, and how we could really start enjoying this pregnancy without worry and doubt.

Before the appointment I’d looked up 8 week ultrasounds on the internet to see what they looked like so I knew what to expect. I did this because I’d read stories of women who were totally freaked out on the table because the tech didn’t say anything for a good two minutes, then finally, “There’s your baby.” I knew I was nervous enough, and if I could recognize what was normal on the ultrasound, I could relax right away.

The tech inserted the ultrasound camera in me and as soon as I saw the screen, I knew we had lost our baby. There was a big circle, a ring image, and I thought, “That’s not right.” The tech didn’t say anything and then she asked me if I had irregular periods. My husband said he thought my response was odd, because he still didn’t know what was going on. I said, “Well, I charted, so I know when I ovulated.” She marked “left ovary” and “right ovary” on the screen and then said, “Well, what I’m seeing here is a fertilized egg that has implanted, and has all the genetic matter for a baby, but it didn’t develop properly, and so I can tell you that this is not a viable pregnancy.” I nodded and asked her when the pregnancy stopped developing. She said she thought about 5 weeks 3 days, which is the last day I felt really pregnant.

My husband and I were holding hands and I looked at him and he had tears in eyes. I said, “Yeah, well I guess it’s not a complete shock, I didn’t really…” as I burst into tears, “have any symptoms.” The tech was really cold from the beginning of the appointment, and it’s kind of awkward crying in front of someone who shows no emotion, won’t even hand you a tissue. She said we would see a midwife who could answer any questions we have, but if we wanted we could ask her any, too. I told her I would just wait for the midwife.

My husband and I were led to another room and waited for the midwife, Kim, who I hadn’t met previously. Kim was very sympathetic and caring for us and told us she was so sorry for our loss. I asked her what caused the miscarriage, was it just a chromosomal abnormality? She said that’s what we assume, but we really don’t know. She said that unfortunately she sees this a lot, that since we are detecting pregnancy so early these days, she estimates that 50% of pregnancies end in miscarriage. She said that there’s no reason to believe this would happen again, that sometimes she thinks the body just needs a “test run” to know how to handle a pregnancy. She said we would need to wait at least one cycle before trying again.

She explained to me that I had two options for this miscarriage: I could either wait and see if my body would miscarry naturally, or I could go in for a D&C where they dilate my cervix and scrape the remains of the pregnancy out of the uterus. I wasn’t really sure what the best option was, so I said I would just wait and see what my body does. Kim asked us if we wanted to leave through the back door and I quickly said yes. Walking puffy eyed through the lobby of pregnant ladies would just be rubbing salt in our fresh wounds.

We got home, got into bed, and cried some more. We decided that we should probably tell our parents, especially my in-laws, because we told them we’d have lunch with them as long as everything went well at our appointment.

I now fully understand why you don’t tell everyone your good news the moment you find out you’re pregnant. Telling people is so hard, just the vocalization of it. Thinking about it in your head makes you sad and makes you tear up, but telling people and explaining what happened…you just can’t get through it without your voice breaking. Watching my husband tell his parents what happened was so sad. He doesn’t get emotional often, and watching his chin quiver and his eyes water as he explained what we were told at our appointment was just heartbreaking.

Often when I call my mom she’s in the middle of something or with people, so I thought rather than just calling her and telling her I should check if she was actually available to talk, so I texted her, “Are you available to talk?” She didn’t respond right away and about forty five minutes later I texted her, “We got some bad news. : ( ”

My mom called me an hour or so after that text and explained that she’d been to my little sister’s school because she’d gotten a bloody nose and the nurse had called her. She said that she was glad to have the warning text because her heart sank when she found out and she needed some time to compose herself before calling me.

My mom was so comforting to talk to, and just said all the right stuff. At one point I said, “It’s okay.” And my mom said, “Don’t say that Carrie. It’s not okay! It’s not okay when you want a baby and you don’t have one.” Though it’s not the same, she told me about how hard it was trying for nearly a year before she got pregnant with the twins and how every month when she realized she wasn’t pregnant how she cried. She didn’t try to make me feel better or tell me that everything will work out. She just said that sometimes life sucks, and that I should grieve and feel sad.

A little later we went to Fred Meyer to buy some raspberry leaf tea, because I’d read online that it supposedly helps “hurry up” a miscarriage, along with heavy exercise and sex. I thought that I’d try to go the natural route and let my body miscarry on its own. As soon as we got to the health food aisle where the tea was located, wouldn’t you know, there’s a very pregnant woman in the same aisle, and another woman with a baby. Yeah, sometimes life sucks. Here I am buying my “miscarriage tea” surround by babies.

Later that night we ordered Mexican food from one of our favorite restaurants and picked it up and ate it at home while having some wine and beer. I told my husband about how my dad told me something in July. He said he’d read a book about souls one time and about how when a soul is ready it chooses its life and its parents. The book also talked about how souls go through life after life and you’re always with the same souls in your life, married to the same soul, your children are always the same souls. So that made me think, maybe in other lives I’ve had more children than I’m going to have in this life and unfortunately that soul could only be with us for a very short time.

But I loved my baby. I loved him from the moment I knew about him and I wish I could have known him. All the hopes, dreams, and plans we had are gone. We had names picked out. We had gotten started on the nursery. I imagined giving birth in the beginning of June and then being able to bring him to my grandparents’ 60th wedding anniversary in July. There was so much to look forward to.

For five days I went back and forth as to whether I should get a D&C or wait it out. I always had a preference for the natural route, but I worried my body could hold on to the pregnancy for a while, and part of me just wanted to get it over with and move on. I read sometimes experiencing the actual miscarriage can be traumatic, and sometimes not all the tissue comes out and you end up needing a D&C anyway, so I thought maybe I should just have the D&C, get it over with, and try to move on.

I started spotting on Tuesday, October 25th, at 8 weeks 6 days. I would only bleed after I emptied my bladder and I usually had clots. I had mild cramps during this time and this pattern of bleeding and cramping continued through Friday.

My husband and I stayed up late on Friday October 28th watching TV and talking. I fell asleep watching TV around 2am, but woke up about a half hour later with intense cramps. The cramps got worse and worse and I was not comfortable anywhere but on the toilet crunched over pushing. If I laid down or sat down I was in so much pain. I was in pain on the toilet, but it was more manageable. Now I realize that I was in labor and my cervix was dilating. The intense cramping continued for another hour and a half. I emptied my bowels and felt like I was going to throw up too. I was hunched over sitting on the toilet with a trash can in front of my face. I kept saying, “I hate this so much.”

A little after 3:30am, after I had just flushed the toilet I felt something fall out of my cervix and I said to my husband in the bedroom, “I think I passed it.” I turned to look and there was the sac. It was about a two to three inch white sac with a black dot or something in it. It was hard to look at but I wanted to look at it. I asked my husband if he wanted to see it and he said he did. He came in and looked at it from where he was standing and said, “Yeah, that’s it.” I said I felt weird just flushing it down the toilet but I didn’t know what else to do. My husband said yeah, but he thought that was best. Part of me would have liked to have buried the tissue and had some sort of memorial, but I think it would have been hard to get my husband on board with it, and it scared me to get the sac out and look at it up close. My husband left the bathroom and I got down next to the toilet and said, “I’m so sorry. I love you,” and I flushed the toilet.

I got back on the toilet and some more really large clots fell out and I think that may have been the placenta. I was dripping blood like a faucet and I was worried that it was too much so I put on a pad so I could monitor how much I was bleeding and make sure it wasn’t more than a pad an hour. I sat in bed and we tried to watch a TV show but I still was in a ton of pain and couldn’t sit. I went back on the toilet and let some more clots fall out until my cramps became more manageable and then went to lay down in bed.  I think I finally went to sleep around 6:00am.

I am glad that my body took care of everything on its own. I don’t know why doctors/midwives say that a miscarriage is just a bad period, because many stories I’ve read are similar experiences to mine where the woman goes into labor. I would still choose to do it the way I did rather than the D&C, just because I had a lot fear about scaring with the D&C and I wasn’t a fan of going under anesthesia when I had my ACL surgery, so this was the best option for me. I hope this story helps some people to know what to expect. Miscarriage is painful, emotionally and physically. 

I had no idea it could take so long physically to get over a miscarriage. My hormones didn’t go back down to a normal pre-pregnancy level quickly. It took 29 days from the time I miscarried naturally to the time I got a negative result on a pregnancy test. That’s 8 weeks after the baby stopped growing. Then my hormones were still all out of whack and I had to induce my first period post miscarriage three months later.

Carrie blogs at http://laughloveeaticecream.blogspot.com.
You can contact her at carrielaughsloveseatsicecream@gmail.com.

Cortney

Mom to Malach

Born and died September 17, 2007

Kalamazoo, Michigan

It all started with a positive pregnancy test as most pregnancies do. I was excited! We weren’t trying, but what are you going to do? I always wanted to be a mom and even though I was only 19 at the time I knew I could do it. My boyfriend was 25 at the time. It was our first child together. Everything about my pregnancy was normal. I got very lucky I didn’t have any morning sickness or any of the bad pregnancy symptoms.

Then we went in for our ultrasound on August 7th, 2007. We were all so excited. I couldn’t wait to find out the gender. I really thought it was going to be a girl. We found out we were having a boy. I was disappointed for a brief second, then I was over it. It was still my baby no matter what. The ultrasound took forever and then we went in to see my doctor. She said the arms and legs were short and they were sending us to a genetic counselor at a different hospital. We didn’t really think anything of it, just maybe our little boy would be short or maybe he was a dwarf…no big deal, we could handle it, whatever it was.

A week later we went to the other hospital for another ultrasound. This one took forever, also.Then they took us into another room to meet with the genetic counselor. I didn’t like her at all. She just came in the door and said that our baby had Thanatophoric Dysplasia, a very fatal form or dwarfism. Then she got all huffy when I asked if there was any way that they were wrong, like I offended her, and she told me there is no way he will survive. I broke at that point. I was crying and I don’t remember much else that went on at the meeting with the genetic counselor. My boyfriend just put his arms around me and held me while the doctor continued to talk to his mom and my mom.

Later on, after everything was done, I felt so lost. I didn’t know what to do with myself. The worst part about the entire thing was the day we learned my son’s horrible fate. After we had gotten home, I was sitting outside and I felt him move inside me for the very first time, like he was saying, “I’m here, mommy, don’t worry, I’m alive right now.” I was so heartbroken, I cried myself to sleep that night.

Later, when I researched everything, I learned Thanatophoric Dysplasia is a fatal form of dwarfism. The arms and legs are short. That’s usually the first sign they see on the ultrasound. The chest cavity is also small, too small for the lungs to develop. There are both Type 1 and Type 2, and they’re the same except type 2 also has a skull deformity, which is called cloverleaf skull. Babies usually have 5 skull plates, but with clover leaf there are only 3 skull plates. Well, Type 1 is more common than Type 2, but my son had Type 2.

I remember when I was doing the research my boyfriend was with me and he wouldn’t let me look at any of the pictures. Now I’m glad he didn’t because even now, four years later, the pictures are still hard to look at.

They gave us another month and then had another ultrasound to see if thing were the same and they were. The doctor called me the next day to ask me what I wanted to do. I could go ahead with the pregnancy, go full term and have him normal, but it wasn’t advised because it’s more risky for the mother that way, especially with his head being deformed. Or, they could start inducing me now. What they would do is have someone stick a needle into the baby and he would die then they’d induce me until I went into labor and had him. I wanted to go full term just because I didn’t want them to kill my baby. The way I saw it was if God wanted him to die he would take him naturally. My boyfriend wanted me to get induced just because he didn’t want to lose me, too.

It was the hardest decision of my life, one that I continued to question every single day for two years afterwards.

I decided to go ahead with the induction and it killed me inside to do it, but the day we went in to be induced, miraculously the person who was supposed to inject the baby was sick! The doctor asked me if I still wanted to be induced and I was surprised I remember asking ,”I don’t have to get the shot?” She said, “No, you don’t have to get it, it’s just an option you have.” I was so relieved I didn’t have to get the shot. My son’s life was in God’s hands now! They started to induce me with pill called Cytotec. It took me 5 days to go into labor.

On September 17, 2007, when I was 25 weeks pregnant, my son was born at 4:18 p.m. They told us to pick a name we wouldn’t want to use again and we came up with Malach Gabriel. I still can’t remember how we came up with it. The pain was too much for me so they gave me IV drugs and I felt better until the doctor broke my water and I had to push. He was very tiny, 1 pound 7 ounces and 10 1/4 inches long. He was so beautiful, though; he looked like a little angel. I held him in my arms and he was alive. He looked so perfect to me. Both of the grandmas held him and then I got him back. My boyfriend wouldn’t hold him. He was in my arms when I watched him take his very last breath…he breathed in, then his little lip twitched and his mouth fell open and I knew he was gone. I held him a little while longer and then called the nurse and she came in and took him so they could weigh and measure him. After a while, she came back in while I was in the bathroom. When I came out a saw a little basket sitting on the tray table next to my bed and as I got closer, Malach was in it. They had put him in a little gown and hat and wrapped him in a tiny blanket. He looked so cute, like he was just sleeping. I held him again and then my dad got there and he almost left when my mom told him Malach was in the room. My dad is macho. He didn’t want to cry, but he came in and after a few minutes he held Malach and he cried. I’ve never seen my dad cry like that, which made me cry, and before I knew it my boyfriend had put his arms around me and he was finally crying. My dad handed Malach back to me and my boyfriend finally decided to hold him. I was so glad he did. After a while we had the nurse come and take him for good. It was around 7:30 p.m. and they told me I could go whenever I was ready too. I didn’t have to stay in the hospital. I was so relieved and hungry. We went home and ate pizza and that was the last time I ate for a whole week. I had dreams that he was still alive. I would wake up in the middle of the night because I thought I heard him crying, then I would cry myself back to sleep. The pain inside was so deep. I felt like I had a huge piece of me missing. I felt so empty. We had him cremated and buried at the foot of my boyfriend’s grandpa’s grave. I will love and miss him for the rest of my life.

I wanted another baby right away, but I decided to wait and I’m glad I did. I waited until I was at the point where I wanted A baby and not MY baby, and that took a long time. Finally, in December 2010, I got pregnant again and after dealing with preeclampsia and having to go on hospital bedrest when I was 36 weeks pregnant, I have a healthy happy little boy named Eli. He is the light of my life. I would not change anything that has happened because if it weren’t for Malach I might not have Eli. And I know for sure that because of Malach I will never take what I have for granted. I Love you Malach, and I miss you every day!

You can contact Cortney at lovexbeingxmommy@gmail.com.

Anna

Mom to Andrew
Died November 30, 2011, and born December 12, 2011

and

Innocent

McComb, Mississippi

I found out I was pregnant with Andrew a few days before Innocent’s due date. I had not been expecting it because I had been disappointed so many times. I was very happy, but was, of course, worried as well. We hadn’t known what happened to Innocent, so I worried the same thing would happen to Andrew.

My pregnancy with Andrew was uneventful. I checked his heartbeat with a Doppler almost every day from 9 weeks on. At my 11 week appointment the ultrasound showed a perfect little baby. I started to relax as I approached the 12 week mark. I was still checking with the Doppler frequently and was reassured every time. The last time I heard his heartbeat was the night of November 29th . The next day he turned 13 weeks. He also fell asleep in the Lord. I didn’t check that day so I didn’t know until the next morning, December 1st, when I couldn’t find the heartbeat after searching for an hour. I called my doctor and we confirmed with an ultrasound that Andrew had died the day before, the feast of St. Andrew. I already knew that he was gone, but there was that tiny bit of hope that was destroyed when the doctor quietly put the ultrasound wand down, turned around and said, “I’m so sorry.” The four younger children had had to come up to the hospital with Father and me, so now we had to tell them the baby was dead.

Because Christmas was coming so quickly we decided to set a date for induction of labor on December 12th.I began losing my pregnancy symptoms, although I still had a pregnant stomach. I started making a tiny shroud, tiny blankets, anything I could do to take up the time I was waiting. I typed out a birth plan. I wrote e-mails to the doctor asking for details of how the hospital handled the baby’s body. I cried a lot. I didn’t eat. I just couldn’t believe this was happening to us again.

Friends took the children to stay with them on the 10th. The morning of the 12th, we headed to the hospital very early. I made it clear from the beginning that we wanted to take Andrew’s body home with us that day and that we did not want to have any testing done on him. The staff was agreeable. They started an IV and double-checked with an ultrasound (confirmed by two doctors) that Andrew was not living. Even after all this time an irrational part of me hoped a miracle would happen and he’d wiggle around. He didn’t, of course, but the doctor took her time and printed out several pictures for us. I wanted pictures in case I had to have a D&C and wasn’t able to see his body.

They inserted the misoprostol tablets vaginally, 400mg to start with. They also attempted to place a balloon catheter between the cervix and the wall of the vagina, inflate the balloon, and thereby encourage my cervix to dilate. Instead, what happened was the beginning of a hemorrhage that took awhile to stop. They removed the catheter and waited for the bleeding to slow down. I was in danger of having to have a D&C to avoid dangerous blood loss, but after prayer the bleeding stopped. After that, they simply relied upon the medication to induce labor. I had some contractions off and on but nothing steady. They placed the medication at 8AM, again at 12PM (400mg) and then again at 4PM (600mg).

The time went by very slowly. Father stayed with me the whole time except when I sent him to get some lunch for himself. I was fasting, of course, in case I needed surgery. I tried to read but couldn’t concentrate. The little shroud and blankets were laid out on the bedside table. I wanted the staff to see that I was going to deliver a BABY, a person, my beloved child, not a blob of tissue. I needn’t have worried because they were very kind and sensitive.

By a little after 4 the contractions were painful and steady. They placed the balloon catheter again, but this time inserted it into the cervix itself and inflated it. The pain was terrible. I stood it because I desperately wanted the medical induction to succeed – I did not want a D&C. I had refused all pain medication because I wanted to have a clear head. After an hour and a half of almost continuous contractions, as painful as any I have had in my term labors, I called out to say that I couldn’t stand the pain any longer and either wanted the catheter removed or some pain medication. Father was in agony watching me in this much pain and felt helpless.

The doctor and nurse came in and removed the catheter. They checked and I was 4 cm dilated. They asked if I wanted pain medication or if I wanted to try to push. I thought about the pain medication, but the pain had diminished so much when the catheter came out that I decided to wait. I waited for one more contraction to start and then I pushed. Andrew was born in the sac at5:45. After waiting for another contraction I pushed out the placenta. I was surprised the placenta was so small but they said it was a normal size. (It was much smaller than Innocent’s had been.)

I sat up to see Andrew. I was immediately struck by the silence. None of my other births in the hospital had been attended by complete silence. I could see Andrew floating gently inside the sac which had been placed on a towel between my legs. Because I had requested it they permitted me to cut the cord and cut open the sac. I did so and carefully lifted Andrew out of the sac. He was the same size as Innocent and beautiful. Dark fluid had collected under his skin in places, including around his neck and over part of his head. This was distressing to me and I nicked his skin in an inconspicuous place to let the fluid run out. After this I could see his features better. We checked and the consensus was that he was a boy. It was a little less obvious than it had been with Innocent. We decided that Andrew looked closer to 12 weeks gestation than 13 weeks.

The staff did some minimal cleaning up and left quickly so we could be alone with Andrew. Once we were alone we both broke down. Our son was dead. I held him in my hand on one of his blankets (the blue, since he was a boy) and kept telling him how sorry I was. He lay there, helpless, his tiny head lolling to the side unless I held it.

In a few minutes when the nurse came back in she checked my bleeding and was worried that it was too much. She put another pad on and within a few minutes it was soaked. I was still contracting but I thought it was the influence of the medication that they had placed right after delivery to encourage the uterus to clamp down. She called the doctor back in. She checked and realized I had retained some placenta. They brought an ultrasound into the room and one doctor controlled that while my doctor manually removed pieces of placenta and clots. This was very painful but I knew there wasn’t really time to get anything for pain. I was very grateful that the nurse recognized the situation so soon while I was still dilated to 4 cm. Otherwise, I probably would have had to go to surgery to have everything removed. They were successful and removed at least as much placenta as I had delivered to start with. This explained why the placenta had been so small. When they were done, the pain was essentially gone and the bleeding was much less. I received additional medication to encourage the uterus to clamp down and some Ibuprofen for pain (I refused the narcotics).

The nurse did a more thorough job of cleaning up (blood was everywhere) and this time Father and I were able to be alone with Andrew for much longer. I took several pictures of him before I tried to dress him. I knew he would be fragile and I thought that once I got the shroud on it wasn’t going to come off. Once I felt like I had taken what pictures I could, I put on his tiny shroud with much difficulty. I cried because I wanted everything to be perfect for him and it wasn’t. Father picked up the camera and took a few pictures of me holding Andrew at this point. The photos were blurry, but he managed to capture in a few frames my complete anguish. After I pulled myself together I took many more pictures of Andrew in his gown.

I noticed that Andrew’s legs were starting to shrivel. I cried even more because I started to realize I would have to put him in saline unless I wanted him to completely dry out. His skin was just much too thin to contain moisture. We called out and the nurse was kind enough to provide us a plastic container of saline to put him in. I removed the shroud and carefully put him in. I hoped he would rehydrate a bit. We put that container in a larger one full of ice.

The decision had been made to keep me overnight and to start antibiotics. We had been looking forward to going home to our own house that night and this was disappointing. We packed our things so I could be transferred to the postpartum floor. Not long after this while we were waiting we found out that the nursing supervisor would not permit us to take Andrew with us to the postpartum floor. She said he had to be checked into the morgue or pathology. We refused. I had already discussed with the staff our wish that Andrew not leave our side and everything had been worked out with the morgue director, the nursing staff and my doctor that morning. For a little while it looked as if we would have to check out AMA rather than relinquish the body of our son. My doctor was called at home and pitched a fit. We were not privy to the behind-the-scenes battles, but our wishes were eventually honored and Andrew traveled in his bucket on my lap to the postpartum floor with us. While we were being wheeled to the elevator I had a sudden flashback to the time when my last living child had gone with me from labor and delivery to postpartum. He had traveled on my lap too, but had been swaddled in blankets and was warm and breathing. This realization struck me like a physical pain.

We were nicely treated in postpartum, but were very exhausted. Because of all the wrangling it was 1 AM before we were settled in that room and later before we were able to go to sleep. I slept poorly and we were very ready to go home the next morning. It was late morning before we were released. My discharge paperwork included information about grieving and postpartum depression. I noticed all of the baby-care parts had been carefully crossed out. Again I was put in a wheelchair and we headed for the discharge area. Andrew was again on my lap in his plastic container and the contrast between this discharge and my last discharge was ludicrous. That time my son had rolled down the hall while nursing, so well wrapped that no one knew. This time I had to fight tears the whole way to the car. I put Andrew in the back seat and got in the front. We pulled away from the hospital. I fell apart.

I cried all the way home. I ranted, I pleaded, I begged God for answers. Nothing was forthcoming. Father drove and held my hand. We got home and I was eventually persuaded to go to bed. Andrew was in the refrigerator.

We picked up the children the next day. That evening I took Andrew out of the saline and carefully put him on a little blanket. He had re-hydrated and looked almost better than when he had been born. We called the children in, the girls, then the boys. We allowed them to see him, hold him and touch him. We talked about what happened. We answered their questions. We let them cry. After they had gone to bed I got Andrew back out and held him. I took his picture next to the little icon of St. Andrew we had ordered. I had Father take my picture holding him. When the photo session was done, I sat in the rocking chair in our room and rocked and rocked him. I talked to him. I kissed him. Eventually I returned him to the saline and put him back in the refrigerator.

The next day was the burial. We did it in the afternoon after the oldest was out of school. I took Andrew out of the saline for the last time. I took more pictures of him. I put him in his casket, wrapped in his little white, ruffled blanket and took pictures of him there. The time came to go. I closed his casket and thought how wrong all of this was. So wrong.

We buried him next to Innocent. The wooden cross was made by the same kind man who made Innocent’s. A friend had provided some poinsettias and we had put one behind each cross. When we left we took them with us and brought them to the church. It was so hard to see the dirt fall upon his casket at the end and I had to turn away and hold onto the wire fence. When it was over, I walked over to the graves and sat down between them. I rested a hand on each grave and looked through the trees to watch the sunset.

–

Lost Innocents: practical helps for miscarriage from an Orthodox Christian perspective

Anna blogs at http://prayingwithmyfeet.blogspot.com and http://lostinnocentsorthodox.blogspot.com.

You can contact her at annacrawford@cableone.net.

Mom to Connor Isaiah
Born February 2, 2006 and died January 9, 2007

and

Isabela Mae
Born February 2, 2006 and died February 7, 2006

My name is Sarah. On December 2nd, 2006 I was feeling… fat. I had just broken up with my boyfriend and wasn’t feeling that great anyway. We had disagreed a lot about all kinds of issues and over Christmas decided that being together just wasn’t in the cards. On that January morning, I decided to go to my doctor since I was having lower back pain. I made an appointment and was able to be seen that afternoon.

I remember the room felt especially warm that day and though I was worried about what was going on with my body, I had a sense of calm come over me. I said a little prayer hoping for the better and waited for the doctor to come and see me. He came in the room, we had a little chat and he had me do some stretching exercises to determine what may be causing my back pain. I also mentioned I was starting to feel some abdominal pressure, but nothing unusual. As he felt around my belly, he excused himself and a few minutes later his assistant came in. They asked the usual, “When was your last period,” “How long have you had this pain” and other strange (at the time) questions. I KNEW I wasn’t pregnant. We had used protection…every single time.

Long story short, I was referred to an OB/GYN and sure enough- I was pregnant! Not just a little pregnant, but 19 WEEKS! On my first ultrasound, I could see my son as clear as day. So there I was, going to be a mom for the second time. (I have a daughter from my first marriage- also unplanned, but very welcomed.) I told my ex, and he refused to believe me. I didn’t believe it at first either. With my oldest child, I never had any pregnancy symptoms, but I was for sure showing at 12 weeks. Not with my little boy. I had gained about 10 pounds, but had blamed eating a lot of Thanksgiving and sweets.

Skip ahead to February 1, 2006. I went in for another ultrasound, and sure enough there was little Connor! He was showing to be big for his gestation, which was ok with me! They looked around a little longer and noticed something “weird”. The ultrasound tech just stared at the screen, and then shook it off saying, “Your son has long legs!”

The next morning I was feeling a lot of tightness in my lower back. No cramping, nothing painful just a strange tightness. My first labor, the epidural was placed wrong, so I was blaming that. At 3:34pm the pain started to get worse and I noticed a little fluid leaking. Freaking out that it was my water breaking (again, my daughter before was an induction so I hadn’t experienced true labor or anything to go with it). I called a friend and she came with me to the ER. Sure enough, I was in labor and my water had broken! I was rushed into a delivery room and I just remember crying hysterically wondering what was going on. I was only 25 weeks, 6 days along! Was my baby going to be ok?

At 4:22 pm I felt the urge to push. I pushed twice and he just “popped” out. I remember seeing him only for a moment and amazed at how tiny he was and at how red his hair was! After a few moments, the urge to push came on again. The nurse said that it was my placenta that was being delivered, so I pushed. After one long push.. “pop”. The room went silent. I was lying back with my eyes closed, resting when I heard, “It’s a girl.” WHAT?! I shot straight up and saw the tiniest little baby with very, very dark hair. Another baby? Two babies? How could this be possible? I asked to see her, but they said she wasn’t breathing. There were so many tubes and monitors put on her.

Later that night, I got the chance to be wheeled into the NICU to see my babies. Connor Isaiah, born at 4:25pm, weighed in at a whopping 2 lbs, 2 oz. I was then wheeled over to his surprise sister, Isabela Mae, born at 4:32pm and weighing only 15 ounces. OUNCES! I remember sitting in awe, wondering what was next. I was being told that Isabela was breathing, but only with the help of a CPAP machine. Conner was breathing fine, and used very little assistance from the machines.

The next morning, I was able to call a few friends who said the same as me, “Two babies? How did they not see her?” Isabela was our little miracle, but she was struggling. She was born with only half of the necessary organs to live. Her liver was shutting down, and her right lung was non-existent so her left lung, which was only working at 20%, was failing as well. Her heart was strong, though. It was there and strong and beating just right. Connor on the other hand was doing great! He was eating good, adjusting to life outside very well. They did notice his heart had a slight murmur and his belly was swollen. Two babies, two very different stories. My little boy was thriving and doing fantastic. My little girl was struggling for every moment of her life.

On February 7, 2006 (6 years from the day I am writing this), I had to make the choice to take Isabela off her machines. She had been considered “brain dead” the night before. Her liver had failed, her kidney was gone as well as a list of other problems. I called a church leader to give her a blessing and I stood there holding Connor’s hand while I said good-bye.

On January 29, 2007, Connor passed away. He was born with a congenital heart defect, which required a heart transplant. He went in that morning my little man, and didn’t come back out. There had been a “complication during surgery” (per the OR and hospital) and he had passed away. Just like that. Connor was buried next to his sister on February 3, 2007- the day after what should have been his 1st birthday. Instead of planning a birthday party, I was planning a funeral.

Since their passing, life hasn’t been the same. I felt an empty feeling for a few years, and then I woke up. I realized I have been given the blessing of faith with my religion, faith to know that they were simply too perfect for this world, faith to know that I will have the chance to raise my babies after I am done with this life.

You can contact Sarah at kirasmom5702@gmail.com.

Mom to

Maggie Ann, stillborn at 24 weeks on March 17, 2011

Miscarriage at 8 weeks on January 31, 2012

Hutchinson, Kansas

Mom to Rory Benjamin Halpern

August 19, 2011

Alexandria, Virginia

David and I had our first date a little over three years ago.  I began to fall madly in love with him each passing day and I knew in my heart this was the man I would spend the rest of my life with.  I was overwhelmed with love for him and I had never been happier.   

We did things our own way, on our own timetable.  In less than a year we bought our first home and a little more than a year after that he asked me to marry him.  There was so much love between us that we didn’t want to wait to get pregnant. We were ready to start a family before our second anniversary passed.   Rory likely had other plans though as it wasn’t until a week after David put a ring on my finger that we found out we were pregnant with our sweet baby.

We were overjoyed.  Life was blissful and beautiful.  I sometimes would cry on my way into the office over how lucky I was to have so many blessings in my life.  It felt like a perfect moment in time. I guess that’s because it was.  

My pregnancy was pretty uneventful.  We reached each milestone and thanked god for our healthy sweet baby.  At about 17 weeks we learned we were having a boy!  We went out for milkshakes to celebrate and bought our first little boy outfit.  We were over the moon.  David told me a day didn’t go by that he didn’t thank god for our little boy’s health and for our many blessings.  

Our families were giddy with excitement.  This would be my parents’ first grandchild.  On David’s dad’s 70^th birthday he wished for a grandson as he blew out his candles.  My brother was silly excited over the things he would get to do with his first nephew and the Carolina gear he would dress him in.  My sister-in-law hand-sewed sweet little treats for Rory on my first Mother’s Day with him growing in my tummy.  We were surrounded by love.  

Rory was with us on our wedding day, July 3^rd.  There has not existed a more perfect day in my life.  Marrying my husband with my son just months away from joining us in the world.  We all rejoiced together in such joy and blessings and hope.

I remember the morning of August 18^th, at 28 weeks pregnant, telling David I hadn’t really felt Rory kicking but trying to chalk it up to my nerves getting the best of me.  I had an OB appointment that morning for my diabetes screening and I assured myself that she would let me know everything was ok and I could put my worrying aside again.  

Instead, as Dr.B performed the usual ultrasound her face changed and I could hear sorrow and panic in her voice as she said my name followed by the words, “Oh no.”

I cried as I walked back to her office frantically trying to email my husband from my cell phone since he worked in a secure facility and didn’t have access to his cell.  I sat in the chair across from her trying to listen to what she was saying but mainly just reeling from complete and utter shock.  

I had to go for a second ultrasound to confirm that my baby had died.  David called as I was taking the elevator down to my car. I sobbed and wailed, falling to my knees sharing with my husband that our baby was gone.  

David worked a good 40 minutes away. Somehow in the midst of my driving and screaming and wailing on the way to the second doctor’s office, I was able to get in touch with my brother and two of my best friends.  Lauren and my brother hit the road immediately so that they could be with me while I waited for David to arrive.  To Nicole I just screamed and cried on the phone that I had lost my baby, that he had died.  My brother moved to action and called my office and my parents.  

The second ultrasound confirmed what my heart already knew at that point.  I waited on a bench outside the parking lot for David’s red car to drive up.  As soon as I saw him open his door I ran to his arms and just wept.  The only words that could come from my mouth were, “I am sorry.”  

David in that instant made me promise never to utter those words again, told me that our baby was with god and that we would make is through this together.  Lauren drove us home to prepare for heading to the hospital, and David and I cried and wept in each other’s arms the whole drive home.  Still to this day when I think of my husband losing his son I am always brought to tears in seconds. He loved this baby so much and was soaking up all the love and excitement at the thought of us bringing a child into this world.  

When we got to the hospital they started the induction; they said it could be days for my body to be ready, but it was the next day, on August 19^th, 2011 that I delivered our sweet baby boy. David held my hand, cried with me and told me he had never loved me more.  My nurse cried and squeezed my hand, helping me to breathe through the pushing.  

I wasn’t sure how to get through labor, knowing I would be saying goodbye to our baby.  My dear husband painted me pictures with his words of what our life would be like one day, the holidays we would celebrate surrounded by our children, and that Rory’s presence would always be there with us. 

We held Rory in our arms, and I kissed his sweet soft head and held and smelled his body next to mine.   I told him over and over how much we loved him and even after we had to say goodbye our nurse went to him and told him again for us.  She came to me with eyes full of tears telling me how handsome and sweet he was.  

I still have many moments when I ache to hold him, just for even one moment more; it is hard to grasp that it cannot be.   

I remember the first night in the hospital before Rory was born, I told David I was afraid to fall asleep because I couldn’t imagine waking up and having to know again this was all true.  

Rory had been perfectly healthy until he wasn’t.   Every test that was run came back over the next several weeks with no more a clue as to why we lost him.  Eventually my heart was able to accept that Rory Benjamin was only meant to be on this earth for a short while and that David and I had been chosen to carry this sweet soul for the time he needed to be here.

The medical story is an even longer one… I had not delivered the placenta and had to go in to the OR later that evening due to significant hemorrhaging.  Two weeks later, with a fever of 105 degrees, I was admitted again and had to be rushed in for a second emergency D&C after learning I had retained placenta due to a placenta accreta (my placenta had attached and grown through my uterine wall).  I aspirated during surgery and came down with severe pneumonia in addition to almost losing my life to blood loss.   

For those first few weeks I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to keep breathing, my heart hurt so much.  I had never known such pain and darkness and misery and yet at the same time my heart was filled with such love in knowing and meeting our son.  I took one moment at a time as David kept busy trying to clean or paint or reorganize the house.  Every so often he would come and crawl into bed with me and let me rub his back while he fell apart and then we would stay up late watching cooking shows and house shows mingled with the salty taste of my tears and David’s kisses and soft words.  

We took turns speaking to Rory on the day he was buried.  David told him that his brothers and sisters would know of their older brother and his sweet soul and that a day would not pass that we did not think of him or miss him.  I only needed to tell him over and over again how much we loved him.

I cried all morning the day David had to go back to work.  Just resting my head against his chest and hearing his heartbeat had made me ok for the weeks we were home together.  I wasn’t sure how to make it through a day without him present.  It also meant that the rest of the world was going on, that life was not going to pause here in this moment of tragedy.  I remember on the car ride home from the hospital, it was so eerie to see everyone walking around, going about their days; our baby dying had not stopped the world from turning.  Just our world.

David and I were lucky in that we were loved so much and were held up and held together by the community of friends and family and colleagues, and even just acquaintances, who took turns taking care of us.   This was a beautiful gift and one that has changed my heart in ways I am still learning.  

And while the trauma to my uterus has made it unsafe for me to carry another baby for now, as we work with a beautiful woman who is to be our surrogate to help us bring our next child into the world, this child will feel the presence of their older brother and the love we have learned from him; we feel it in almost every moment.  

We had only seven months with our son as he grew in my belly, but in that short time he taught us so much about love and life and blessings.  I could never wish this all away because I would lose him.  On his headstone it reads his name, his dates of birth and death, and the saying “Love is Never Lost,” as our love for our son is and always will be very much alive on our hearts.  I miss him.

Nicole can be reached at njalazo@gmail.com.

Kellie

Mom to Andrew Noah, Benjamin Levi, and Caleb Thomas

Born and died December 30, 2009

Bakersfield, California

We had fought for so long for those babies. Years of infertility. IVF worked almost too well. I ended up with triplets! I was so sick even from the beginning. From ten weeks on I had the worst morning sickness. Nothing stayed down very well.

On December 23rd, 2009, when I was about 16 weeks pregnant, I went on home IV hydration since I had been puking up everything in sight. That night, I managed to clot up my IV and had to go in the next day to get a new one placed. The next morning my head was killing me with a hideous headache that wouldn’t respond to anything.

The nurse who placed my IV took my blood pressure and it was incredibly high. She flipped out and called my doctor and they told me to get to the hospital ASAP because they needed to admit me. My mom and I got to the hospital where I was admitted and given a rather nice sized room. I was told I had to stay on my left side and I would be constantly monitored for blood pressure and heart rate and such.

I still didn’t know what was going on but I had a very clear idea that this was very serious business. I started picturing myself spending the next few months in the hospital being monitored until my babies were old enough to be born with a chance for survival. That became my goal. I saw the babies on ultrasound and they were fine and healthy. Baby A was bouncing around. Baby B was just snuggled up and snoozing. Baby C had the hiccups.

The headaches were unbearable and I started losing the sight in my left eye. Everything through my left eye was a brown haze that somewhat resembled the profile of a gorilla. I was put on a number of meds for blood pressure, anxiety, and pain as well as magnesium sulfate to keep me from seizures.

Things got worse. They couldn’t monitor me effectively enough or keep me stable and so I was moved to ICU. At that point, I knew that there was no hope left. All I could pray was that maybe a miracle would happen and I could be stable enough to last eight weeks more so that my boys would have a chance to live. I was given scan after scan after scan to be sure that I wasn’t having seizures or something else in my brain going wrong.

By now I had stopped eating almost completely. I had zero appetite, and almost everything I ate I threw back up within an hour. My kidneys were shutting down. The pain was incredible. I couldn’t sleep or eat and everything hurt.

The final day, I have no memory of it. From what my family tells me I went very bad, very fast. I was delirious and screaming and my parents and husband and the nurses had to hold me down. My kidneys had shut off completely. I didn’t recognize anyone nor had I any idea where I was or what was going on.

I then went into respiratory failure and my doctor told my family that this was the very end. They needed to get me into OR now or I was going to die very soon.

Within 30 minutes I was no longer pregnant and they were finally able to stabilize me enough to keep me alive. I coded on the table though.

Then I woke up and learned what had happened. The rest of that time was a bit of a blur until they brought my babies in for me to see. I had asked that I could see them earlier if it was at all possible.

They were so tiny but perfect. Perfect feet and hands and little heads. I fancied that they had the same high cheekbones and nose of my husband. I kissed them and held them and loved them as hard as I could for the small time I had. They came to me wrapped in tiny blankets with teeny little beanie caps on their heads. I was also given booties for their feet but they were just too small for them. Each child was about the size of my hand. The most beautiful and delicate creatures I have ever seen in my life.
We took pictures and held and kissed the boys. The chaplain came in with some of my nurses and the doctor and we baptized the boys and named them.

Andrew Noah, Benjamin Levi, and Caleb Thomas. Born and died December 30th 2009.

Then they took them away and gave me a box full of mementos and tiny footprints and their baptism certificates. The nurses had taken pictures of the boys and put together a little photo album for me. They gave me the blankets and hats that the boys wore as well as a teddy bear and a few more blankets from Project Linus and Forever Warm.

I remember waking at night frantically looking for my babies’ blankets. I was consumed with the thought that my babies were cold without their blankies and I needed to get the blankets to them before they got too cold. I also woke looking for my baby belly. I wasn’t far along but with three I had a nice sized belly already.

The night my milk came in was the biggest slap in the face. Like, “Here you go, Kellie. Your body failed you. Your body couldn’t conceive without help, couldn’t keep your babies safe in your own body anyway. But you can make milk just fine! Too bad there is nobody to feed it to.” The guilt was overwhelming. I couldn’t protect my babies. I couldn’t keep them safe. I couldn’t keep them alive. My body failed them. My body failed me.

The next few days were spent recovering in ICU and then I moved to a step down unit until I was determined well enough to come home.

When I stepped out of the car after leaving the hospital, I saw three dragonflies flying around my yard. You don’t see dragonflies in January, even in California, and so I took that as a sign from my boys that they were still with me. Now my symbols for my babies are dragonflies and I surround myself with them,.

It has been two years now and the pain has mellowed in intensity. I miss my babies so much. I was just barely starting to notice them moving. I didn’t get a chance to know them beyond how they moved on the ultrasound. I should have three tiny boys toddling around and getting into messes right now. Instead I have memories and scars.

You can contact Kellie at sardodox@yahoo.com.

Tiffany

Mom to Brayden Nicholas, died on May 23rd, 2009 at 8 weeks
and
Angel Christopher, died on March 17th, 2011 at 5 weeks

Eastern Pennsylvania

When I was15 years old I found out I was pregnant with my ex. He was 17 at the time. Ninth grade was coming to an end. It was the middle of May when I told my boyfriend. He was more than ecstatic. He was beyond elated with happiness. He had always wanted a family. A few days after I told him, I got up and got ready for school like any normal day. History class was my first class of the day. There was a guy in that class that constantly fought with me. Sometimes physical, sometimes not. Well, he decided to pick a fight with me that day and punched me directly in the stomach. I remember the pop feeling and the pain. I went home early due to INSANELY HORRIBLE cramps and miscarried around eight weeks. It was May 23rd, 2009. I know I was nowhere near finding out the sex but I knew in my heart and soul that it was a baby boy. My mom or family still to this day doesn’t know about the miscarriage. It just would cause more problems that aren’t needed.

Fast forward two years later and we are in March of 2011. I was suspecting I was pregnant for a little less than a month. I started cramping and spotting on the 13thand took a test. It confirmed what I was thinking. Calculations say I was no more than five weeks pregnant when I lost my second baby on March 17th, 2011. Again, I feel in my heart and soul that this baby was also a boy. I just knew somehow. Again, my mom and family don’t know about this baby so it’s hard on me.

You can contact Tiffany at bballgirl4492@yahoo.com.  

Katy

Mom to Isla Marie
Stillborn on September 27, 2011

Smyrna, Georgia

On February 3, 2011, I got the news my husband Todd and I had been hoping (and trying) for during the previous 6 months. A positive pregnancy test confirmed my suspicions. I was pregnant with my second child. I was relieved, excited and anxious! Mostly, I was happy for my daughter, Emma (age 4), who had been asking for a “baby” for some time. She immediately began insisting she was going to have a sister. Well, her wishes came true because in May 2011 an ultrasound confirmed that indeed Emma was going to have a little sister of her own. She came to the ultrasound with us and was fairly non-phased. “I told you so” is what she said to us as we were leaving the office! 

The pregnancy progressed in standard fashion. I was tired, nauseous and anxious for October to come. During an ultrasound in July, Isla was measuring a little behind in the weight department. The doctor recommended increased rest so as to increase blood flow through the umbilical cord to deliver nutrients more effectively. I worked on that and things looked a bit better at the next visit. They continued to monitor the situation closely. At the beginning of September, they were still finding that she was measuring a bit small for her gestational age and they wanted to increase my rest more. So I began working half days from home so that I could dedicate more time to lying down.

On September 22, I went in for another follow up ultrasound and there was a lot of concern about her rate of growth at this point. She wasn’t showing a big increase in weight gain over a week, so they brought up the possibility of inducing me that evening. My initial thought was YES! Let’s do this…I can’t wait to meet my little girl and be done with the pregnancy (I hope that doesn’t sound terrible…but the discomforts of late pregnancy were getting to me). However, the doctor warned that she was only weighing approximately 4 ½ pounds and that they do not like to deliver such a tiny baby if it isn’t necessary. I didn’t want to see my little girl in the NICU and thought it would be selfish to proceed with an induction just because I wanted to meet my newest princess and be done being pregnant. The doctor said if I could commit to more rest, they would let me go another week. I decided that was best. My in-laws were on their way that weekend to be with Emma whenever it was time for me to go in to the hospital to deliver, so I committed to another week of increased rest.  Isla’s bio-physical profile was good (heartbeat, blood flow, fluid, kicks). So they sent me home and told me to monitor her movements, which I did all weekend long.

Monday morning, September 26, I woke up and went about my usual business. Towards later morning, a worried thought crossed my mind that I didn’t feel a whole lot of movement. I sort of dismissed it and reassured myself that I had a doctor’s appointment in just a few hours. I finished work and took to the couch for a bit before heading off to the doctors. My mother-in-law asked if I needed her to go with me and I said nah, I’ll just be in and out…it was “just” the weekly check-up…pee in a cup, check blood pressure, listen to heartbeat , check dilation and schedule next week’s appointment. I cheerily left the house, asking if anyone wanted anything from Starbucks on my way back, as I had planned to stop for a latte on the way home. That was the beginning of the end of innocence.

I got to the doctor’s, peed in a cup, had a normal blood pressure and went back to be hooked up to the heart rate monitor. The nurse had a hard time finding the heartbeat. I showed her the spot it was found last time and as she fiddled around some more, I pretty much wanted to rip the thing out of her hand and show her myself, because I KNEW where it was. I wanted to be like “Give me that thing, I’ll find it.” She went and got the Nurse Practitioner and she came in and asked if my baby was giving us trouble again. One time recently, Isla was moving so much that she circled my tummy several times with the doppler before pinning that bugger down for a reading on her heartbeat! So when she came in the room, we laughed knowingly. She circled…..and circled…and circled. I looked at her expectantly, hoping to share a laugh about where Isla was hiding, but saw a shadow of concern. She kicked on their ultrasound machine and said she wanted to get a better look. A picture came up and I wasn’t seeing the normal movement I was used to and I started to get nervous. I asked what she was seeing and she said she wasn’t finding anything…I asked her what that meant and she said that they call it a “demise”. WHAT!?!?!?!?!!? So she told me she was sending me to the doctor where I had my regular ultrasounds (where I JUST was the past Thursday when Isla’s bio physical profile was great and we decided NOT to induce). They would be able to tell me more. I called Todd to tell him. I can’t even remember exactly what I said…except for crying out that they couldn’t find the heartbeat and that he needed to come to the ultrasound office. I live about 2 miles from my doctor’s office, so I called my father-in-law to tell him and he had Todd’s mom waiting in the car for me as soon as I pulled up. The ride seemed to take forever and then I got to the office and had to WAIT for what seemed like forever. They finally brought me back and I hopped up on the table, eager for them to show me on their MUCH better equipment that they had found Isla’s heartbeat and that this was just a big scare. They squirted the gel on my tummy….and started moving the wand around. The silence was deafening and the still vision I saw up on the monitor was louder than words. I hesitantly asked, “What are you seeing??” The tech shook her head that she was sorry. I bowed my head and sobbed.

Next thing I knew, Todd was walking in to the room and I was crying and telling him how sorry I was for not keeping our baby safe. He hugged me and told me it wasn’t my fault. If only I could rewind a few days back and be sitting in the doctor’s office saying “Yes, let’s go ahead and induce tonight.” Instead, I was scheduling my check-in to the hospital to be induced that evening. The next 48 hours would be some of the toughest we have ever faced.

After learning that Isla had passed away, it was yet another blow to realize that I was going to have to go through labor and delivery to give birth to a baby who would not be waking up…that we wouldn’t be taking home. I was scheduled to check in to the hospital to be induced that evening. When we arrived at the hospital at 10pm, thankfully it was pretty quiet, with no other women rushing in with contractions around me. Once I was all checked in, the receptionist took my hand and looked me in the eyes and said “God Bless You” before I headed up to my room.

We got settled and I was hooked up to all the necessary equipment and IV’s to prepare me for induction first thing in the morning. Once the nurse left us alone, Todd came to my bedside and opened up a flood of emotions. We just sat there and hugged and cried for our lost baby and broken dreams for our family. Last time we were here was so joyous, the beginning of our family when we brought Emma in to the world. This was so different. It seemed so cruel to be there….the baby bassinet sitting there, ready to hold our lifeless baby. It was so quiet and lonely and somber this time.

The next morning the nurse was there at 7am to start the induction. I requested an epidural right away. The anesthesiologist was very gentle and did a great job with a painless insertion. Once that was complete, I laid back and waited….wishing that this was all just a nightmare. A few hours later it was time to push. Three sets of pushes or so and it was over. Todd and I held hands and cried as our lifeless and silent daughter was brought into the world…living through the cruel irony that she had died before even being born.

Isla was taken off to be bathed, fingerprinted and photographed. She weighed 5 pounds, 11 ounces. Small, yes, but not nearly as small as it was thought she was going to be through recent ultrasounds. In fact she was only 1 ounce lighter than Emma. When they brought her back to us, she was a perfect little baby with a head full of dark hair. Why oh why couldn’t she just wake up?? We spent some time holding her and a chaplain came in to give us a blessing and assured us that all babies who die go straight to heaven and become angels.

We scheduled Isla for an autopsy to seek out some answers. After that, she would be cremated and buried with other little souls who shared her fate at a cemetery with a plot dedicated to their memory. Now it was time for the physical and emotional healing to begin.

Leaving the hospital empty handed was as depressing as it sounds and I cried as I walked to the elevator yearning to be toting Isla in her pink car seat on the way home to begin the rest of our lives. Instead I was facing a maternity leave with no baby…an empty crib and broken heart.

Katy blogs at http://loveyoutoinfinity.blogspot.com.

You can contact her at ksantell@comcast.net.

Christina “Cricket”

Mom to Parker Saint

Born still November 26, 2004

Florida

So, I guess I need to start from when this all started. I was 17 and the doctor told me that he did not think I was going to have babies, that I had a lot going on. I was okay with that. I was only 17. I did not want kids. Then, at the age 23, I had just had my birthday and was still with my boyfriend of 6 years and my sister had her baby, and I now knew that I wanted a little baby also. I told my boyfriend, “You know, maybe we start talking about babies and having the wedding we have been talking about for so long. He told me to Google it and see how long it was going to take, did we need to see a doctor or what, so I did and it looked like if I was going to have one it was going to take a year or more. This was June 19, 2004, and we started trying for a baby! On Aug 4th I was going to go off with my friend the next day and do the shopping that we did every year. That night we stopped for a drink and it made me so sick to just look at it. Thinking that something was up I had to take a test and there it was, 2 lines! We were going to have a baby! So much for a year, right?

We went to bed happy and the next day when I got up I was so sick and I had a temp of 105. I felt like I am dying, so I called my friend and told her I was not going to go but to have fun. My boyfriend stayed with me all day, and by 2:00 he had called someone to come get us and go to ER. They ran tests and found I had a UTI. I was very sick. They kept me overnight. The next day it was still bad and my temp was 104. They took me to the OR to see if the baby was okay and if there was anything going on in there. The girl that came to get me asked me what was going on and I told. She then said that my baby was going to die, that they are going to have to take it. By then I was crying. A good friend walked in to see me going in to the OR and they told her that no one could come in except family, so she looks at me and said, “I am her mom.” My mom did not know what was going on; she lived in GA and I was in FL so they let her in. When I came out they had called my boyfriend and he was there and the baby was okay. It was just the UTI. They told us I was going to have to stay in there for 5 days and I did. When I got to go home I was so happy and wanted nothing more than to be in my bed. We moved right along like we needed to but for me being sick. Everyone says that it’s just something that you live with. I weighed 152 when we started and only 115 when I had him at 23 weeks.

On Black Friday I did not feel right; there was something going on and I knew that whatever that jelly-like stuff was that was coming out when I was using the bathroom was not right, so my best friend took me in to the ER again to see if I was okay. They took me back, my friend holding my hand like always, and they said, “Lie down and don’t move, she is 3 with an HR glass.” I didn’t know what that was at the time. I didn’t know what was going on, I just knew everyone was running in and out and not talking to me. My BF told them to tell her what was going on so that she could call my boyfriend, and they told her that I was about to lose the baby. She called him and he got there fast. They put me in a room and id more tests. Nothing could save him. Nothing. As the night went on my boyfriend asked why I kept passing out. They told him that my brain could not take what was going on so it was shutting down when it could. He sat there with friends and looked at the heartbeat just getting slower and slower, and then it stopped. His mom and dad got there and he went down to talk to them and tell then what was going on. As this was going on I woke up and the only one there was my best friend. I told her, “I have to push!” She said, “Hold on.” Let me tell you, there is no holding on when your body says “go”. She was calling for someone to help us. No one came, so she – my best friend – helped me have my baby. My boyfriend walked in after it was all done. He missed the whole thing. The doctor came in and told my friend that she has to call it, so she did:  4:58, the last thing I heard before I passed out again. Then, when my boy friend came back, I woke up and told him everything. We cried and asked everyone to go home and let us be. We did not want to hold him, Parker, for a long time and when we did, someone brought him to us and my we held him for a long time. He was so cute, so little, and looked just like his daddy. We named him Parker after my boyfriend’s favorite superhero, Spiderman. His middle name is Saint. I don’t know why I had to name him Saint but I did.

That weekend was hazy. I don’t recall much, I just know that everyone was coming to the house to see me and I didn’t want to see any of them so they were told to go home and we’d call when we wanted to talk. On Monday we had to say goodbye to him and we did. It was nice service, as nice as one can be for a baby. The card that we gave everyone there says, “The world is not an evil place because of those who do evil, but rather because of those who sit back and let it happen.” We did not want him to know evil so that is why we used that.

After that day, we moved on as much as we could. I was still crying every day and my boyfriend was doing what he had to do to keep me from going crazy. Then on 3/23/05, we had a new test and there he was, a new baby, too soon for some but for us, Stryder was the one that saved us. He kept from us going crazy. We loved Parker, we wanted both boys, but knew that one was gone and it was going to never go away. Stryder was born Oct. 26, 2005 after almost losing him 3 times. I have incompetent cervix. We now know why we did not get to keep Parker, why he had to go, but after 7 years we are still sad when we think about him. Still, we thank him for his life so that his brother can live. We have two little boys now, 6 and 3. They are so happy and they know there was a baby before them that had to go home to God, but that we loved him and he loved us. They talk to him and tell him Happy Birthday and tell me how much they love their brother. After we lost Parker, we had to see good in it, so with that we talked to moms and daddies that lost babies, to doctors and nurses to tell them about him and how they can help with a word or a hug, that even if you have been doing your job for 20 years, don’t turn your eyes away when you see them crying. Talk to them, help them. I have talked to women I did not know and told my story and helped them when they were going through what we did. A hand to hold sometimes is all you need. My boyfriend and I did have that wedding and we did have more babies and we still talk about it and hold one another when it’s dark, and we don’t let the others feel that we are doing this alone.

Tristan

Mom to Gabriel

October 8, 2009 – November 5, 2009

Rockford, Michigan

I woke up early on the morning of February 27, 2009. It was my husband and my first anniversary, and for some reason, although we were not actively trying to become pregnant, I felt compelled to take a pregnancy test even though I wasn’t late yet. I sat there waiting, and honestly terrified. I was 20 years old, and my husband was 19. He had just lost his job, and it was nearly impossible to find work in our area. I pondered what would happen if I was pregnant, and how we could support a child. Finally, I couldn’t take the suspense anymore. I looked and saw two lines. Two. I felt like screaming with happiness, but I just walked into our bedroom where my husband was still sleeping. I woke him up, and told him I had found something important, and handed him the test. He didn’t trust the test, so we went to the local grocery store, and bought a digital test. Almost immediately “pregnant” popped up. We couldn’t have been happier.

I had a fairly uneventful first trimester. I did become sick, and ran a high fever around ten weeks. Both my general practitioner and OB told me not to worry, the baby would be fine. I accepted what they told me, and went about with my normal routine. My belly began to stretch, and I loved being pregnant. I dreamed about my child every night, and couldn’t stop talking about how excited I was to meet my little one. The baby’s heartbeat had been strong, and I had no cause for concern.

When I was 18 weeks, I began spotting while at work. It was bright red, and I remember running out of the bathroom and sobbing in the break-room. I was terrified I was losing my baby. I couldn’t get a hold of my husband for nearly an hour because he was at a birthday party for a friend’s son. My friends comforted me until he finally arrived and took me to the hospital.

Once we were there we got settled in a room almost immediately. We waited for quite some time for a doctor, but once he arrived he got right down to business. During my exam, there was no source found for the blood, and he asked if maybe I was confused. I assured him that I had indeed found blood in my underwear, and he decided to do an ultrasound. He was stern and silent the entire time. He had the screen on the old machine pointed away from us, and called several other doctors in and pointed at it. Once the other doctors left, he turned the screen toward me, and I could see my baby dancing around and waving at us. He said everything looked good, but since the machine was so old, he thought it might be best that we go downstairs and have an ultrasound tech do an ultrasound, because they would be able to confirm that everything was fine.

During the ultrasound I joked with the tech about it being ok if she slipped me a piece of paper with the baby’s gender on it. She was nice, but after a while, she had stopped joking, and looked concerned. She quietly said that although she wasn’t supposed to say anything, there was some shadowing around the left ventricle of my baby’s heart. I was scared, but she assured me that it was probably just the way the baby was positioned, but I needed to follow up with my OB. I accepted that everything was fine and called my OB the next morning. They referred me to a maternal fetal medicine practice, and I set up an appointment four weeks away.

When we arrived at the appointment I was scared, but excited that I would finally get to learn the gender of my baby. After a few moments in the waiting room, a woman who couldn’t have been much further along than I was wheeled through the waiting room, clutching her belly and sobbing. She was wheeled across the pedestrian bridge into the hospital, and at that point, it really hit me that something could be horribly wrong with my child. By the time they called me back I felt like I was going to become physically ill. I held my husband’s hand so tightly I thought I might crush his fingers. I lie down on the table, and the tech began the ultrasound. She was chatty, and very nice. We talked about our hopes and dreams for the little one, and how we didn’t care what gender the baby was, as long as it was healthy. At that point she went to work trying to find out the baby’s gender, which she found quickly – we were having a little boy! I was so excited, and my head filled with little blue outfits, cars and hopes that my son would look like my husband. After a few moments the ultrasound was done, and she stood up. “I need to go get the doctor to come take a look,” she said. Something about her had changed, just like with the tech at the hospital. “Is everything ok with him?” I asked. She dropped her eyes to floor “No,” and with that she walked out of the room.

The doctor that came through the door next was cold and distant. She told us our son was going to die, that there was no hope. She yelled at me for sobbing, and told me that we were holding up the room for other patients that needed it. I was forced to walk through the hallways of the office, still sobbing, in front of all the other people there. They sat us in a room full of pamphlets, and we were there for what felt like hours. The doctor came back in, and started telling us that our best option was to end the pregnancy, and to just try again. I tuned her out, and after a while we left. When we got back to our apartment I got into bed, and stayed there for two days, until I had to return to work.

I returned every two weeks, then once a week, then twice a week. My belly continued to stretch, and our little boy was growing bigger and stronger. His heart rate was always great, and he always looked perfect on the ultrasound screen. They switched his diagnosis various times, until they finally said there was no name for what he had, it was a form of cardiomyopathy they had never seen. I was told my body could realize how sick he was and that I could go into labor at anytime, so I just waited. I waited for him to come while I was at work, and in the middle of the night instead of sleeping. I was given steroid shots to help his lungs develop and then I waited some more.

After going out to dinner on October 7th, we returned home, and something didn’t feel right. I was queasy, so I went to bathroom. Once I got in there I decided I might as well use the bathroom, otherwise I’d just be back in there in a few minutes. I looked in the toilet, and there was blood. I called my OB, who told me to come straight to the hospital. I was 35 weeks, so my son’s chances were very good, considering he had gotten the steroids for his lungs. On the way there I realized that everything was out of my hands after this, and I prayed that God had made my son a fighter. We arrived at around 11:30 pm, and were admitted and put in a labor and delivery room. I knew this was it.

I honestly don’t remember much of my labor. At some point they told me I needed to calm down, and I was given something to help. I drifted off and had bizarre dreams, and when I awoke they told me it was time to push. There were probably 30 doctors and nurses in the room with me, which for some reason I thought was normal. I pushed for twenty minutes, and he was here! I looked down, and saw his face for just a moment. He was gorgeous, and looked just like his father. He weighed 7lbs 3ozs.They did an echocardiogram in my room, then wrapped him up and gave him to me. They told me the team from the NICU was coming to get him, and to cherish these few moments. I held him, kissed him, and cried. I let my husband hold him, and he cried. My parents were given a quick chance to hold him too. My dad tried to give him to me, and I was too distraught to take him, and refused. I regret this decision, and will for the rest of my life. I wish I would have known that this was the only chance I would have to hold him while he was alive. They put him in an incubator and whisked him away from me.

He spent 5 days total in the hospital near our hometown, and they were awful. The cardiologist was rude, and said that we shouldn’t medicate him, that he was suffering, that we were making it worse. I spent all my time in the NICU with him, and I knew in my heart that he wasn’t ready to give up yet. After days of pressing we got him transferred to Children’s Hospital of Michigan located in Detroit. He was loaded into an ambulance, and we followed.

When we arrived in Detroit, they had no details about my son’s transfer, and he could not be located within the hospital. I was so scared that something had happened on the way. It took them nearly an hour, but when we finally got to see him he was settled in his room in the PICU, sleeping peacefully. We spent about an hour with him before the hospital social worker encouraged us to get registered at Ronald McDonald House, just in case they might get full for the night. The transplant team caught us on the way out, and told us to be back bright and early for his exam and to talk about the details of what lie ahead. They were nice, and I was so happy to be out of the first hospital. Things were looking up for Gabe for the first time in his life, and I was able to sleep for the first time since he was born.

The next day when we met with the transplant doctors we were told that contrary to what our doctors at the other hospital had said, Gabe was a perfect candidate for a heart transplant. We signed the paperwork, and were given a beeper. Then we played the waiting game. Everything is a blur after this, so bare with me if things seem strange or possible out of order.

Over the next week, Gabe got worse. While we ran to the store we received a call that his breathing became too labored, and he had to be intubated, and we rushed back. I was scared to go anywhere after that. Later in the week he had to be put on ECMO, which is basically a giant machine that acted as his heart. Blood was pumped out one vein in his neck, cleaned and oxygenated, then pumped back into another vein. We were told this could either save his life, make him septic, or cause a brain bleed, but without it, he would most certainly die then and there. Without a viable heart of a baby close in size, we had no choice. A few days later Gabe started to show signs of an infection in his blood, and he had to be removed from ECMO, and fast. He was removed from the transplant list as he was no longer healthy enough to go through the process. We decided to opt for an experimental treatment, called the Berlin Heart, otherwise known as a Left Ventricular Assist Device (LVAD). We had to sign papers from the FDA, and wait for them to approve the only choice we had left for our son. After they approved we had to wait for it to arrive, and then a free day for the surgery, which ended up being November 1, 2009. They told us that if the surgery went well he would be off the ventilator and in our arms soon. I couldn’t wait.

We got to the hospital at 4:00am and kissed our little boy, and told him he was going to beat all this. They wheeled him off, telling us we would be able to see him probably in 4 or 5 hours, as they had to attach the LVAD, and close 4 holes in his heart. It was 8 hours until we finally got word of what was happening. The surgeon had gotten the holes closed right off the bat, but instead of finding a tough muscle like he had expected his heart to be, he found it had the texture of tissue paper. This made attaching the tubes almost impossible. Along with that, while on ECMO Gabe’s right ventricle had become useless, so he now needed and LVAD on both sides of his heart, which had never been done on a 23-day old baby before. They assured us Gabe was in capable hands, and disappeared for another 8 hours. When they came back they told us everything had gone according to the newest plan, and we would be able to see him. I couldn’t believe the boy I saw was my son. He was puffy, red, and all of his little fingers and toes had plumed up and looked like sausages that were about to burst from their casings. I kissed him and told him and told him how brave he was, and he was wheeled back up to his room with two artificial hearts powering his tiny swollen body.

Things began to look better for Gabe. The infection was gone, and he was losing the excess fluids at a great rate. We decided since he was doing so well, a quick trip to visit friends would be ok, as long as we were not gone long. We were gone for a total of seven hours, and as soon as we walked into Ronald McDonald house I received the call. The nurse on the other end was very somber, “Mrs. Augustine? We need you and your husband to come up to the hospital as soon as possible. Things are not going well.” My husband was parking the car in the hospital’s parking ramp, and I remember running through the dark screaming on the phone to him. It was snowing and raining at the same time. I had to use the hospital’s night entry, which was the service entrance, and I was forced to make small talk with a security guard in the slowest elevator I’ve ever been in. Once I got to Gabe’s floor I was at a dead sprint to get to his room, and what I saw shocked me. The nearly normal looking child I had left was swollen even more than I had ever seen before. He had not been urinating, and was almost orange in color. My husband arrived, and we sat by Gabe’s side. He was awake for the first time since he had been intubated three weeks before, and he just stared at me. I asked if they had allowed him to come out of sedation, and they said they had been trying to keep him under to no avail. I spent the next 5 hours staring into my little boy’s perfect blue eyes. My husband and I would switch sides every few minutes just so he knew we were both there with him. After pumping him full of diuretics, he began to pass urine, and the nurse suggested we go get some rest, promising that even if the slightest thing changed she would call. We got back to Ronald McDonald house, and I fell asleep almost immediately.

I woke up early the morning of November 5th, and just knew something wasn’t right. I woke my husband up, and we quickly dressed and went to the hospital. As we walked in, they were wheeling the little girl that shared Gabe’s room out, and I just assumed that she had a surgery or test of some sort. We were greeted by the transplant team we had grown close to, the heart surgeon, and various other doctors. Gabe had stopped breathing in the middle of the night, and they had to place him on a high speed ventilator just to keep his lungs stimulated enough. He was even more swollen, and in that moment I knew. They drew the curtains past the glass sliding doors, and told us that our poor baby boy was struggling to stay alive even with the life support he was on. They asked what we wanted to do, and I asked if he was suffering. They said that they believed he was. Without even looking at my husband we both said it was time. I broke down, and my husband had to hold me up so I didn’t land on the floor. We sat by his side and cried together, telling our sweet baby how much we loved him, and what a good fight he put up. We told him about our family members he would meet in Heaven, and we had him baptized by the hospital’s Chaplin. I was too upset to take any photos of his baptism, and now, I really wish I had. I stepped out into the hall to use the phone to call my parents, and could barely whisper, “We’re letting him go…” My dad is hard of hearing, and asked me what I said, and I began screaming irrationally at him. One nurse took the phone from me and gave me a bear hug to try to calm me down, and another gave the phone to my husband, who had to calmly explain everything.

When we came back, Gabe’s nurse had him wrapped in a blue blanket with yellow rubber ducks on it, and asked if we wanted anyone to stay with us. We asked one of the girls from the transplant team who we had grown close with to stay, and a few Gabe’s nurses who had grown close to our little boy. They laid him in my husband’s arms, and began to take him off the ventilator, and unhook the tubes connected to his two Berlin hearts. They handed him to me, and I heard the laptop that controlled the settings on his Berlin hearts clink. He was so much heavier than when I held him the first time, and prayed that I was dreaming, that someone would wake me up and I would still be pregnant. A doctor walked over, and put his stethoscope against Gabe’s chest. He looked into my eyes, and simply said, “His heart’s not beating anymore. Take as long as you need,” and excused himself with everyone else. We held him for another hour, and then decided it was time to let him go.

To this day, we don’t know what caused Gabe’s heart defects. The doctors in Detroit guessed that whatever I had early on in pregnancy was a virus, and had attacked Gabe’s heart while it was in the process of forming.

My dad came to pick us up the next day. I refused to go into our house once we got home. I didn’t want to see Gabe’s things, or even think about him. My husband and his friend packed everything up, and we closed the door to his room, and I didn’t go in until we moved out two months later. I tried to kill myself, but my husband managed to break the door down to our bathroom before I could do any serious damage. I went through counseling, but I still struggle with depression, I still cry about my baby almost every day. My counselor suggested maybe another child would help me to cope, and I became pregnant again in February 2010, and delivered a healthy baby boy named Gideon on November 8, 2010. I credit my son with saving my life, and I never take a moment with him for granted.

Even though I only have one son with me here on earth, I will always have two smart, strong willed, and handsome sons, it’s just that one happens to be the others guardian angel.

You can contact Tristan at tristan.augustine@gmail.com.

Judi

Mom to Conner

Born still February 22, 2011

Bozeman, Montana

My son Conner was stillborn on February 22, 2011. It was the worst day of my life, an experience that has changed me forever. I went into labor around midnight and he was delivered naturally just after 1:00 pm. I was only 21 weeks pregnant, and Conner was too young to survive outside the womb. I pleaded with my doctor, “Can’t you do something? Please, do something, anything, to stop my labor and keep him alive!” She just held my hand, crying with me, and said, “I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can do. Conner is not going to survive.” The placenta was heavily damaged and there was no more amniotic fluid.

The final ultrasound showed his heart beating strong, and his foot flexing and pointing as if he were tapping his foot to music. “But he looks fine,” I remember saying. “It can’t be possible that he is about to die…”

I went through nearly 6 hours of heavy labor without any pain medication because I wanted to feel everything and see everything. During the last moments and the last excruciating push, I felt his tiny body slip out of me. He weighed 1 ½ pounds and was 11 inches long, but he looked perfect to me. He had the same ears and same hair color as his big sister (traits they both got from their daddy). Physically, he was fully formed, but I knew that inside his little organs were just too fragile. I held him in my arms, told him how sorry I was, and that I loved him so much. I kissed his little forehead and cheek; they were so soft.

The reason I went into premature labor was because of Placenta Previa. At 14 weeks pregnant I started bleeding, and an ultrasound revealed that the placenta was covering the entire cervix. The doctor told me everything should be fine; we’ll just have to deliver him C-section in June, before I went into labor naturally. That was fine with me; I simply switched my plans to expecting a June baby instead of a July baby. My husband and I were so excited to be having a boy. I got married at age 35, and due to my age and both of us feeling more than ready to start a family, we got pregnant right after our wedding, delivering a healthy little girl named Shelby. Having just turned 37 when I got pregnant with Conner, we knew we were so blessed to round out our family with one boy and one girl. Our perfect family would finally be complete.

When the bleeding didn’t subside for about 5 weeks, then got worse, I was ordered to bed rest; preparing to spend the next four months in bed. Then that fateful night came when my body decided it couldn’t hold Conner in anymore, and he was forced out too soon.

It’s been a year now since Conner died. Sometimes it feels like it all happened just yesterday, then other times it feels like it was a dream that never really happened. The “ghost kicks”, the sensation of him still moving inside my womb, lasted several months. But I still spend many sleepless nights with my pillow drenched in tears. Throughout my daily activities I sometimes feel like an outsider; like no one around me understands the sorrow I’m feeling. People ask me how I am, and I usually reply with the common “fine” or “good”, but inside I’m screaming, “I’m not fine! My baby is dead and you couldn’t possibly understand how I feel!” People have said very hurtful things such as “he wasn’t meant to be” or “at least you still have your daughter”. As much as I adore my daughter and am grateful she was born healthy, nothing takes away the pain of losing Conner. He was very meant to be and it is tragic that he didn’t survive. I know that most people are uncomfortable talking about the death of a baby, and so in their discomfort say things that they don’t realize are hurtful. I wish instead of trying to find the right thing to say they would just say, “I know it must be so difficult to cope with Conner’s death; it’s OK to be sad.” Being sad and being able to grieve openly is what I need as part of the healing process. Thank God for my loving husband and the wonderful people in my Share group.

I see pregnant women or newborn babies and my heart aches with sadness and envy. I’m told those are normal feelings that bereaved parents often feel and that they will eventually diminish. The holidays were extremely hard, as was my birthday and Mother’s Day. Those were days when our perfect, complete, family was to be celebrating together.

Less than 30 minutes after Conner was born, the damaged placenta hemorrhaged and wouldn’t detach from my uterus, so I was rushed to surgery. My doctor, the same one who cried with me earlier in the day as she told me she couldn’t do anything to save Conner’s life, was now rushing to save my uterus and stop the bleeding. She succeeded, and to this day is still a very special woman in my life and someone I will forever be grateful for. My body is healed, and I still have hopes to get pregnant again someday soon. But for now all I am left with are the shattered dreams of my perfect little family and Conner’s ashes by my bedside with the memory of his soft face as I kissed him and said goodbye.

You can contact Judi at judi.haskins@gmail.com.

Miranda

Mom to two angel babies

Natural miscarriage 7 weeks 5 days on October 13, 2011
(EDD May 28, 2012)

Misoprostal-assisted miscarriage 9 weeks 3 day on January 16, 2012
(EDD August 17, 2012)

Washington, Illinois

My husband and I were married in January 2009. He came with three children from previous relationships and we had planned on having one of our own and working on that within the first year of marriage. Because of some things going on in my life at that time, we pushed it back a couple of years and in November 2010, I went off the pill and we were just going to stop preventing to see what happened. By August of 2011, nothing had happened, so we tried OPKs and got our first positive pregnancy test on September 15. We were elated. Our EDD was 5/28/12, which we thought would be perfect. The baby would be here before summer got too hot and it would be nice enough that birthday parties could be held outside, etc. On October 4, at 6 weeks, 2 days, we had our first prenatal appointment and all we could see on the ultrasound was a gestational sac and yolk sac measuring less than five weeks. They took a beta draw which confirmed the pregnancy was not viable. I was given the choice of having a D&C, taking Cytotec/Misoprostol, or waiting for a natural miscarriage. I chose to wait and see and within a few days I began spotting. The spotting was very off and on for about five days. Once things really started happening, it lasted 14 hours and was over. Our first angel left us on 10/13/11 when it should have been 7w5d.

Our doctor gave us the all clear to try again after one cycle, and on December 6, we got our second positive home pregnancy test. We were very leery of getting too excited about this pregnancy until we saw a heartbeat, but as time went on and my beta draws came back fine, we started to relax a little bit. I had four beta draws, all within the healthy doubling time. The last one was drawn about a week before our first prenatal appointment on 12/29/11. I should have been 6w6d that day, but again, all we saw on the ultrasound was the gestational and yolk sacs measuring only 5w6d. They took another beta draw and it came back indicating that I was “trending as if I were going to miscarry.” We had a follow up ultrasound on our third anniversary, 1/3/12, which showed no growth whatsoever. They went on ahead that day and took some blood for a basic RPL panel, which all came back normal. The doctor wasn’t offering to do more than that without there being a third loss, so we went home to weigh our options once again. I tried to wait it out for my body to catch on, but two weeks later, nothing was happening and I was going crazy, so we asked about Cytotec/Misoprostol. They called in the prescription and I requested a quick beta just for peace of mind that this truly was not a viable pregnancy. It actually came back elevated, but not enough to be considered viable, and my progesterone was well below the normal range. I began taking the Misoprostol and after three doses, everything was done. Our second angel left us on 1/16/12 when it should have been 9w3d.

After our second post-miscarriage cycle starts, we will be trying again and hoping and praying that the third time will be the charm.

Miranda blogs at http://babyaxsom.wordpress.com.

You can contact Miranda at maxsom2010@live.com.

Karis

Mom to two precious angels

Due August 2, 2012

Went to Heaven: December 19, 2011

San Antonio, Texas

I got home from Iraq at the end of Oct 2011 and my husband and I started trying to conceive right away. By Thanksgiving Day I was showing those wonderful pink lines!! My husband and I were so excited! We told family and close friends right away.

It took until about the 5thweek to start having symptoms: all day morning sickness, sensitive to smells, exhaustion. I could feel my body changing and it was thrilling. Our ultrasound was scheduled for December 19th, a day after our 2nd anniversary and a day before we left for Texas to visit family for Christmas. We went in at 9:00am.The nurse had to do the transvaginal ultrasound which was kind of uncomfortable, but it was worth it to see my baby! Once the nurse found the babies she said, “You have two babies in here!!” Jared and I were over the moon! Identical!!! The fact that my husband is a twin made it even more special. Then the nurse got very quiet. She looked around a little more and finished the u/s. Right before she got up and left the room she said, “I don’t see any heartbeats, but it’s still early.” I got up, got dressed and laughed and planned with my husband. Our nurse came back in with another nurse, who said that the babies didn’t have heartbeats and we needed to come back in a few hours and talk to the doctor. My heart sank. Our nurse looked like she was on the verge of tears. I flew out of the building, running past all of the healthy pregnant women in the waiting room and burst into tears in the car. I called close family, told them the news and asked them to pray. Maybe there was stillroom for a miracle?

Unfortunately, we didn’t get our miracle and the doctor told us that I would probably experience a miscarriage over the next few weeks. So I waited for three weeks, carrying my babies and waiting for the miscarriage. Nothing. I went back in for an ultrasound after Christmas to see what was going on and it confirmed a missed miscarriage. They were gone. My babies were gone and my body didn’t want to let them go. I ended up having to have a D&C done.

I miss them every day, the angels I never got to hold in my arms, but I’m so glad that I got to see them before I let them go.

You can contact Karis at kparks85@yahoo.com.