Author Archives: amomentinmarch

Songs

06 Wednesday Jun 2012

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It is amazing to me how the day can be going about my day just fine and then I hear a song and it takes my breath away and gives me that momentary throat lump.  I have come to realize that as time passes, this will probably never change.  And while many of the songs are about lost love, it only takes one line in the song to send my mind racing to Ansley.  Here are a few excerpts that get me every time.

“If I die young, bury me in satin
Lay me down on a, bed of roses
Sink me in the river, at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love song
Lord make me a rainbow, I’ll shine down on my mother
She’ll know I’m safe with you when she stands under my colors, oh well
Life ain’t always what you think it ought to be, no
Ain’t even grey, but she buries her baby
The sharp knife of a short life,” – The band Perry

“I know my heart will never be the same
But I’m telling myself I’ll be okay
Even on my weakest days
I get a little bit stronger” – Sara Evans

“Baby why’d you leave me
Why’d you have to go?
I was counting on forever, now I’ll never know
I can’t even breathe
It’s like I’m looking from a distance
Standing in the background
Everybody’s saying, he’s not coming home now
This can’t be happening to me
This is just a dream” – Carrie Underwood

“Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise.
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to be free.
Blackbird fly Blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night.” – Beatles

My First Mother’s Day

31 Thursday May 2012

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A little less than 2 months had past when I faced the first holiday that would challenge me to my core.

Mother’s Day!

It seemed to be nothing more than a cruel reminder of how much my life had changed.  It was also the first time I noticed that around Mother’s Day (and Father’s Day for that matter) advertising shifts to be heartfelt and family focused.  Shopping becomes a bit harder because as you enter the store, any store, you are faced with Mother’s Day displays of balloons, flowers, cards, and gifts.  And, while Hallmark claims to have a card for every occasion, they don’t; there are not cards for this one. It seems there is no way to escape it.  So, I needed to figure out how to embrace it.  It is the fight or flight response, I can either run away from life or try to fight my way through it.  Of course, that is easier said than done.  It comes with a great deal of emotions ranging from anxiety, to sadness, to anger, and even guilt.

By this time, I had joined a support group of other bereaved parents.  Many of whom, like me, only had children in Heaven.  It is a group that you hope and pray you will never be a part of, but it is a blessing to know that you are not alone. Rock Good bye Angle gave me an outlet to embrace my first Mother’s Day without Ansley.  We all met at the lake where we were given balloons to write a message to send to our babies.  It was a way to acknowledge them and at the same time reinforce our “status” as parents.  On several occasions leading up to the big day at the lake, I thought about backing out.  I wasn’t sure if I was strong enough to get through it, but I knew I needed to go.  I needed to set a precedent for survival; not just for this holiday and all the others I was yet to face.

Foreshadowing

15 Tuesday May 2012

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In the days following my first trip out of the house, I decided to try to catch up on some emails.  I was reading emails in small doses as sympathy can be hard to deal with.  I saw a message titled “So sorry”.  I opened the message and read the first line.  My name is Christy and we have some mutual friends.  Although I had never met Christy, I knew exactly who she was.

October 29, 2010… Chris and I went to our friends Matt and Robyn’s new house for a Halloween party.  It was there that I first heard Christy’s story.

She was only a few days away from her due date, when she woke in the middle of the night with a fever.  As she sat in bed, it dawned on her that she had only felt contractions not the baby moving. She woke her parents, whom she had move in with mid-pregnancy, and told them they needed to go to the hospital.  It was there that she received the news that her daughter had passed away.  The doctors induced Christy and her daughter, Evelyn Marie was born the next day.  They later learned she most likely died from a cord injury; the umbilical cord had wrapped around her neck. (www.babyevie.com)

I stood in the kitchen blinking back tears.  I had known several people who had miscarried, but Christy was well past the 12 week danger zone, she was full term.  My heart broke for her.  Little did I know, at that very moment I was pregnant with Ansley.  We would find out I was expecting 5 days later!

The Infamous Question

24 Tuesday Apr 2012

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When the doctor finally lifted my bed rest orders, Chris and I decided I should try to get out of the house some; re-enter the world.  It is funny thing, as much as you can wish for the world to stop turning when going through such a challenging time, that is simply not what happens.  Life goes on but getting back to it is much easier said than done.  It is much like trying to jump onto a moving train.

My first outing was to a nail salon near my house to get a pedicure.  Everything was going fine until the lady tried to make small talk.  Her first question although seemingly innocent was,

Do you have children?

I froze; it was as if the question paralyzed me.  Of course, she assumed I didn’t hear or understand her so she asked me again. I still didn’t answer.

It was that moment that I realized I don’t know how to answer that question.  If I say yes and acknowledge Ansley as my daughter the way I would like to, the questions will continue, with boy or girl, followed by how old until finally I have to say she is dead.  I couldn’t even say her name without crying, so this was probably not the best option if I was going to try to hold it together while in public.  But, if I say no, then I feel incredibly guilty for not acknowledging her.

The third time she asked me, I said no.  It was in a tone of me yelling it at her but in the volume of a whisper.  She didn’t ask any more questions, and I didn’t wait until my toes were dry to leave.  I couldn’t get out of there soon enough.  The guilt from that one little word was almost more than I could bear.

I asked Chris how he would answer that question when he got home.  He was as dumbfound as I was.  Maybe it would be easier if there was a word.  When your husband dies, you become a widow. When your wife dies, you become widower.  When children loose parents they become orphans.  What about when parents loose children?

It has now been over a year and I still struggle with this question.  Sometimes I say yes, but often I say no.  I have been able to justify in my mind that when I say no, I am only speaking about living children.  Do you have rather than have you had.  I realize it is just semantics, but it allows me to sleep at night.

Searching for my Rainbow

19 Thursday Apr 2012

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I needed to get out of the office for a few minutes today, so I popped over to a cute little gift shop nearby.  I had no intention of buying anything.  Just a change of scenery.   As I looked at all the pretty little things, a picture frame caught my eye. It read, “Have Faith in Your Dreams, and Someday Your Rainbow will Come Smiling Through” ~ Cinderella.

Everyone loves a good Cinderella quote, but it is interesting how many things now have a different meaning.  It was about 8 months ago that I first heard the term Rainbow Baby.  I was at my support group, Rock Goodbye Angle.  I wasn’t 100% sure of what it meant, but I thought I had a pretty good idea. Of course, when I got home I Goggled it.  According to Urban Dictionary,

A “rainbow baby” is a baby that is born following a miscarriage, stillbirth or neonatal death. In the real world, a beautiful and bright rainbow follows a storm and gives hope of things getting better. The rainbow is more appreciated having just experienced the storm in comparison. The storm (pregnancy loss) has already happened and nothing can change that experience. Storm clouds might still be overhead as the families continue to cope with the loss, but something colorful and bright has emerged from the darkness and misery.

Ever since I learned that term, I have been looking for a rainbow…literally.  If the sun comes out following a storm I will go outside and look for a rainbow.  I am yet to see one.  I feel like when I do, it might just be a sign that things will be okay.

We still don’t know if I will be able to have another baby.  The risks might be too great.  We hope to have those answers soon.  So for today, maybe, just maybe the picture frame was put there just for me as my sign.  I may have to wait a little longer to see my rainbow, but I will have faith.

Oh The Things They Will Say…

18 Wednesday Apr 2012

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Upon getting home from the hospital, I was under strict orders. 

Order 1) bed rest

Order 2) very limited company

I was not to get worked up at all as it could cause a major setback. I was seeing the doctor every other day to make sure I was continuing to improve.  My doctor was very careful to keep me as calm as possible in her office.   As soon as I arrived, I was immediately put in a room and was often escorted out a back door as to not come face to face with a pregnant women or new baby.  

At home, her orders gave me the perfect excuse to not talk about what had happened.  It was like a license to crawl into my very own dark hole (aka my bed) and not come out until I was ready.  I was still in the shock and denial phase of my grief, but I was beginning to get a glimpse here and there of pain and/or anger. 

When I finally felt ready to talk or more accurately couldn’t hide any longer; I gradually began letting people back into my life. Many people offered condolences and tons of kind words, but to say I shocked at some of the things said would be a complete and utter understatement.  I appreciate how hard it is to know what to say. I loved hearing people use her name; it provided comfort that she would be remembered. Some of my favorite and most helpful comments were:

–          “That just sucks” – this one was said by someone I wouldn’t expect to use  the word sucks. So it was very meaningful.

–          The classic “I’m sorry” and “Your in my thoughts and prayers”

–          “I know what you are going through… No, I take that back, I don’t know what you are going through, I have not walked in your shoes, but I am sure it is harder than I could even imagine.”

–          And finally, Chris’ grandfather, who is battling cancer and I were both told in one sitting that we looked well, he leaned over and whispered “Don’t we wish.”

 I also want to share some of the things that were less helpful to me and explain why, because some of these statements are not very obvious while others are. In full disclosure, if you think you might have said one of these comments to Chris or me please don’t feel bad; I have come to realize that none of the comments were meant to be hurtful and people only commented because they care and/or wanted to learn about what had happened. 

–          “Your still young” – What does that have to do with anything?  It is okay that I lost my daughter because I am young?

–          “So…Is it like you are allergic to babies?” or “Can your body just not hold a pregnancy?”  –  Really!!! How about a simple What Happened?

–          “You can always have more children” – Well maybe or maybe not.  That is yet to be determined. And even if I can, a new baby won’t replace Ansley.

–          “You have your very own angel now” – I didn’t want and angel, I wanted a baby.  This one I had a particularly hard time with and it is hard to explain why.  It no longer bothers me the way it once did although still not my favorite comment.  In my mind, every time someone called Ansley an angel it made her less of a real person and more of an inanimate object.

–          “God has a plan” ­­–Gotta tell you, I really didn’t like this part of his plan.

–          “Maybe it was for the best” – FOR WHOM?

–          In reference to my delivery, “At least she was small” – A) tell that to my contractions and B) had she been bigger/ stronger, she would have had a much higher survival rate.

–          “Imagine how hard this would be if you had known her” – The most shocking part of this comment was that it was made by a pregnant women.  I was speechless. The relationship between a mother and her unborn child is intimate and real.

–          “Why are you waiting so long to try again, you aren’t getting any younger”- This one was said recently, as if I needed the reminder that I am getting older.  I will be 32 in a week and a half. I know how old I am.

Going Home

11 Wednesday Apr 2012

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Almost a week had past, most of which was a blur.  The nurse came into my room and told me that I was doing better than they had anticipated and I may get to go home a day or two early.  My platelet count had climbed by about 100,000, and although I was not 100%, I was well out of the woods.

This sounds like it would be great news!  After all, nobody wants to be in the hospital.  But, I immediately had mixed feelings about leaving.

Later that afternoon, it was official, I was going home.  I changed out of my hospital gown into normal clothes.  Chris and I began to pack up the room we had called home for the last week.  I was sent so many lovely flowers and cards.  About half way through packing up, I got very emotional.  Leaving was about to be a cruel reality.

I would not be leaving the hospital with a baby in my arms. I would not be arriving home to “It’s a Girl” balloons tied to the mailbox. All the plans we had made, now just memories of a happier time.

A tech arrived with the wheel chair to take me to the car.  As I sat down, my eyes fixed on the bassinet that Ansley spent her day in.  It was now empty. On the way out, I noticed the sad rain cloud on my door.  I deemed it was fitting for how I felt.  None should ever have to leave labor and delivery without a baby.  I was empty; arms and all.

As we got outside, I couldn’t help but notice what a beautiful day it was.  The cherry trees were in full bloom, the tulips danced in the cool spring breeze.  It would have been a great day to introduce Ansley to the world.

 

Jesus Loves Me

04 Wednesday Apr 2012

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After losing Ansley, I knew I wanted some spiritual guidance; some words of inspiration, some scriptures that would start me down a path of healing.  I thought about calling Father Scott.  He had married Chris and me.  I had known him just about all my life.  I knew he would say the right things, the things Chris and I needed to hear.   The only thing that prevented me from calling was that I would have to tell him what happened.  And, every time I tried to talk about what happened I couldn’t get words out past the tears.  I would open my mouth to begin to talk and all I would do is cry. 

Nurse Linda was back on duty and asked if I would like to talk to the hospital Chaplin.  I thought this would be best.  I thought I would get what I needed without having to talk about what happened.  I thought this was what I wanted.

A nice older gentleman entered the room.  He said he had heard about our loss and was very sorry.  So far so good.  He then went into a story about his recent loss, his wife had passed away.  He jumped from that story straight into about 5 other stories of tragedy and death.   Well this was not helping at all.  I was too emotionally drained to offer much sympathy for the stories he told.  I was lost in my own grief. 

He had a small teddy bear in his hand and after each story, he would push the teddy bears paw and it would sing “Jesus Loves Me”.  I get it; his message for me was the same for each person in each story he told.  Jesus Loves Me.  But, this was not what I was expecting; I didn’t want a sing-a-long.

Finally, he asks if we can pray together.  I think to myself, finally!  As we all bow our heads and we begin to pray he plays the teddy bear again. 

I don’t remember exactly what he said, that is until about mid-way through the prayer.  He says, “And lord, I pray that Chris and Jessica will be BETTER people than they have been.” Chris and I immediately look up at each other.  I think EXCUSE ME, you don’t know me, are you implying that we are bad people, that we in some way deserved this?  But he didn’t stop there he went on to say, that if, IF, we are better people and live by his word that MAYBE he will bless us and we will see Ansley again in heaven.  IF -MAYBE!!!!

By this point my tears have faded away, I am far too angry to cry.  I wanted to throw him out of my room.  I just lost my daughter and these are the words you choose to comfort me!?!  He wraps up his prayer, as he plays the teddy bear one last time and hands it to me.  Everything in me wanted to throw it across the room, but I didn’t. 

Before he left, he told me about an upcoming surgery he had and that I would be one of the last people he would council.  His days as hospital chaplain were coming to an end. THANK GOD for that, I thought. 

It was few months later when Chris and I were watching TV and a 1-800-flowers commercial came on.  The commercial showed an arrangement that featured a very similar looking teddy bear, before I could comment, Chris changed the channel.  We were thinking the same thing.  I don’t think I like teddy bears anymore, and the song, Jesus Loves Me, takes me immediately back to a dark place that is filled with anything but love.

Delivery Day

02 Monday Apr 2012

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The time had come to deliver Ansley.  My contractions were almost constant.  In an instant, my hospital room transformed into a delivery room.   On one of my final pushes, I realized Chris was no longer by my side.  I looked around the dimly lit room, my eyes focusing through the tears, and see him in the far corner of the room facing the wall.  Within seconds he fell to his knees overcome with grief and although it didn’t seem possible, my heart broke even more.

A few minutes later Ansley was born.  She was so small; much smaller than anyone anticipated.  After all, it was just a month earlier that she was measuring big.  She was about the size a baby should be at 22 weeks.  Apparently, HELLP syndrome had been manifesting in my body for a few weeks.   Intrauterine Growth restriction (IUGR) is yet another complication caused by HELLP Syndrome.  Had we been able to have the c-section in time, based on Ansley’s size, her survival rate would have been less than 1%.

I asked the doctor why she died.  It was likely the perfect storm.  She was tangled up in her umbilical cord, although my doctor didn’t think that had much to do with it.   There was also a true knot in her cord; this combined with having a hard time getting blood, nutrients and oxygen from me was likely the reason.  She wasn’t going to order an autopsy.  At the end of the day, HELLP Syndrome was the cause of death.  She said they would send my placenta off for testing; that would provide more helpful information than an autopsy.

By the time the nurse had cleaned Ansley up and handed her to us, the sun had come up.  We studied our daughter memorizing every detail.  She had my lips, my nose, and the same little fold in her ear as I have.  But, she had her daddy’s long torso, and her face was the same shape as his.  She was a perfect blend of both of us.

As we looked at our daughter, I managed to convince myself that she was breathing.  And for just a minute I thought they were wrong that she wasn’t dead.  Chris assured me she was not breathing, but then I heard it again.  As it turns out, what I was hearing was the inflatable wraps they put on your feet and legs.   I had heard the wraps inflate and deflate for the last several days, but between all my medicines, the lack of sleep and the pure desire to have my daughter live I had forgotten all about them.

The nurse returned with the smallest little outfit I had ever seen.  We dressed Ansley and laid her in the bassinet.  She had many visitors waiting to meet her.   My parents were already in the waiting room and Chris’ parents were on their way.  Later that afternoon his grandparents and my friend Maren stopped by to meet Ansley.

Ansley spent the day in my hospital room.  It would be the only time Chris and I would have to spend with our daughter.  The hardest part of the day came that evening- when we were told we had to say goodbye.   I held my daughter for what would be the last time.

Just when I thought I was done for the day, emotionally, physically and mentally exhausted.  I was presented with paperwork.  The paperwork recorded Chris and I as her parents, her birth name and date and decisions like what funeral home she would be taken to and if we wanted her buried or cremated.  Decisions nobody should have to make on their child’s “birth” day.

Sitting on top of a Mountain

29 Thursday Mar 2012

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By 6am Sunday, my parents were back checking on me.  They must not have been home for more than an hour or two, but much like me, they probably weren’t sleeping.  Nurse Sharon told me I did well that night, better than they had anticipated. 

It wasn’t long before my doctor, Dr. Kasparek and Dr. Kootnz, from Maternal Fetal Specialist stopped by for a visit.  And for the first time, I was given some straight answers about what was going on. 

They explained, I was very ill.  They were worried about my liver rupturing and I was not out of the woods yet.  My back pain was all due to how enlarged my liver was.  They explained because my blood platelets were so low, my blood would not clot and that is why they didn’t go ahead with the c-section the night before.  They apologized for the neonatologist and told me behind the scenes there was a lot of conflict about the course of my care. They hoped it didn’t carry over into my room.  He is the baby doctor and it is his role to focus 100% on what was best for the baby with complete disregard for me.  Dr. Kasparek explained that I was their patient.  Ansley, having not been born yet,  would have been a wildcard.  They had to focus on saving me not her or they may have lost us both.  She said, “last night you were sitting on top of a mountain, nobody knew what side you were going to slide down. It was 50/50 you could have easily gone one way or the other.”  But, I had made a few improvements, they felt I was heading down the mountain in the right direction. 

Until Dr. Kasparek’s visit, I didn’t realize I was so sick.  How is it possible that I was THAT sick?  Shouldn’t I have had a fever or felt worse?

I was glad my parents were there to listen to what they had to say.  Since they had gotten back, Chris had run home for the first time to pack a bag. And, it is always good to have extra ears when listening to doctors.

Soon after Chris got back, his friend Chuck called.  It was his son’s baby shower we no-showed the night before.  He asked if everything was okay – NO NOTHING IS OKAY.  Chris told him what had happened and how sick I was.  It wouldn’t be long before word would spread.  My phone began ringing off the hook, my Facebook page blew up with condolences.  I never answered my phone or looked at Facebook.  That would have meant I would have had to face reality.  And, I was still very much in denial about Ansley’s death.

The rest of the day was a blur that is until my contractions began that evening.  I soon found out I was too ill for an epidural.  They couldn’t risk it, I could have some pain medicine but that would be all.  It was going to be another sleepless night.