Sometimes I sit and remember every moment of my pregnancy, trying to figure out what I did wrong. How did I mess up? Did I drink too much coffee? Was it the lunch meat I had when I wasn't thinking? Was it when I refused to take it easy when we moved? What about when I jumped in with both feet to start my career as a nurse? The answer is that I did nothing wrong. My body just betrayed us. Again.
In case you didn't know, I've had 2 early miscarriages. I had one on 7/4/2012, that baby was only 11 weeks, then I had another on 12/31/2012, that baby was only 6 weeks. This time, he was born sleeping on 7/3/2014 at 19 weeks and 3 days. Just one day shy from 2 years exactly. This one is so much harder. The first loss was hard because I didn't think it could happen to your first pregnancy so when it happened, my innocence was destroyed. The second loss was hard because I didn't think it could happen twice (would God be that cruel?) but I was able to function after a few days. This is a whole other level.
At 10 weeks exactly, I could hear his heart beat on my personal doppler.
At 10 weeks and 4 days, I had my first good ultrasound. He kept waving at us both and I dissolved into tears and my heart felt like it might burst. But I was scared. I still had a week and a half to get into the "safe zone."
At 12 weeks, I had another ultrasound and he kept waving and kicking his legs. I finally breathed a sigh of relief. I had made it to the "safe zone!" So we started to share the news, first with my coworkers and best friend, then my husband's family, then our mutual friends, and finally my family.
At 16 weeks, I had a scare with some bleeding. I ran to the ER and after another ultrasound and some tests, we found out that he was healthy but I had a UTI. (is this where I messed up?) I had antibiotics and was told to go on bed rest but I had just started my new job so I decided that wasn't possible. Instead, I took the antibiotics and kept my feet at home.
The day before I hit 18 weeks, I finally knew what I had been feeling! My baby is kicking! I knew that this baby was active from the ultrasounds but I now knew that in a few weeks I would be bruised from how strong the baby was!
Then the day I entered 19 weeks is where the end was beginning. I started to experience some cramping with barely any bleeding. At one point I thought I saw some bloody show but after finding out that only comes before labor, I just shrugged it off. 19 weeks is too early for that! The cramping got more consistent but I figured it was just Braxton Hicks contractions. The next day, the cramping was worse so we decided to not go to Disneyland. Instead, I kept my feet up and drank lots of water. I played with my doppler some more and he kept hiding from me. I would have to wait for a kick and then I could find him! We went to my parent's to celebrate my brother's birthday and I complained about the cramps and how they must be Braxton Hicks.
That night I went to bed and woke up around 2am. OWWWW! The cramps hurt soooo bad! When did I last poop? This must be constipation and gas. So I started popping fiber pills and gas pills. By the time 4:30 came around, I realized I was not going to function at work so I called out. After waking up Jonathan, I suddenly felt something weird. Did I pee?? I ran to the bathroom and there was a lot of blood on my underwear! I screamed that we were going to the ER, running back we saw blood on the sheets. What was happening?? In an instant I knew, I was losing my baby! They had to stop this. We got to the ER by 4:45 and within minutes I was in triage. Right around 5 am, I felt dizzy and went to lay down but felt even more pain. So I decided to stay sitting up even though I thought I was going to pass out. Suddenly, I felt something pop and hot fluid was surrounding me, dripping everywhere, I screamed out "what the fuck is happening to me???" and my husband yelled out "help! Someone help us!" At this point, I was sobbing and clinging on to my husband. They rushed in, checked me, and ran us into a back room where they told us what I had already known. My water had broken. There wasn't a sac left. There was nothing they could do. The baby was coming and he wouldn't live. We got an ultrasound and his heart was beating so slowly. I prayed to God "please don't let him suffer! Please give us a miracle!" At this point the labor was getting stronger but I refused to deliver my baby. I wasn't ready. He was too small. He's safe inside of me. My family came rushing to the hospital to be with us. My husband's parents were in Oklahoma. Every time my husband had to step out, I would panic. I needed him! He would know what to do. He would be my rock. I didn't want to give birth without him by my side. Finally, they sent us up to labor and delivery. We talked to the man who transported the gurney with me on it, and he told us that he and his wife had been in the same position as us just a year ago. He would be praying for us. "Cling to each other" was his only advice.
We got up to labor and delivery and I was terrified of everything. Maybe if I kept him inside, he would live! I knew this wasn't true, I knew that once the water breaks, if I go past 24 hours, I can contract an infection that could kill us both. My OB got to the hospital and asked me if I needed pain meds and a tranquilizer. Yes! Both! He got some dilaudid for me and I started to fall asleep. My husband stepped out of the room and my mom came in, suddenly I felt a huge cramp and something strange. I yelled for my mom to get Jonathan. I didn't want him to miss the birth of his first born and I knew this was it. I was crying because I had failed. I hadn't kept my baby safe. But wait, did I have a boy or girl? What would his or her name be? What would he or she look like? Would he or she take a breath? Would we hear a cry? Jonathan rushed in, followed by the doctor and a nurse. They checked and said that my body had decided to start delivering but I needed to push. After 3 pushes, we had a little boy. They checked for a heart beat, nothing. We waited for a cry and it was silent. They laid him on my belly and started flooding my veins with fluids and pitocin.
He was perfect. He is perfect. We started to cry and my husband whispered a name "Matthew. His name is Matthew." I looked at him and said "it's perfect. Matthew William. Our little boy." We quickly counted, 10 fingers and 10 toes! 2 eyes and 2 ears! Little lips! Perfection. And I saw it right away, my son looks like his daddy. Exactly.
We got 30 hours with him. Our mother-baby nurses were amazing. So warm and caring. They pulled some strings to allow us extra visitors. They helped us bathe him. They set up a session with a photographer from Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep and they kept us comfortable. We were able to rock him, sing to him, share him with friends and family, kiss him, hold him, sleep with him, and bathe him.
My whole being aches for him. To hold his little hands, kiss his nose, tickle his feet, keep him warm and comfy-cozy, hear him laugh, and see his smile. I deal with a lot of guilt. All the tests came back clear. There is no medical reason for what happened. I know I never did anything purposefully, but I feel like I must have done something. Or not done something. I know there's no such thing as a "safe zone." I've entered into this mysterious realm of stillbirth that can happen all the way to 41 weeks. My son is in heaven and there's nothing I want more than to be able to run to him. I miss him desperately. If it wasn't for my husband, family, dog, and friends I would probably have fallen so low that I would be with him.
I'm writing this blog so that his memory stays alive. I don't want people to forget. I'm a mother. I had a son. He is beautiful. His name is Matthew. He lives in heaven.
