Have you or someone you love recently lost a child who's age 18 or under? Pregnancy loss and an adoption falling through are included in those families we serve.
Showing posts with label miscarriage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label miscarriage. Show all posts
Saturday, February 1, 2025
Thursday, November 9, 2017
A peek into my journal
written Dec. 2, 2015
"It's been two weeks and a day since our precious baby Taylor departed this world to be with you, God. We spent several hours at a friend's house today. I was SO tired at the end. It took so much energy out of me. She's such a fun mom, and I'm not so much.
I still fear losing more babies but feel a little better about it today. I don't know if I can be excited about being pregnant though, and I feel bad for Joseph [my husband] for that."
written Dec. 9. 2015
"It's been hard to be expected to live normally when I don't feel that way. I'm still deeply sad! Getting dressed, going to the bathroom, preparing food, and so many other things remind me [of the baby I lost]. I gained a few pounds while pregnant and now none of my pants fit well! ... All the impending waiting is making me crazy! Waiting for a period, then to take a test, then going to my OB, then the next appointment, and finding out the baby's gender"
written March 29, 2016 (after my second miscarriage)
"Oh, how I feel strange telling others that I have one son who is already 3.5 years-old! I know the questions in their head as in my own when faced with similar info: Did she adopt? Is she pregnant? Does she want more kids? -- I want to tell them I have two kids in heaven also, gone too soon from my life. Perhaps someday I will tell others this but I'm not ready now. I just want to ball my eyes out now and be able to believe that we can bring another baby into this world.
written March 30, 2016
"God, I want Philippians 4:6-7 to ring true for me, but it's difficult to do or feel any of those things! Don't be anxious?! Be thankful?! Know your peace?! How?! I want to get to these things, Lord. Show me Your way. I don't feel hope but only anxiety for the future."
written April 5, 2016
"I have wondered if God took our babies because we tried to have too much control of it. Since we didn't trust God fully with the situation, he chose to take our babies. However, this is punishment for my control and selfish desires, which God doesn't do...
God, please help me to know when I'm emotionally healed from our losses. At this time I commit to trying to have another baby, no matter when it may be born. Children are a blessing that I need to accept when You are ready to give them."
written April 9, 2016
"God, some days and times I feel depressed and other times I don't. I know you're working through these times. I'm feeling more at peace about the past but still restless for the future...Please lessen the despair and anguish. Amen."
written April 12, 2016
"Help me, Lord, to store up my treasure in heaven instead of earth...I can't let my treasure rest in my family or my things. Help me live for You!"
written May 4, 2016
"Mother's Day is fast approaching. I would have been very pregnant with Taylor or noticeably so with Aryn. I would have received a flower at church for being the soonest expectant mother. Now, I would rather not be there.
written July 24, 2016
"Today my friends announced that they're expecting a baby. I'm thrilled for them but a flood of negative emotions came over me. I'm healthy, so why can't I keep a baby? How am I to remain faithful to God in this? I feel like an inadequate failure. My story in this isn't over, I know, and that scares me. What if it doesn't get better? I want to hold my babies. What if I lose another baby? I know that I'm not healed from this, but I don't know if I can keep waiting. Everyone else is having their third child while I sit awkwardly with one. One big blessing contained in my sweet son. I don't understand this at all but I know, God, that you can use it. Taylor would have been about a month old now, but I'm just left with empty arms, and a hurt heart."
About a month after this last entry, I learned I was pregnant with our rainbow baby boy. I should have journaled through my pregnancy because I had a roller coaster of emotions throughout it! I hope you have found this enlightening or comforting. Select Amanda's Story from the menu to read my journey through child loss and life after loss.
Sunday, November 5, 2017
Journaling through grief
My journal is like my best friend who keeps all my secrets, always listens to me, and never offers strange advice. As I write in my best friend (AKA: my journal), my negative feelings slowly begin to fade. Sometimes I find myself writing things that I didn't even know I was thinking or feeling. Often I end up in a puddle of tears while trying to scratch out the final words of an entry. Pen and paper can bring feelings to the surface which I didn't even know were there--and sometimes those feelings are scary. But, at least I'm then aware of them and can deal with them.Sometimes it's difficult to know where to start in your journaling though because you're completely overwhelmed by all the thoughts swirling around in your head, so here are some prompts to help you focus your journal writing.
There are 10 journaling prompts in the image created by IAmFruitful.org, but they can be used for any type of child loss and other times of grieving:
- I feel God's presence most when...
- Sometimes I feel guilty because...
- I feel like I'm missing out on...
- I feel angry because...
- I'm grateful for...
- I feel shame when...
- A Scripture that's helping is...
- God's showing me that He is...
- The hardest time of day is...
- I find the most hope when...
If you have experienced miscarriage, still birth, or early infant loss, then Sweet Julian's beautiful, free Baby Loss Journal PDF is another good option for journal prompts. They're particularly helpful for writing your story. And if you do write your story, we would love to share it with our audience, so please contact us if you want to share it!
Saturday, October 28, 2017
Vanessa's story
At my ten-week routine doctor’s appointment for the pregnancy, which in this case happened to be the one that consisted of a physical examination, the nurse practitioner made the determination that everything was going well to date and there were no concerns to report, as I expected. Body looked good, history was good, bloodwork looked fine, urine test revealed nothing, everything was in order. The final event for the appointment was to hear the heartbeat for the first time! She got out the Doppler fetal heart rate monitor to listen for baby’s heartbeat. After putting the warm gel on my belly and trying for a few minutes, she found a heartbeat! Quickly followed by a “Whoop. That’s yours. Not baby’s.” Before giving up less than a minute later, she told me not to worry about it. She told me that often the baby is still too little to hear the heartbeat at ten weeks old, and usually at 12 weeks there is more of a guarantee that you’ll be able to hear it.
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| Vanessa and her family prior to their loss |
The following week, at 11 weeks and 6 days, I found myself in the grocery store trying not to panic. I had a cart full of groceries and was nearing the front of the store to check out when I began bleeding. I literally stopped dead in my tracks, numb and paralyzed by disbelief that this was happening. I wanted to tell myself that everything was okay and this was normal. “It happens all the time, to many women, throughout various stages of pregnancy. It happened to me with the twins, and they are fantastic. They are healthy, happy, and now 14 months old. I’m fine. It will be fine.”
I rushed to the bathroom, leaving my cart filled with groceries right outside the door and thinking “Great. Just what I needed. A cart filled with groceries, much of it frozen, and now this disaster. I’m going to make a scene regardless of how I get out of here and what that entails.” To my dismay, I had already bled through my panties and some on to my shorts. In the excitement of pregnancy, one of the first things I (and I’m sure many other women as well) did was to rid my purse of all pads and tampons. Sort of like a mini early pregnancy celebration. “Screw you guys. Won’t be needing you for a while. I’m gonna have a baby! Ha!” At that exact moment in the grocery store bathroom, blood on my hands and pants, I greatly regretted that decision.
As I walked toward the emergency room about an hour later, calmly processing my thoughts and trying not to let my mind race, my heart began beating faster and faster. It became less and less possible to control my racing mind and keep myself from being mentally paralyzed; numb after succumbing to all the fears that were fast tracking through my thoughts all at once in a flurry. Everything in me wanted to turn around. “Go back to the car and go home. If I go home, pretend everything is normal, get in bed with my husband and go to sleep, when I wake up tomorrow everything will be fine. This will all just go away. It can’t really be happening.”
I had kept myself relatively calm over the last hour as I made preparations to go to the emergency room, but as I walked through the glass double doors, I felt myself start to disintegrate. I knew if I said it out loud, somebody else would know, and the weight of it would hit me like a ton of bricks and suddenly be real. I stopped at the triage desk, took a couple of deep breaths, and forced the words out. “I’m 12 weeks pregnant. And I’m bleeding.” There. I said it. It’s out now. It’s real. We have to handle this. I’m here and they’re going to tell me what is going on.
They got me in rather quickly, which is saying something for an emergency room. They drew blood, took a urine sample, and shortly thereafter called me back for an ultrasound. They came to get me in a wheelchair, and then forced me to sit in it. Little by little, they were crumbling the picture of perfection that I had in my mind. There is nothing wrong with me. I don’t want to sit in a wheelchair. “It’s just a precaution; just relax and I’ll push you,” the nurse calmly told me as she smiled. I already had to say out loud that I’m bleeding. And now I’m riding past everybody in a wheelchair. I felt like all the faces staring at me already knew what I didn’t want to know or admit.
After the ultrasound, they put me in a room and shut the door. My heart started to sink, little by little. I didn’t even want to know what the results were. As my mind raced through all the possible options, my body wanted to get up and leave, as panic again overtook me. Just go home. Leave. It doesn’t matter what they say. Everything is going to be fine. Nothing could have prepared my mommy heart for the ultimate reality of what was about to happen.
The “provider” came in and introduced herself. She then proceeded calmly, as if she was sharing with somebody what she had eaten for breakfast that morning, “So, there was no cardiac activity detected during the ultrasound. And you’re 12 weeks pregnant according to our calculations, but the baby is only measuring 9 weeks. So it looks like the baby passed away about 3 weeks ago and your body is just now realizing it and trying to catch up. It should pass on its own no problem, now that the process has started, but if it doesn’t we will remove it in 5 days.”
Do you remember that feeling from grade school, after falling from the monkey bars? Even though it’s not that big of a deal to get the wind knocked out of you, which you don’t find out until later, you’re certain for a few seconds that you must be dying. Blurred vision, no breath, impossible to breathe, back hurts. That’s what it felt like. I couldn’t move. She trailed off with “Do you have any questions?” I calmly answered “No” while in my mind I pictured myself screaming at her; “What the hell are you talking about??? What is wrong with you? Why would you say that?? How can you stand there and talk about this like it’s nothing?” I left the emergency room numb; in complete disbelief about what had just happened, but to the best of my ability letting my new reality slowly sink in.
That moment was the start of twelve long and excruciating weeks of miscarriage. It’s bad enough that it snuck up on me; like a spider. Those creepy jumping ones; you feel like they’re looking at you and can take direct aim before they jump, landing right on your face or wherever else they so desire – all the while paralyzing you. But then, as if that wasn’t enough, it took twelve weeks to go away. My body had failed me, and my baby, and I had twelve weeks of constant reminder as the process slowly completed and things resumed to “normal” ….. whatever that meant after surviving miscarriage.
Miscarriage is for some reason one of those cultural taboos that people are ashamed of. We don’t talk about it for fear of being judged. We don’t really bring it up often or mention it, for fear of people “knowing” what happened. The FACT is that miscarriage hurts. There’s nothing I could have done to prevent it, or change it, or make it better. It wasn’t my fault. It was just one of those things that happens. We will never know the “why”. But even if we did, it still wouldn’t change anything. It happened. It hurt. Not just emotionally, but physically as well. It took a long time to process. I felt trapped inside my own body, and I wanted to get out. I needed some alone time to be separated from me, but there I was every day when I looked in the mirror.
It’s hard to understand and even harder to explain. I’m so in love with that baby. I will forever miss that baby. A little piece of my heart died with that baby. Yet, I never even met that baby. Nobody can understand what it’s like to be in love with a stranger, unless they’ve been through it themselves. Here’s what I know for sure. You’ll need help. TALK about it. Share about it. Write about it. Cry about it. Scream about it. You need friends, family, strangers, church, support groups, grief counseling. You need some of it; you may need all of it. Together we are stronger. It’s okay to cry and it’s definitely okay to let others cry with you. Ignore the people who say the things that seem senseless or insensitive. They simply don’t know what to say, and they’re doing the best they can.
Ask questions. Even the ones that seem like nobody would want to be asked. Ask about the process. Ask if what your body is doing is normal. Don’t be embarrassed. Reach out to others who have had a miscarriage. And most of all, hang in there. Love yourself and your body for how hard it tried. Lean on your faith. If you’ve lost faith, find someone who still has it… or who can look back on a miscarriage with faith intact and know why it’s okay, even if it doesn’t make sense. It’s hard, but you’ll make it.
Our rainbow boy came one year and eleven days after my miscarriage. As beautiful as he is, and thankful as I am, it doesn’t change anything about the miscarriage. It’s not any easier to miss that baby, or wonder about that baby, or remember what I endured emotionally or physically. But it reminds me that God is faithful. He loves us. He wants good for us. He wants to bless us. He has a plan up His sleeve. I’m thankful that my heart knows miscarriage, so I can love on and cry with those whose hearts are now experiencing it. I am humbled by the minute understanding I have of what loss feels like, and my heart is forever changed in relating to those who endure numerous losses, or failed IVF cycles, or simply can’t get pregnant.
Miscarriage is ugly, but it’s real. It will be easier than it is right now, if you’re going through a miscarriage. It gets better than it feels right now. Keep the faith, keep the hope; stay surrounded by people who love and care for you. Do whatever helps you grieve. Find ways to remember your baby. You’ll make it out alive and stronger on the other side. Promise.
Read Vanessa's full story: digital version or print version
Read Vanessa's full story: digital version or print version
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| Vanessa with her husband and rainbow baby, Levi, who's now about 4 months old |
Saturday, October 8, 2016
Tiffani's Story
My husband and I have been married for 13 years. We married young and had our first child, Noah, at 20 years old. We were so overjoyed and excited to have him! I grew up in a small family, and my husband grew up in a larger family. After our first child, I was torn about having any more children. I had a tough upbringing and parenting scared me. To top it off, I spent the first 2 years of my little Noah's life alone. My husband, Bryan, is in the military and was deployed for 6 months along with many other underway periods in a very short amount of time. After much prayer and discussions, we decided to try again for another child. It took a few months to conceive and unfortunately, my husband deployed again before he could be told of our positive test results. As joyful of an occasion as this was, I was terrified because I would be spending most of the pregnancy alone, and if this pregnancy was anything like the last, I was in for a battle with my body. I have fibromyalgia and pregnancy makes it much worse. My first pregnancy had no other complications outside of the muscle pain, so I did not expect to do anything different from the last.
With my husband gone, my mom and I decided to do some baby shopping and enjoy the excitement of a new child even if I couldn't share it with my husband. We had a favorite second-hand baby store we loved to visit and a few weeks after my positive test results, found ourselves in the store. They had a gorgeous ebony crib and dresser set that was virtually brand new. What a score! My mom was so excited for her second grandchild that she decided to buy the set and we headed to the register. While we were in the store, I had been experiencing some mild cramping and discomfort but I wasn't too afraid. I headed for a quick restroom break while my mom finished up the purchase and I was astonished to find that I was spotting, and more than a little at that. I panicked and went immediately to my mom. The store agreed to hold the furniture while she swept me off to the ER. It was here that I found out that my baby no longer had a heart beat. Being in ER, they couldn't really say I was miscarrying. They encouraged me to go home, rest for the remainder of the weekend and seek a follow up appointment with my doctor on Monday. I set the earliest appointment I could get for Monday and headed off to the doctor. No husband. No mom. Just me and a friend.
The doctor confirmed my fear. My baby, now at 13 weeks had no heart beat. In fact, the baby had stopped growing at 6-7 weeks. I was devastated. The doctor was very nice, but very factual as well. She had delivered my first child, so we had some history, but she didn't beat around the bush. She told me that miscarriage is one of the most common and most un-talked about medical events. There are more miscarriages than live births among women of the world, including the United States. So many women miscarry that they often don't even know they were pregnant. They experience a heavier period after a missed or late month, but had never taken a test to know that this was a miscarriage. Although her facts were new to me, I did not take them with grace that day. I was mad, I was hurt, I was devastated. How could she compare my lost child to another lady's missed period? It wasn't until a few days later that I decided to test that theory.
At the time, I had 2 pregnant sister-in-laws and a few pregnant friends. It was so hard to be around them. So I began talking to them and to everyone that would hear me. I spoke about my pain, my loss, and my inability to cope with it. With this open and complete abandon approach to dealing with my emotions, I found that the doctor was right. So many of my friends and acquaintance had lost children. Some had lost even more than one. Some had lost 9, 10, 11 or more...but kept on trying. I was not alone.
I cried out to God. I got angry at God. I had lost a child after finally deciding that 2 children was what I wanted. My husband was gone and unable to support me or share with me in this pain. I was broken. I remember the pain of having to tell my husband about losing our child. I remember the utter silence on the other end of the phone from the far reaches of the world. He was floating in the Persian Gulf. He was alone. He was broken. We were blessed that as I actively contracted in labor and lost our child, sitting at home, alone...my husband was on the other line for a small part of it. He wanted to be with me and help me; He wanted to make it all go away. We only had about 20 minutes together on the phone that day...to share in the loss of our child. Then I labored alone. In the dark. Crying out to God.
My husband later told me that he crumbled. He didn't know what to do. He reached out to his chaplain on board the ship but found no comfort or solace as he was encouraged to go back to work because these things happen and he can't change it. His shop heard of his loss and unbeknownst to him, sent me a beautiful flower arrangement. I was touched. I cried for hours. They had seen the special need I had for someone to acknowledge the pain and loss I was suffering. I remember sitting there, with the flowers sitting before me, my husband thousands of miles away, and my heart crying out to God and finding a moment of healing. A small glimpse of all the moments it would take to heal (never completely) from the loss of my baby. I pulled out my notebook and I wrote. I wrote a love song, a poem, a cry to my unborn child. I poured out my heart. When I was done, I closed the notebook, put it away and started to pick up the pieces. It didn't happen right away, but over time, I was able to find healing and to move forward with the life that God had called me to. I started to see God's bigger picture. My husband's deployment was stretched from 6 months to 9 months. He would have missed the birth of our special little one. There were quite a few major events that happened in the next year that tore my soul into pieces and nearly broke not only me, but our marriage. God's timing is perfect. Even when I cry out against him. After the loss of our angel baby, I thought I would never try again to have a child. I have 3 children now. Two rainbow babies.
I have told my children of their special sibling in heaven. My oldest doesn't talk about it much. But my middle one, the one born after our angel baby, talks of his sibling in heaven all the time. He is 8 now, but has been talking about his baby sibling since he was about 4 or so. He says he knows she must have been a beautiful girl. He talks about how God made our family perfect with 2 boys and 2 girls, one in heaven. I did not ever find out the gender of our baby. But he has dreamed of her. He is sure that he has a sister in heaven and will know who she is when he gets to heaven. I am touched that God allowed my sweet little boy to have such a heart for the sibling he will never know until he gets to heaven.
I think it is really important for mothers who have lost to talk about their lost children. To keep their memory alive. To find solace in the arms of other mothers who have also lost. You are not alone. We share in your pain. We too seek to hold you and support you in this time of loss. May God bless you and hold you as you are in this tunnel. There is light on the other side. Healing does come.
Read More »
With my husband gone, my mom and I decided to do some baby shopping and enjoy the excitement of a new child even if I couldn't share it with my husband. We had a favorite second-hand baby store we loved to visit and a few weeks after my positive test results, found ourselves in the store. They had a gorgeous ebony crib and dresser set that was virtually brand new. What a score! My mom was so excited for her second grandchild that she decided to buy the set and we headed to the register. While we were in the store, I had been experiencing some mild cramping and discomfort but I wasn't too afraid. I headed for a quick restroom break while my mom finished up the purchase and I was astonished to find that I was spotting, and more than a little at that. I panicked and went immediately to my mom. The store agreed to hold the furniture while she swept me off to the ER. It was here that I found out that my baby no longer had a heart beat. Being in ER, they couldn't really say I was miscarrying. They encouraged me to go home, rest for the remainder of the weekend and seek a follow up appointment with my doctor on Monday. I set the earliest appointment I could get for Monday and headed off to the doctor. No husband. No mom. Just me and a friend.
The doctor confirmed my fear. My baby, now at 13 weeks had no heart beat. In fact, the baby had stopped growing at 6-7 weeks. I was devastated. The doctor was very nice, but very factual as well. She had delivered my first child, so we had some history, but she didn't beat around the bush. She told me that miscarriage is one of the most common and most un-talked about medical events. There are more miscarriages than live births among women of the world, including the United States. So many women miscarry that they often don't even know they were pregnant. They experience a heavier period after a missed or late month, but had never taken a test to know that this was a miscarriage. Although her facts were new to me, I did not take them with grace that day. I was mad, I was hurt, I was devastated. How could she compare my lost child to another lady's missed period? It wasn't until a few days later that I decided to test that theory.
At the time, I had 2 pregnant sister-in-laws and a few pregnant friends. It was so hard to be around them. So I began talking to them and to everyone that would hear me. I spoke about my pain, my loss, and my inability to cope with it. With this open and complete abandon approach to dealing with my emotions, I found that the doctor was right. So many of my friends and acquaintance had lost children. Some had lost even more than one. Some had lost 9, 10, 11 or more...but kept on trying. I was not alone.
I cried out to God. I got angry at God. I had lost a child after finally deciding that 2 children was what I wanted. My husband was gone and unable to support me or share with me in this pain. I was broken. I remember the pain of having to tell my husband about losing our child. I remember the utter silence on the other end of the phone from the far reaches of the world. He was floating in the Persian Gulf. He was alone. He was broken. We were blessed that as I actively contracted in labor and lost our child, sitting at home, alone...my husband was on the other line for a small part of it. He wanted to be with me and help me; He wanted to make it all go away. We only had about 20 minutes together on the phone that day...to share in the loss of our child. Then I labored alone. In the dark. Crying out to God.
My husband later told me that he crumbled. He didn't know what to do. He reached out to his chaplain on board the ship but found no comfort or solace as he was encouraged to go back to work because these things happen and he can't change it. His shop heard of his loss and unbeknownst to him, sent me a beautiful flower arrangement. I was touched. I cried for hours. They had seen the special need I had for someone to acknowledge the pain and loss I was suffering. I remember sitting there, with the flowers sitting before me, my husband thousands of miles away, and my heart crying out to God and finding a moment of healing. A small glimpse of all the moments it would take to heal (never completely) from the loss of my baby. I pulled out my notebook and I wrote. I wrote a love song, a poem, a cry to my unborn child. I poured out my heart. When I was done, I closed the notebook, put it away and started to pick up the pieces. It didn't happen right away, but over time, I was able to find healing and to move forward with the life that God had called me to. I started to see God's bigger picture. My husband's deployment was stretched from 6 months to 9 months. He would have missed the birth of our special little one. There were quite a few major events that happened in the next year that tore my soul into pieces and nearly broke not only me, but our marriage. God's timing is perfect. Even when I cry out against him. After the loss of our angel baby, I thought I would never try again to have a child. I have 3 children now. Two rainbow babies.
I have told my children of their special sibling in heaven. My oldest doesn't talk about it much. But my middle one, the one born after our angel baby, talks of his sibling in heaven all the time. He is 8 now, but has been talking about his baby sibling since he was about 4 or so. He says he knows she must have been a beautiful girl. He talks about how God made our family perfect with 2 boys and 2 girls, one in heaven. I did not ever find out the gender of our baby. But he has dreamed of her. He is sure that he has a sister in heaven and will know who she is when he gets to heaven. I am touched that God allowed my sweet little boy to have such a heart for the sibling he will never know until he gets to heaven.
I think it is really important for mothers who have lost to talk about their lost children. To keep their memory alive. To find solace in the arms of other mothers who have also lost. You are not alone. We share in your pain. We too seek to hold you and support you in this time of loss. May God bless you and hold you as you are in this tunnel. There is light on the other side. Healing does come.
Sunday, August 28, 2016
Aubin's Story
I was that kid that had her whole life planned out at the age of 10. I knew what career I wanted, at what age I would get married and how many kids I would have. Everything was practical and planned out. However, God had different plans for me.
The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps.
Proverbs 16:9
A few weeks went by with no problems. Then the cramping started in again, just like before. Knowing what could be happening I went to the doctor and the ER. They said that it was possible I could be losing the baby but there was nothing they could do to stop it. ER did a traditional ultrasound and a trans-vaginal ultrasound. The baby was still there and looked fine. I was only about 7 weeks along. I went home, kept my feet propped up, and continued to be in massive pain. I prayed for this baby to hang in there. I couldn't bear the thought of losing him/her. Meanwhile, as I sat there doing all I could to take care of myself, and therefore the baby, family members were still out buying baby things. I remember my mother-in- law bringing over a stroller and imagining pushing my baby around in it.
At 8-9 weeks along, I lost the baby. I was devastated. I wanted nothing more than to be a mom and losing my babies made me feel like a failure. Like I did something wrong. I was also relieved that the physical pain was over. After two months of hurting and grieving I just couldn't take it anymore. I was ready to try again. I just needed to fill the void in my heart. About 4 months later we found out I was pregnant again. I was more scared than anything. Afraid I would lose this baby, I spent the whole first trimester resting as much as I could, keeping my feet propped up, and eating all the right foods. Everything I did, ate or drank, I made sure the doctor approved.
On February 9th of 2008, I delivered my daughter Lanie through C-section. She was healthy and happy weighing in at 7 pounds 7 ounces. She was my rainbow baby (i.e., a baby born after miscarriage or death of a child). Through the years I have still thought about my angel babies and who they would have been.
In November of 2010, I found out I was pregnant again. It was a huge shock since we had planned to wait another year. Again I was nervous but happy. I ate all the right foods, took all the right vitamins and followed instructions to the "T." When we found out this baby was a boy, we were overjoyed! A boy! We finally were having a boy. We named him Liam Michael and couldn't wait for him to arrive.
In my second trimester, I felt something was wrong. My belly wasn't growing as much as it did when I was pregnant with Lanie. The doctors said not all babies grow the same and that I shouldn't be worried, so I tried to put it in the back of my head. My third trimester got worse. My belly seemed to stop growing all together and I was in intense pain. I started having nightmares that he would be born not breathing. I put this off as anxiety of getting ready to have a new baby, but I could never shake the feeling that something was wrong.
The further along I got, the more pain I was in. I knew something was wrong but when I'd explain this to the doctor, I was blown off. I went through three doctors because no one would listen. Finally the pain became constant. I was having contractions but it was too soon. I went to the hospital and they'd give me meds to stop the contractions and send me home. At one point I was going in every few days. They stopped giving me the meds to stop contractions because they stopped working, and instead gave me pain meds. I went through seven visits in two months. During my seventh visit, my doctor sat in the bed, patted my knee and told me to suck it up. No ultrasounds were ever done to make sure Liam was okay. Protocol wasn't followed and the doctor considered me a young mom who was over-reacting.
I refused to go back after that. I stayed home, in pain. On July 14th 2011, the pain was so intense that I couldn't hardly move and I just sat there crying. My sister-in-law said that was enough and dragged me to the hospital. She explained to the nurse the extent of my pain and contractions. The nurse happened to be present for most my visits and she agreed with my sister-in-law. She stripped my cervix and made sure they weren't sending me home this time. Another doctor walked in the room and said that we couldn't let this go on any more and it was time to meet Liam. I cried. Finally, the pain would be over and my baby would be safe in my arms. They took me into surgery and when they opened me up, I heard gasps and "What the heck?".
Knowing surgeons don't slip like that, I asked what was wrong. Turns out the cause of my pain and contractions had been because my uterus had torn open. It was also why Liam had stopped growing. That was just the beginning. At 10:59pm Liam made his entrance into the world and what should have been a joyous occasion turned devastating. Liam was born not breathing. I looked at Justin and reassured him that all was fine. Some babies don't breathe right away. Inside I was dying. My nightmare had come true. Then I heard the sweetest, tiniest cry and I cried. "He must be okay," I thought. I later found out that hearing him cry was the worst thing that could have happened.
I didn't get to see my son before they rushed him to get an x-ray. They had to incubate him because he couldn't breathe on his own. My husband wasn't allowed to go with them; they just rushed our baby away. I knew that wasn't normal but I refused to completely lose control. I had signed papers to have my tubes tied, and the doctor asked me if I still wanted it done. I said yes, knowing all the problems I went through being pregnant and knowing my uterus tore open just solidified that it needed to be done.
After surgery I learned that Liam wasn't doing well. He had a hole in his diaphragm, his heart was pushed over, and his lungs were squished. The doctor had my husband and I seperated and I was being asked a lot of questions about what I ate, if I took drugs, where I had been the last two weeks. Finally I lost it and cried. My husband rushed to my side and told the doctor to stop asking questions. If he wanted to know where I was then he should check the hospital records because I had been here. That's when they stopped grilling me and started answering our questions about Liam. We were told it didn't look good. They weren't sure if he would make it and he needed to go to a different hospital.
At 7 hours old, I was finally taken to see my baby boy. I wasn't expecting what I saw: my baby hooked to cords and tubes. Because I had just had surgery, I wasn't allowed out of the bed. I was only able to touch his little head covered in black hair. I could barely see the side of his face. I just wanted to pick him up, kiss him, and tell him to keep fighting. I was only allowed to spend about 15 minutes with him before they took me back to my room. They'd taken a picture of him for me and I clung to it.
The next two days were like my own personal hell. I had to tell my daughter that her brother was sick and couldn't come home and that she couldn't even see him. I had to call family and friends and ask them to pray for him. I mostly sat there and either cried or stared into space as I prayed for my son. I only ate because they wouldn't release me unless they saw me eat. Liam was flown to UCSF to get cared for by their specialist. I told the doctor I needed to be released and he agreed to release me one day early but no sooner. On the day I was to be released, I crawled out of bed, dressed, packed, and waited. I couldn't leave there fast enough.
When I got to UCSF I was told Liam had a birth defect called Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia. They didn't think he would make it. The surprises just kept coming. Liam had to be on ECMO for 5 days. He had surgery for his CDH at 7 days old. Liam spent 48 days in NICU and then was released. (You can read the whole story on my blog Mommy Confessional).
Because of CDH Liam had chronic lung disease, asthma, a feeding tube, compromised immune system and many more medical problems. He got physical therapy, speech therapy, feeding therapy, and wore braces for his ankles. We spent over 4 years struggling to get him to gain weight. His pediatrician felt he was out of the woods though. We could finally stop worrying that CDH would show its ugly head again and take our baby. Liam got sick easy and stayed sick longer than anyone. A cold caused him to need oxygen and normally a hospital stay. As he got older, he got sick less. We were thankful for that. He started his first year of preschool in 2014 but only went two days a week and even then missed at least 50% of class. We hadn't wanted him to start school at age 3 but they said it was the only way to continue to get his therapies. In August 2015 he started his second year of preschool, this time 5 days a week. He did really well and was really happy. Still we struggled with his breathing, germs, and gaining weight. He was 4 and only weighed 25 pounds on good days. He was much smaller than the other kids and medically fragile. There was always worry.
In September 2015, he went to school for the first time with oxygen. I was nervous the other kids would make fun of him. They were curious though, so I sat there and explained to them what is was for and answered all their questions. Finally one little boy raised his hand and said Liam was like an astronaut. After that, all the kids thought he was so cool. In November 2015, Liam got sick. He missed school, ran a fever and couldn't hold anything down. After a few days he seemed fine and was able to return to school. I could tell those two days sick caused him to lose weight so we were back to bolus feeds through his feeding tube during school and increased through the day. Still all seemed normal, or at least normal for us.
A week later in December he got sick again. He was fine one day and not the next, running a fever, on oxygen, and not tolerating feeds. I gave it a couple days, and then I took him to urgent care. I could tell his lungs were working harder. I was afraid he'd develop pneumonia and these were his early warning signs. The doctor refused an x-ray saying that Liam looked too good and his lungs sounded too clear except for a crumpling noise in his left lung which was normal for him. He sent us home, saying if he got worse to bring him back. He got worse. The next day I took Liam back. He wasn't bad enough to be rushed to ER or even Children's Hospital. I sat there in Urgent Care holding him. I looked down and he was asleep. I looked down two minutes later and his lips looked blue. I grabbed his hands and his fingers were blue and so were his ears. I increased his oxygen and jumped up to get help.
They took Liam back and called the ambulance right away. While we waited, we gave him a breathing treatment. He seemed more aware but didn't care to move. When the ambulance got there I told him to be good and I'd see him in a few minutes. I rushed over to the hospital. The hospital asked a quick background on how he got sick and I relayed the events exactly how they happened. They tried to get an IV but couldn't. They felt he was too fragile to move so they brought the x-ray machine to him as well as an ECO. Once again they tried an IV but to no avail.
Liam looked at me and said, "I tired Mommy. I sleepy." I held his hand, kissed his head and told him "I know baby, it's okay. Go to sleep, it's almost over. I'm right here." Minutes later, the nurse looked at the monitor, then at me and asked if Liam was seizing. I looked down said "no," and then suddenly he was. All I could do is move out of the way into the corner so they could work on him. On December 15th 2015, Liam passed away. It's believed that he caught some virus similar to a cold that his body couldn't fight off. The virus turned into a blood infection and the blood infection caused a pulmonary embolism. Because Liam's veins had been poked so many times through his 4 years, 5 months and 1 day, his veins became calcified making it impossible for them to get an IV in him. Since they couldn't get an IV in, they weren't able to administer meds to break up the clot. They tried a bone IV but there wasn't time to get the adult meds into him before his little body had had enough.
After they cleaned him up, we were able to hold him one last time, tell him we loved him and say our goodbyes, or see you later's.
Liam Michael Bryant 07/14/2011 to 12/15/15
Here are songs that helped me through the questions and the pain:
Saturday, August 27, 2016
Amanda's Story
My husband, Joseph, and I were married at 22, so we waited over 5 years to get pregnant with our first child. I got pregnant right away and had no complications during the pregnancy or delivery. Our baby boy Elijah joined our family on earth July 29, 2012. We were thrilled! Of course! Elijah grew and grew, and when he was 2, we considered trying to have another. However, we had just moved to a new city on his first birthday, so we were still getting established. I just plain didn't feel ready to have another baby. Another year passed, and then I felt ready.
After trying to get pregnant for 2 months, I got a positive pregnancy test. I called my new OB office to set up my first appointment. Joseph, Elijah, and myself all went to the first appointment on a late Friday afternoon. The doctor asked me questions, checked all the usual things, and even did an ultrasound, right there! This wasn't the procedure at our previous OB, so we were surprised but excited to see a tiny baby with a heart beat. She gave us some pictures and we went home.
The following evening, however, I lost some fresh blood. I was concerned, but it stopped. The next morning, a very rainy Sunday, I lost more fresh blood, so I called the OB office. I was able to get in touch with my doctor directly, and she offered to meet us at the office for an ultrasound again. She confirmed that the baby still had a heart beat and gave us another picture. She tried to assure us that many women experience bleeding in the first trimester and everything turns out okay. So we went to church.
Elijah was already dressed in a shirt that said "Cool Big Bro" as we had planned to announce to our little church that I was pregnant. We went ahead with the plan. Joseph also was ordained as a deacon at a special service that afternoon, and we were prayed over. I continued bleeding off and on through Monday, and still Tuesday morning, so I called the OB office again. My doctor told me to come in for another look. She saw the baby floating on the screen but she didn't see it's heart beat. This ultrasound machine is a small one that's wheeled around the office, so she has not seen a heart beat before when there was one. I went back to the waiting room until the ultrasound technician could fit me in.
Finally, after what seemed days, I was called back. The baby was found, but had no heart beat, to everyone's surprise. I cried. I could hardly stop. I dressed and went to talk with my doctor in a private room with big comfy chairs. She didn't say more than "sorry" and told me my options. I called back to schedule a D & C which was completed the following afternoon. On November 17, 2015, our baby Taylor lost the fight for life in this world and went to spend eternity with Jesus.
The holidays were difficult. I put on a fake smile through it. Singing about baby Jesus and his virgin mother for a month was a bit agonizing. I had little motivation beyond eating and sleeping. I had been doing preschool at home with Elijah, but could barely think about it. I sent out nothing for Christmas. I lost it one Thursday in December after Aubin had lost Liam, we received our gargantuan hospital bill, and I attended MOPs on the day I would have announced my pregnancy. I cried and cried. I probably ate a bunch of chocolate and drank coffee; those are my comfort foods.
My period returned just three weeks after losing our baby--very fast! My doctor said that after one period we could choose to try again. Trying to fill the hole of my empty heart, we tried, and I was pregnant again just after the new year. I went for my first appointment and found the baby was about seven weeks old with a strong heart beat. For the next five weeks, things proceeded as expected. I had my usual symptoms and started growing.
On a Monday morning in March I started bleeding though. A few weeks prior to this, we had decided to proceed with maternity care through a midwife. I called her and she came by. She couldn't find a heart beat and assured me that sometimes that happens even into the second trimester. She ordered an ultrasound though. I went to the hospital for it because they could fit me in that day, but they wouldn't be able to tell me anything directly. I spoke with my midwife late that afternoon, and she told me they didn't find a baby but wanted to talk to me that evening after she got home.
When we talked, she pointed out that the report said there was an empty sac, however, I had obviously not physically lost a baby yet. I went back to my OB office. They had recently gotten a significant upgrade to their wheel-around ultrasound machine, so my doctor found the baby immediately. No heart beat. And measuring at around seven weeks old, so the baby must have died soon after my first visit with her. I scheduled a D & C for 6am the following morning.
How could this be happening again? How could the baby have died five weeks ago and I still felt pregnant the whole time? Why?! Why?! My sister-in-law was with me when I learned this news because Joseph was at work. She read Psalm 13 to me, and it accurately depicted my feelings. I was grateful that many centuries ago, even King David knew how I felt. I was not alone.
I went grocery shopping and ran some other errands that day with my sister-in-law because I knew I would be sore and unable to do as much after my surgery. I was feeling twinges of pain though, and somehow knew that I wouldn't make it to the surgery. At 11, I woke up and ran to the bathroom. I lost some large blood clots. At midnight things picked up again with regular contractions, though not as intense as those I had during childbirth before. My husband was awake and by my side through most of it. Around 5am on March 17, 2016, I physically lost our baby Aryn. I was happy it was over. I showered and we went to bed.
Soon after this, I purchased a book called Hannah's Hope. It helped me handle all the emotions I was feeling and be able to express them better to Joseph. I also started researching why I would have multiple miscarriages. One other woman who writes on Espresso and Cream wrote about her experience of sustaining a pregnancy after multiple miscarriages that validated some of my findings. I decided on four things I could do:
- I could have MTHFR, which means I don't process folic acid well and should stick to folate. Folic acid is the the synthetic form of folate anyway, so folate is actually better for everyone, but especially those with MTHFR. I found prenatal vitamins with folate instead, so I knew I would start taking one of those the month we wanted to get pregnant.
- I had my progesterone level tested through a simple blood test to see if it was low. A low progesterone count can lead to multiple miscarriages because plenty of it is needed to help sustain the baby through the first trimester until the placenta is well-established. My progesterone level was slightly low, so I started using progesterone cream.
- I may have a minor blood clot issue, which can be helped with ibuprofen, so I began taking children's ibuprofen.
- I decided that I wouldn't have any ultrasounds performed because both our babies died just after having one. There are some links that research has made between ultrasounds and early miscarriage. Google it to find the latest information. Instead, I will have weekly blood tests to monitor my HcG level, which is the hormone produced in mass amounts during pregnancy.
After losing the second baby, we knew we needed to wait longer to try again. We needed more time to process, research, and heal. Now, we wait. As more of our personal story unfolds, I will update this post.
On a Monday morning after some divine appointments over the weekend, God hit me with the idea to start this non-profit ministry. By Wednesday, we had a name and people who wanted to help us get started through cash donations and donations for the gifts. On August 24, 2016, this beautiful ministry was born from our terrible losses.
Continue reading my story here:
On a Monday morning after some divine appointments over the weekend, God hit me with the idea to start this non-profit ministry. By Wednesday, we had a name and people who wanted to help us get started through cash donations and donations for the gifts. On August 24, 2016, this beautiful ministry was born from our terrible losses.
Continue reading my story here:
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