Baby J.

Told by: Courtney

 

I woke up Thursday morning on August 7. It was just like every other morning. I got up and was making my other 3 children breakfast when I felt something strange. I ran to the bathroom to find blood in my underwear. I immediately began crying because I just knew I was loosing my baby. I called my husband home from work and called my midwife who sent me for an ultrasound. A few hour later we went for an ultrasound that they had to do vaginally.

It seemed like it took hours.

The tech told us to go to our doctors office and they would give us the results there. We finally arrived at the birthing center where we met with our midwife. She told is the ultrasound revealed that the baby had no cardiac activity meaning no heartbeat and that it only measured 8 weeks. I was 10 weeks and 3 days that day. I bursted into tear yet again and cried through the midwife a instructions.

I opted for a natural miscarriage at home. By the time we made it home my head was pounding from crying all day. I took Tylenol and went to sleep. I woke up the next day hoping it was a dream but upon using the bathroom and seeing the bleeding increased I knew it wasn’t. All day August 8th I bled and cramped on and off and all day the 9th also.

Finally at 11:20pm on August 9th I felt something so I ran to the bathroom sat on the toilet got some tissue and caught my baby born in it’s sac. I called my husband and we cried together for a moment before he asked me if I wanted him to open the sac. I shook my head yes. Inside was my beautiful baby.

Already so developed. Although so heartbroken I was proud of my angel baby. We went and bout him (we think it’s was a boy) a little wooden box that we made comfortable on the inside for him. I cried myself to sleep that night. The next morning August 10th a few close family members met us at my mothers home on her acre of property to lay our baby to rest. I am still grieving and it hurts so bad still but I know he is in a better place. We love you little baby J.  In mommys heart forever.

 

slider pictures black

Show Love

We Have to Fall Together

Told by: Rebecca

We met her last autumn in that tiny Goodwill, among the shelves of books that no one had a use for any longer. She began silently passing books to our girls that she thought they’d like. She noticed our nine year old’s current fascination with weather, and located a few on hurricanes. I left my husband with the girls as I browsed past the books and into the clothing racks. I found a few peasant skirts I fancied with elastic waistbands I could alter to fit. Within a few minutes he came over to me with eyes intense. “Come here. We need to pray for this woman, together.” She shared with us that just a few months earlier her only child, a son only a few months old, had died tragically in an accident. He had choked on something at day care while she was at work. Her tired face and eyes said that it felt like yesterday. Still so fresh and raw. We listened. We grieved with her. We encouraged. And we lifted her up. We prayed together, there in the private back corner of a Goodwill.

We exchanged information, that I regretfully lost pretty quickly, and we haven’t seen her again. Until tonight.

One week and four days since our fifth daughter, Jane Malise, was born to heaven. And on the very day that marked the one year anniversary of the death of her baby boy. This was beyond coincidence. This was Providence.

She started out the conversation in the cold grocery parking lot. “Aren’t you the woman from Goodwill?” I laughed yes. We hugged.

She smiled through tears and blurted out the significance of today. I said I was so glad to see her today then. I didn’t hesitate and vomited out more words to add to the grief pot. “We lost a baby less than two weeks ago. Her name was Jane.” We hugged again.

And this time she said how glad she was to see me today. Providence.

I explained that I couldn’t have looked at her today with the heart I have now if this hadn’t happened. She said she understood. Which was so dern good to hear and know that she meant it. She did understand.

I told her how angry and hurt I am today. Yes, terribly missing my baby. But more angry at ignorant people. I’m angry that people expect me to just move on. I’m angry that out of the true goodness of their hearts they say things so extremely ridiculous and unknowingly hurtful to mothers who have lost a child to miscarriage.

Things like this: “It was God’s plan… she obviously fulfilled her purpose… God was merciful to your family in protecting you from the burden of caring for a disabled child… at least you know she’s in heaven and you’ll see her again… at least you have kids already, you should be thankful for them… buck up, don’t worry, y’all got a good track record, you’ll have another… at least it wasn’t one of your other children… at least you weren’t much further along because that would have been harder… at least… at least… at least…”

I was shivering in the parking lot tonight as we talked, but neither one of us wanted our conversation to end. We needed each other. We needed each other TODAY.

She held me as I sobbed my first real good sob since the day I saw Jane’s precious little, lifeless body on the ultrasound screen. One week and four days ago since I lay there on the exam table bleeding my littlest one out on a sheet. One week and four days since no one thought to pass along that information to the lab tech in the next room who took my blood and asked happily, “Oh, you’re pregnant! How far along are you? Is this your first?”

I just looked at her a few seconds not knowing what to say, then said just louder than a whisper, “No mam, she’s our fifth daughter.” Because she was. “I’ll always wonder who she would have been!” I heard myself saying through broken sobs as this woman in the parking lot held me tighter. She said simply, “Me too.” “I know it would have been different if I held her alive and knew her like you did your son…” I apologized. “Grief is grief,” she said.

Grief. Is. Grief.

She, this woman who held her living son, who fed him, played with him, laughed with him, soothed his tears, wiped his nose, video taped his first crawl… She saw no difference in the devastation. She saw lives lost. She saw a mother’s grief.

“What if you held the hand of a grieving mom who miscarried at 4 weeks, 6 weeks, 18 weeks or more? What if you never compared the loss of a 4-weeker to a 20-weeker? What if you never said anything that started with, “At least . . . ” What if you didn’t try to stifle her tears? What if you welcomed them? And matched her tears with your own? What if you held back any trite, easy answers that promised God’s will and promised easy comfort? What if you just wrapped your arms around her the way Christ would?

What if you made that meal, bought those flowers and wrote that card? What if you went to the hospital and sat in the waiting room for her, even if you wouldn’t see her? Just because she is your friend. Just because that’s what you do when someone is sick in the hospital or their child is dying. What if you called her child by name? What if you went to the service if they planned one? What if you helped her find a support group? What if you offered to go with her? What if you prayed constantly for that hole in her heart that will one day scab, one day scar, but will never fully heal? What if all your actions when dealing with loss of any kind, affirmed that fact that all life — ALL LIFE — is good, worthy of recognition and worthy of grief. What if you didn’t just affirm to the world that all babies are valuable — but you also affirmed to a bereaved mom that HER baby was irreplaceable, and would forever be missed?

‘A person is a person, no matter how small.'” -Rachel Lewis @ The Lewis Note [dot[ blogspot [dot] com

“We have to fall together,” she said as she brought her hands toward one another, “or we’ll fall apart.”

Suffering transcends difference. The art of solidarity. Providence. “There is a support group that a woman leads that I go to sometimes,” she said. “She lost her 6 week old baby now 30 years ago, and she uses writing to heal; uses writing prompts to lead us, guide us, and help us through where we are at and so we can help others. Would you like to go with me?” This woman in the parking lot? The same one from Goodwill? Yeah, she didn’t know that I write. That I feel the most honest me when I write. That God pricks and heals my soul when I write. And that sometimes He graciously uses my writing to encourage others.

“I’d love to,” I said, and smiled a good smile. My husband had loaded all the groceries in the back of our van while we spoke. As we began to drive away she motioned for him to roll down his driver’s window. “Take care of her,” my new friend said smiling, but with eyes that ran it deep. He always does. Jane was his girl too. You, mama-friend, you who have this wound similar, Give yourself time.

Allow yourself the sobs, and if you have other children, let them see you cry. Pray with them in that moment together. You have nothing to explain to people that don’t understand. That’s not your job. They don’t have to understand or be okay with what you need.

It doesn’t matter if they seem irritated that you had to cancel that luncheon or lesson again. Or maybe they might. Maybe they’ll be tender and say things like my husband was told tonight on the phone when he made calls for me, “Tell her to take all the time she needs; we’ll be here.” But either way- Just. Take. Time.

And find someone or someones to “fall together” with. We must know we are not alone, that how we feel is not abnormal, and that there is hope in tomorrow. Dear mama-friend who needs a voice today to bring a light of validation to your grief after miscarriage, The truth of this life lost has been ascertained. Your story as that life’s mother has been corroborated. Your grief has been found as something substantial and authentic. Your soul and body has been given the stamp of approval, the go ahead, the green light… to rest. and to bear. this. out. You are not alone.

“An Invitation to all Who Suffer Loss” {a poem by Rebecca}

We’re all there, unknowingly together there. Spread out. Feeling alone.

Our wombs bare too soon like those trees whose limbs are stripped by a harsh, early winter.

We’re all there, unknowingly together there.

But the road tapers down, drawing us closer together as we search for solidarity.

We’re all cupped there, His hands cup us together there.

Because suffering transcends difference. The invitation chimes in the dark – to see a different reality.

We are not in the wallows, the crevices between pains that no one sees as they walk by in the market unaware of our wounds.

No, we are high and lifted up with You. You see us up close and lift us up high.

You call us there, You call us together there.

To under-gird one another …because suffering transcends difference.

The invitation chimes in the dark – to see a different reality.

We are not passed over.

Wear His favor on your head as a crown, sister friend.

We are His and the hope of life is in our wombs.

Art and life will continue to pour forth again.

{dedicated to all who have walked through miscarriage or any other kind of loss, and to our sweet Jane Malise, born to heaven 2/17/14}  With love, Rebecca FromMyMountainView.com

slider pictures white

Show Love

Emma’s Little Sister

Told by: Christine

I lost a little girl at 10 1/2 weeks on March 1, 2010. I knew that I was pregnant 3 weeks before I was due to start. I know it sounds crazy but GOD does this in my life. When I took my first test it was faint (it was one week before I was due to start) I finally went in and had blood work done and the numbers were low. I repeated the test that same week and they tripled. YAY! Excited…kind of.

I never really could get excited. Things just didn’t seem right. We did an early U/S at 6 weeks and found just the gestational sac. So the dates and numbers were off. We all just decided I was very early. My OB wanted to see me again each week and I opted not too.

With a 2 1/2 yr old it would be hard to continue to do so. She went the first time and she was excited over the “baby”.

As time went on my morning sickness stopped and I just had a BAD FEELING about it all. I wanted this baby but just couldn’t get excited. At eight and half weeks I called and said OK it doesn’t feel right can we do an u/s. So we went in, there was my baby, heart was beating and she looked fine….except….. there was fluid in her chest cavity. may not be anything wrong they said.

I knew right away there was something wrong. I did my shots for weeks and everything I knew I should and still felt horrible about this. I went to a Fetal Maternal doctor after announcing to all my family that I was nine and half weeks pregnant and that I needed lots of prayers. At ten weeks I was due to see the doctor for another u/s. No more morning sickness all week and I knew she was gone. I just knew it. I cried the entire way there, I was alone. I got there and they were behind. It seemed like forever before I got in there.

There were two U/S techs in there and they were so quiet. I studied their faces and I knew that something was wrong. I fought the tears. They got up and said it would be a few minutes before he came in. I watched the clock..it took 5 hours it seemed like for 20 minutes to go by. Then in came the doctor, I knew. She was gone. I remember that face from losing Emma. When they couldn’t find a heartbeat. Same one. He showed me the u/s screen. How transparent she was. Showed me her whole anatomy and talked about not having morning sickness, Tears were rolling…I knew she was gone. After 15 min he said the dreaded words…”I am sorry but I do not see a heartbeat” and as professional as he was being…he cried too. So we decided to wait for my OB to make the next call. I would have a D&C on Wednesday because of having a c-section and a little one at home it was better for her not to see the blood of a natural way if the body expelling her. I left and just lost it. I was alone. She was gone and I would have to carry her for days to come. I hated it and it felt so horrible. But I knew all along and I believe GOD was preparing me for it weeks before I was to see and hear that news. It has been the worst few months of my life. I thought that having gone through a stillbirth at 38 weeks would help prepare me for this…but it hurts worse. I found out that something did not form well with the heart so I tell everyone that she died of a broken heart. And yes I found out it was another girl. I didn’t name her. I should have but we just called her Baby Girl Wright. I sit here writing this with a flood of tears. This is cleansing to tell my story of my girls who too soon have gone to heaven.

My due date was October 4th. But I would have been delivered no later than 38 weeks. So pray for me this week. It hurts sooo bad. But I am the face of Stillbirth and miscarriage and I am a very proud mother of angels. No one will ever take that from me. I love them with a hole in my heart because when they left they both took a piece of it with them. God be with us all and NEVER FORGET our babies…ever. I am here always…I find strength in sharing and reflecting on them. Please feel free to share with me and ask me anything. We all are a part of this club that no one ever wants to be in but I am thankful that God has allowed this to be because only we can relate to one another and we all have a very special bond for life…our angels. Thank you for listening to my stories of loss and enduring pain. God love you!

{You may read Emma’s story here}

slider-pictures-white3-300x199

Show Love

My Daughter was Ordained

Told by: Katie

This is my miscarriage story. When we found out I was carrying our third child after only one cycle of not preventing pregnancy, we were thrilled! My husband said it is pretty awesome, but also pretty ridiculous, how fast I can get pregnant (our second child was also conceived in our first cycle of trying.) After two boys with my red hair and fair skin, I was really hoping for a girl with my husband’s dark features. I didn’t start prenatal care right away since it was so early–I got my first faintly positive test at 10 days after ovulation–and I wasn’t sure if I would be able to afford a midwife this time around or go with the doctor I had seen before. I was 10 weeks, 5 days when I went to my first prenatal appointment. This being my third pregnancy, my bump was already starting to show, at least to me, and I brought my boys with me since I was pretty sure we would be able to hear the heartbeat at that point.

I love my doctor’s office…family practice, and very small. The one nurse had pulled my records earlier and looked over them so she was familiar with what we had and hadn’t wanted with my last pregnancy. My doctor came in and got more info from me, and did a pelvic exam. She told me my uterus was right on for the date of conception I had given her, and the mood was so joyful and excited! I was thrilled to be in that office again and couldn’t wait for my doctor to pull out her Doppler so we could take a listen to our sweet little one.

My 5-year-old asked “Where’s the cold jelly?” since I had told him about how the doctor would listen to the baby’s heartbeat. I am always just a little nervous when the doctor first puts the Doppler on my stomach, just for a few seconds until she finds the baby. This time, it was taking longer than usual (I don’t have a tilted uterus, and my babies have always been more than willing to be found), and she was having to press harder to check further and further toward my back. It was getting painful. My son asked when we would hear the baby’s heartbeat and I just had to ask him to be patient. Finally, the doctor pulled away and told me gently that she should be able to find a heartbeat at this stage in the pregnancy. She knows that we have declined ultrasounds in the past, and told me we didn’t have to do one, but that it would answer our questions.

I agreed, got dressed, and the nurse moved me to the ultrasound room. The doctor came in, turned out the lights and turned on the monitor overhead so I could see what she was seeing. When she put the ultrasound wand to my stomach, and moved it back and forth a bit, I was confused to see…..nothing. I haven’t ever had an ultrasound, but I’ve seen enough pictures to know that there should be at least a little white blob inside the sac…my baby. But there was nothing.

She then told me that she was very sorry, it looked like I had experienced a blighted ovum…the baby stopped developing very early and now the sac was empty. My body still thought I was pregnant, but I would be having a miscarriage.

I felt pretty numb right then.

I didn’t immediately get upset because it just didn’t feel quite real yet. My son said he just wanted to know what was going on with the baby, but I just couldn’t tell him. I had blood drawn that afternoon, and a few days later, and at a followup appointment my doctor confirmed that my hCG levels were falling. She gave me the options for miscarrying, and I told her I wanted to let it happen naturally if at all possible. The next two weeks seemed to drag on. My belly was still growing, and getting harder to hide. Only a few people even knew I was pregnant, and I didn’t want anyone to notice me growing and ask questions.

I hated that I felt like I had to hide my belly…I have always loved being pregnant and growing with my baby. It was a very difficult time, feeling pregnant, looking pregnant, being “technically pregnant,” but knowing my baby was already gone. After spotting for about 5 days, at what would have been 12 weeks 6 days along, I started having stronger cramps, and heavy bleeding. I called my husband home from work, and that night I miscarried. I’m glad I allowed my body to do its own thing when it was ready, and that I was at home. It wasn’t nearly as horrible or painful as I was expecting. All in all I had about 5 hours of heavy bleeding and clots, and then it started to slow down.

My husband was with me the whole time, and our boys were in bed, so it was a peaceful, private experience that gave me the chance to say goodbye to my baby.

It was finally completely real….my little one was gone. I am still grieving….still missing my baby, but also hopeful for the future, and hoping that by sharing my story I can give comfort to someone else someday. Before I learned I was going to have a miscarriage, I had been having baby girl dreams, and feeling that this baby would be a girl. I named my baby Moriah Faith. Moriah means “ordained/considered by God” and I know my sweet little one was indeed considered by her creator from the moment she was conceived and through her brief, brief life.

Show Love

After Ourselves

Told by: Heather

On April 20, 2013 I began bleeding heavily while out of town with my daughter. We were in a hotel room and there was no one but my teenager there to pull me together.

My husband had to come to where I was in the middle of the night.

Later in the week with ultrasounds and blood tests the doctor determined I had a blighted ovum. I would’ve been 10 weeks that week I found out. I had only had my first appointment and no ultrasound pictures. All that remains from my pregnancy is my positive pregnancy test. I never will even know if my baby started to develop and died and was absorbed into my body or if I was only pregnant with the sac.

Either way, I fell in love with my baby with that positive pregnancy test.

We decided since we never saw our baby or knew the sex to name it after ourselves. Jaime (my first name) and Ryan (husband’s middle name). Jaime Ryan….Mommy and Daddy will love you forever!

Show Love

Protected: Trust

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Show Love

Protected: That’s My Baby

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Show Love

Protected: My Heart Wears a Patch

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Show Love

Protected: Held in the Silence

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Show Love

Protected: Waiting for Morning

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Show Love
X

Domestic Violence increases in pregnancy, leading to infant & maternal death.     [Path to Safety]      [Learn More]      [Quickly Exit to a Weather Channel]

¤