The time my life changed 9 years ago

Tomorrow (August 11th) will mark the 9 year anniversary of the loss of my first child. Never once had I ever felt like my heart was ripped out of my chest and then thrown to the floor so hard. Not even the loss of my dad felt like the loss of a child. Nothing compares to losing a child, even thought you have yet to meet them.

Finding Out I was pregnant

Nine years ago, we started trying for a baby, only to be told by the doctor that it might be incredibly hard to conceive, because of my PCOS. But she gave me the same advice she gave everyone else, start trying 14 days after the start of your period. So of course we listened to her advice, and hoped that things would go our way.

It was a roller coaster ride when I went to my doctors appointment without my husband one day, because he was busy watching our daughter (technically my step daughter), and couldn’t leave. I felt a bit off and was sure I had something else wrong with me. Never did I expect for the doctor to tell me I was pregnant. The walk home from my appointment was one full of excitement. It was a beautiful May day and I couldn’t run home fast enough.

The Ultrasound

It was July and it was time for my first ultrasound. I remember seeing my little baby moving around on the screen. I watched the ultrasound tech take photos. But became confused why I didn’t receive any of the ultrasound photos. I didn’t know what to make out of it, but I figured that’s just how it was at every first ultrasound, that the parents didn’t

Little did I know the reason why she didn’t give me my ultrasound photo was because there was something seriously wrong with my baby. Something so serious that the doctor the doctor had to call us a few days later to tell me that we had to come in to the doctors appointment, and that it was important for my husband to go with me. I was only hoping that there was good news, I don’t know why I kept my mind positive, but I was trying not to stress too much.

The Dream Before My appointment with the doctor

The day of my doctors appointment, I remember having a dream that for some reason my baby didn’t make it, and that there was something wrong with it in my dream. The dream felt so real, and I chalked it up to pregnancy hormones. But still the dream played over and over and over again in my head, like a broken record. Again, I kept positive because it’d be better on the baby.

My Nightmares were right

At my doctors appointment that day, the doctor asked my husband and I to pull up a chair and sit by her while she pulled up the photo of our baby. She explained to us that the white parts on his body indicated that there were bones, then pointed to his head explaining how there wasn’t a white part on the top of his head, meaning he could have a birth defect known as anencephaly, a condition that’s always fatal, and that she was hoping that it was just the position our baby was laying, but wanted us to get a second opinion, with the high risk doctor the very next day.

The high risk doctors appointment the next morning was the scariest thing I had ever encountered. I was soon going to find out if it was just how our baby was laying of if it really did have anencephaly. I was hoping for the best. I wasn’t going to give up hope. I was going to be strong, and keep cool. Surely my doctor was right and that our baby was a perfectly normal little baby.

After the nurse did her thing doing the ultrasound, which to me looked like a normal baby. My hopes were then shattered all over when the doctor came in and said that our baby indeed had a serious case of anencephaly. Then prodded my stomach just to get my baby to move. I know they say baby’s at that age can’t feel pain, but the way she prodded my stomach and the little baby with the ultrasound was different.

We were given two options at that time, to either go full term, and have it die inside of me, or if he was born alive, they’d just allow him to die it my arms, since there would be no reason to try to save it. Both options were heart breaking. Or my second option was to medically induce or have a D&C early on so I could try again. I didn’t want to choose either of the two options, I wanted to reverse time and try to fix things so I wouldn’t be in the shoes I was in. Either way this baby wasn’t going to live;

My Choice

I thought about my options long and hard, I didn’t want to make the wrong choice. But when you’re plagued with the the two choices that I was given, it felt so suffocating. I kept thinking about how it looked like my little baby was in pain, and how the baby moved inside of me. While I was thinking about my plans, I felt my very first flutter, and movement from the baby that was growing inside of me. I didn’t want to feel like a murderer and end it’s life even before it started. But I didn’t want it to suffer.

My husband and I thought it through, and he let me make the choice that felt right. It was my stomach after all, and my mental state that I had to worry about.

After all of the thoughts that I had, I knew what I wanted to do. I felt the best thing to do, was induce. I couldn’t go full term, remembering every single day that if it moved that the movement may be the last movement my unborn baby had. I didn’t want it to be born alive just to watch it die in my arms. I couldn’t imagine the pain.

August 10, the day I wont forget

It was August 10, 2011, when I went to my doctors appointment to tell her that we wanted to induce. She wasn’t sure it could even be done, at the size our baby was, it may not even make it through the birth canal without having serious issues. She told us 15 week babies are pretty fragile, but she’d try consulting some other doctors when we left to see what they would say.

A few hours after we came home my doctor called and said that she talked to some other doctors and that it could be done. She then told us it could be done that day. I tried not to let my feelings overwhelm me, and I remember calling my mom telling her that I’d be induced that day. Her and my dad headed out as soon as they could.

The Induction Process

I was induced at the hospital, and given a pain pump, since labor was going to be pretty much unbearable, and because we weren’t going to have a live baby, the doctor gave me morphine to numb my pain. She then told me after the baby was born that she’d move me to another part of the hospital so that I can relax and not hear babies cry as I’d be overfilled with emotions anyway.

The birth of my baby boy

At 5 the next morning I remember my water breaking, and telling the nurse that I had to go to the bathroom, having no clue that the baby would fall out into the urine hat. I hardly remember the nurse clamping it’s small yet teeny cord. But I remember the nurse carrying the baby out with the hat.

The doctor came in a little bit later and asked me how I was feeling, asking if we wanted to know what the gender of the baby was. The pain didn’t hit home until the nurses brought in a blanket, and a photo of his teeny tiny foot prints. The thought that he was that teeny, and even had fully formed feet, ripped my heart out and turned on the waterworks.

Our baby boy was buried the next day, even though he was so teeny, his blanket he was wrapped in felt like a hundred pounds. I don’t know how I kept my composure, but some how I did. All I wanted to do was run, all I wanted to do was cry. Nothing made sense to me. How on earth could life be so cruel?

How I’m feeling today

Now that we’ve finally made it to the 9 year anniversary of the loss of my beautiful baby boy. I still get emotional. I still remember how heavy his blanket was and think about all the nine year old neighbor kids, how I wished he would be out there playing with them. I wonder what his favorite color would be and what he’d look like if he did survive. It was best said by my cousin, that I’ll never stop grieving, all that would happen is that I would learn to hide the pain better. I still hide my pain, and I still feel unbelievable sadness.

To my baby boy. I love you and I’ll always miss you. There’s not a day that goes by I don’t think of you. Today is the day you were given your wings, and were told to fly. There are days I second guess that what I did was right. Please forgive me. Love, your mommy.