| The story of Kristin Elise 12/6/94 I lost my first child on December 6, 1994. It was one of those times when my head told me something could be wrong, by my heart knew everything would be fine and so, I went to see the ultrasound technician by myself. I was at the end of the eleventh week of my first pregnancy by then, and I had had bleeding off and on for the entire pregnancy, and knew that it could be normal. I had seen my doctor each time I bled, and each time I got to see the heartbeat, and see that everything was normal. I had every reason to believe that I was just going for the reassurance of seeing that tiny heartbeat flashing on the screen again, and then I would be on my way. I had thanked God every day for that baby. She became a member of the family from the day the pregnancy test came back positive. I had started the test, and then left to go pick up my husband Anthony from the train station. When we returned home five minutes later, there was a hardly visible plus sign. Immediately, we drove to my parents' house to share the news. They were overjoyed, and everyone except me celebrated with champagne. From that very first day I was careful not to do anything that would harm our baby. She was never a "pregnancy" to us..Yes, that was the term for what was happening within my body..but she was, from the very beginning, our child. We saw her as a tiny person whom we could not wait to meet. She always had an opinion (mine of course!) so Anthony was always outvoted! It was pure fun, and silly and crazy but we were so excited. The first time I saw my Kristin's tiny heartbeat racing on ultrasound, I was overcome with maternal feelings. From the very first, I loved my little girl and, in my mind, I tied ribbons in her hair, took her to the zoo and taught her about the stars. I lived our entire life together in 11 and a half weeks. Anthony loved her too. He left messages on my voice mail at work and asked her to call her father. Crazy stuff but she was already part of our family. So even though I was a little bit nervous as the sonogram technician prepped me for the test, deep down I thought that nothing would be wrong. And when she told me that although my pregnancy was eleven weeks, the baby was only eight or nine, I remember thinking, wow..she's small for her age. But my heart was pounding and I guess I knew it before the technician said it...there was no fetal heartbeat. "The baby is dead." I will never forget the technician's voice, or her face or her name or her words. But I just cannot remember much about what happened after that. It was the most devastating moment of my life. I think I screamed a little. I know I cried. She hugged me and said she was sorry. I had to try and run out of the examining room without anyone seeing my face. As I made my way from the doctor's private office, past the examining rooms with the pregnant bellies and right into the center of the waiting room for everyone to see.. I noticed one of the nurse's was crying. Calling Anthony from the doctor's office with the news was horrible...I felt as if I had done something terrible to our baby. I thought that I was careless, useless, worthless. I lost our baby..Lost her! All he said was "no no no" again and again. At the hospital where I was to have a D and C (as mine was what they call a 'missed miscarriage-meaning the baby died but did not leave my body on her own) I sobbed when the nurse gave me a permission slip to 'dispose of the products of conception'. This was the moment when Kristin died, for me. My baby was no longer my baby, she was tissue in a medical lab to be disposed of. It about broke my heart, and I lost it. I was shaking and crying and in my head I was screaming. The nurse, Laura, left the room in tears. I found out later she had just had a miscarriage herself. I wish I had thanked her for being the one to take care of me. As I lay on the pre op table, my doctor asked me if I had any questions. With tears streaming down my face, I asked if there was any chance this was a mistake. He only said "No." I tried to heal quickly. At home that night, we hurt so badly. It was just the two of us again. Forever in my mind is the image of Anthony, his face wet with tears, saying that his birthday wish (the week before) that our baby would be alright did not come true. I said, "And she died! She died!" He nodded, still crying and we just stayed like that, crying and hugging for a long time. |
| MUSIC ~Blessed by Elton John |
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The story of Rachel Angeline March 6, 1995 With permission from my doctor, seven weeks later I was pregnant again. I begged God to let me keep this baby. I promised Him I would be a good mother. I would do anything, if He would just let this one be born. Looking back, I wish I had bonded more with Rachel for the nine weeks I carried her, but I was afraid to. Not bonding didn't make the loss of my second baby any easier, and now I do not have as strong a feeling for who she was..and I regret this. But her personality was a lot like Kristin's..only more subdued and less innocently joyful. Rachel left us at 9 weeks in almost the same way that Kristin did. The same ultrasound technician gave me the bad news. This time she said "the pregnancy is not a good one" I thought, "Well, then how do we make it a good one?" When she said the words "I'm sorry" again, I wanted to run out of there with my baby in my womb and not let them take her. I would not let them do this to me again. It was their fault, it was my fault, it was the baby's fault and it was God's fault. He must have hated me to do this to me again. What came out of were awful, gut wrenching sobs. I felt that I had let everyone down. I was a failure as a mother, as a wife and as a daughter. I needed to go to the hospital right away as the thought of this baby dead inside me was too much to bear. This time my mother came with me. My mother held my hand as we entered the hospital. She was strong for me but I felt so alone. At the registration desk, I just couldn't believe I was answering all these questions again. Questions about insurance..last menstrual period..I just wanted to scream at them....my babies are dead, and I am dying too... When the orderlies rolled me away for a second D and C, I took one look back at my mother, who had been so strong for me, and her face mirrored my pain. Tears were rolling down her face. I hurt for my baby, and she hurt for hers. The same nurse, Laura, was in the operating room this time. It was at the opposite end of the hospital where she didn't normally work..Isn't that an amazing coincindence. I asked her if she remembered me and she very sadly said that she did. Before I went under anesthesa for my second D and C, I saw a lovely face looking down at me..a different nurse. She said 'Oh honey I lost my first two babies too'..I asked her through my tears if she had any living children..The last thing I heard before I went to sleep was "Yes I have two beautiful boys". Her name was Jackie, too. So many coincidences....Part of me feels like I made her up, I needed to hear that so badly. After the second loss, there were still a few people who said they were sorry, who called again and who cared. But a lot of people avoided me altogether. I still don't know why, but I imagine they didn't know what to say. At the time, I thought they thought my losses were contagious. As if ,if they spoke to me, their children would die. It was so lonely. And ironically, the people who said nothing so they wouldn't hurt me are the ones who did hurt me. Some people I barely knew went out of their way to acknowledge my loss. They have no idea how special that was to me, when some of my own friends wouldn't even talk to me. It mattered that they didn't see me the way I saw myself... Defective. The story of Jake..December 9 1997 Between the birth of my sons in 1997 and 1998, I lost a third child to miscarriage. Until recently Jake did not have a name. A beautiful spirit in the form of an online friend urged me to name this baby, and so I named him or her after myself. Jake is what my Dad called me when I was little..so it is in my case a girl's name, but could also be a boy's. I lost Jake at only six weeks. The feelings I remember most from this loss were angry ones. I felt I had my share of losses and didn't deserve any more. Of course now I know I was not the only bereaved mother in the world, ..but at the time I felt singled out. I knew a few women who had had a miscarriage, but I was the only one I knew with three. I struggle with the concept that everything happens for a reason, even all these years later. The death of my girls prompted me to go to a different doctor..one who agreed that some testing was the right thing to do. If it weren't for the loss of Kristin and Rachel, I wouldn't have found out that I had a uterine septum. A uterine septum is rare. It causes only 1 in 700 miscarriages. But it is also fairly easy to correct once diagnosed. Because of my daughters' lives and deaths, I was able to have my two boys, and eventually my daughter in 2004.. Does that mean I traded my first two girls for my boys? Not voluntarily, I didn't. I had no choice, and yet I wouldn't give up my boys for anything. I struggle with this. I just don't know. But I do know that I recieved a very special gift from my girls' lives. Because of the isolation and loneliness I felt after my losses, I am now able to understand that people who hurt need healing words and touch. Even an awkward expression of sympathy is better than silence. And I understand now, that if I do try to comfort someone who has suffered a loss, and he or she cries, it is not because I have caused them pain, but that I have given them a safe outlet for their grief. As I help to heal others, I also heal myself. And I honor my babies' lives.... |
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