This post was written for inclusion in the Pregnancy Loss Week Blog Carnival. Please join us at Fertility Flower for the week of August 23-27, 2010 where we will be featuring articles, posts and artwork about pregnancy loss.
Mommy's Promise
By Cassandra Wright Fields
It broke my heart when you couldn't stay
Because I felt your presence right away
And my womb swelled with pride and joy
For you were to join us and our little boy
I'd made plans for you and I
And dreamed of how time would fly by
Ever so gently your soul touched mine
There will be no heartbeat or picture and that's fine
Because you've left enough love behind
Though it pleased God to take you away
In my heart you will always stay
Bundled up safe and warm in Mommy's heart
When we are together again we will never part
....And dreamed how time would fly by
Though you were mere
I love you, Dear
Ever so gently your soul touched mine...
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Trusting Instincts
Sybella has given me permission to give into my perception skills. She has shown me that in most cases, my instincts have been correct. Now I trust my positive and negative feelings in response to aspects of my life and I go in the direction that feels the most comfortable, easy and "right." It is quite liberating. I feel like I dont have to justify my reasons for refusing something (I know I am being general here, but there are so many different facets that I refer to, that it would take forever to explain them all) because I've already had the greatest challenge in the world handed to me, and I wont willingly accept any more. I dont want challenge, and I dont deserve it. I have seen the true colours in many aspects of my life. The good and the bad. Sybella has shown me what I should embrace and be thankful for, and what it is I need to let go of.
3 Months
Yesterday, July 24th, marked 3 months since Sybella's birth and death.
3 months since my life stopped
3 months since I took a breath
3 months since my heart broke
3 months since I saw pure innocence
3 months of tears
3 months of anger
3 months of fear
3 months of guilt
3 months on a rollercoaster
3 months of love
3 months of being a mother of two
3 months since my life stopped
3 months since I took a breath
3 months since my heart broke
3 months since I saw pure innocence
3 months of tears
3 months of anger
3 months of fear
3 months of guilt
3 months on a rollercoaster
3 months of love
3 months of being a mother of two
Saturday, July 24, 2010
At Our Beach
Here we are at our special beach. This was back in March. It was still warm, but the weather was cooling in the evenings. Despite this, Jack still ran into the water without thinking, and had a ball!
It was a lovely evening, probably about 5.00 or 5.30 and all was right with the world. I'd do anything to get back to that place in my life.
Carly Dudley
Carly Dudley has quickly become one of my idols and main inspirations. She writes names in the sand for parents who has lost precious babies. She also is the one who has organised Day of Hope on August 19. She is one of the most beautifully creative people I know. Her art and photography is breathtaking. I wish I had her gift of transforming everything around me into something beautiful. She channels her grief so gracefully into her art and it is clear just how gentle and organic she is as a person.
Carly lives in Perth, Western Australia with her husband Sam and their three daughters, Scarlett, River and Ocea (a name which I love, by the way. It sounds like sparkly waves). Carly's second child and only son, Christian was stillborn. He is her inspiration for the Names in the Sand project, and many of the other gorgeous art projects she undertakes, I'm sure.
Carly provides advice, support and healing for all babylost mothers through The Grief Effect (see sidebar). For me, her blogs are places of healing and comfort. If I am having a bad day, or even a bad moment, "visiting" her beach, looking at her photos, reading her poetry will help me immensly.
I have a special beach too. Carly has inspired me to spend more time at my special beach...To bundle up Jack, rug him up in warm clothes, and drive to the little piece of tranquillity that we are lucky to be twenty minutes from. I went last weekend and it gave me peace that lasted all week.
If you are a babylost mama, I urge you to visit The Grief Effect, To Write Their Names In The Sand, and Love Reign Over Me, all blogs of Carly Marie Dudley. If you are like me, the beauty of her work will make your heart ache, but your eyes smile.
Blessings xx
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Post Mortem Results
Today I received a phone call from the head doctor in charge of Sybella's case. She had the results of the postmortem studies.
There is no reason why my baby died.
I'm crying now.
- Blood tests from me (viral serology) ~ Nothing detected
- Blood tests from Sybella (viral serology) ~ Nothing detected
- Swabs from me (skin and mucus membranes) ~ Nothing detected
- Swabs from Sybella (skin and mucus membranes) ~ Nothing detected
- Placenta studies ~ Normal
- Umblical cord studies ~ Normal
- Autopsy (full organ study) ~ Normal
Thoughts
This post is in part related to the last one.
I have stated before that Kelvin and I experienced difficulties conceiving Sybella. One of my biggest fears, apart from the fear that we would NEVER conceive, was the fear that the age gap between Jack and a new baby would be very great. I am going to discuss this fear in greater detail in a future post, but for now, it serves as an opening to this particular story.
I am a teacher. I dont work anymore, but when I did, one of my duties was morning playground duty. You know, supervising that kids arent falling out of trees or throwing glass. One particular morning (during the phase of infertility in my life), I noticed a pregnant woman, probably in her second trimester, dropping her daughter off at school. Her daughter was in Kindergarten, so five or six years old. I was comforted by the fact that this woman obviously had a large age gap between her children, by the time her baby came, her older daughter would be nearly seven. Okay, so I felt better about that. I wasnt the only one.
Time went on. The woman had her baby. A little girl. She was sweet, I saw her most mornings in the pram. By this time, I was pregnant with Sybella. As time dictated, Jack was going to be 4 years and 4 months when she was due to be born. That age gap was okay with me.
After Sybella died, I found myself fearing age gaps again. By now, Jack will be at least five or six by the time we had a third child, maybe even older if we experienced infertility again. I found myself thinking more and more about the little girl at school, who was in Year One now, and her sister, who would be nearly a year old. I thought about them to comfort myself about the age gap fear. In fact, I thought about them A LOT. I would sit outside in the sun, and think about these girls. They popped into my head all the time. It was strange, because I hadnt given them a moment of thought since I finished teaching to have Sybella. It started to become strange, even to me, just how often they would pop into my head, especially the baby. I thought about the baby often.
A few weeks after Sybella died, I was having lunch with a friend, who was a teacher at the same school. She asked me if I remembered the little girl (just out of the blue...my friend didnt know that I had been thinking about her) and her baby sister. I nodded. My friend went on to tell me that the baby had died the week before, at approximately 10 months old. I immediately got goosebumps and my heart ached for that mother. How do you keep going after losing a baby at nearly one year of age?
I now wonder if the reason the baby had kept popping into my head was because Sybella was sending me a spiritual message. Maybe she had welcomed the baby into Heaven, and was looking after her. maybe she wanted me to know that she and this baby were all right, together.
Why else would I think and think and think about this little one?
I have stated before that Kelvin and I experienced difficulties conceiving Sybella. One of my biggest fears, apart from the fear that we would NEVER conceive, was the fear that the age gap between Jack and a new baby would be very great. I am going to discuss this fear in greater detail in a future post, but for now, it serves as an opening to this particular story.
I am a teacher. I dont work anymore, but when I did, one of my duties was morning playground duty. You know, supervising that kids arent falling out of trees or throwing glass. One particular morning (during the phase of infertility in my life), I noticed a pregnant woman, probably in her second trimester, dropping her daughter off at school. Her daughter was in Kindergarten, so five or six years old. I was comforted by the fact that this woman obviously had a large age gap between her children, by the time her baby came, her older daughter would be nearly seven. Okay, so I felt better about that. I wasnt the only one.
Time went on. The woman had her baby. A little girl. She was sweet, I saw her most mornings in the pram. By this time, I was pregnant with Sybella. As time dictated, Jack was going to be 4 years and 4 months when she was due to be born. That age gap was okay with me.
After Sybella died, I found myself fearing age gaps again. By now, Jack will be at least five or six by the time we had a third child, maybe even older if we experienced infertility again. I found myself thinking more and more about the little girl at school, who was in Year One now, and her sister, who would be nearly a year old. I thought about them to comfort myself about the age gap fear. In fact, I thought about them A LOT. I would sit outside in the sun, and think about these girls. They popped into my head all the time. It was strange, because I hadnt given them a moment of thought since I finished teaching to have Sybella. It started to become strange, even to me, just how often they would pop into my head, especially the baby. I thought about the baby often.
A few weeks after Sybella died, I was having lunch with a friend, who was a teacher at the same school. She asked me if I remembered the little girl (just out of the blue...my friend didnt know that I had been thinking about her) and her baby sister. I nodded. My friend went on to tell me that the baby had died the week before, at approximately 10 months old. I immediately got goosebumps and my heart ached for that mother. How do you keep going after losing a baby at nearly one year of age?
I now wonder if the reason the baby had kept popping into my head was because Sybella was sending me a spiritual message. Maybe she had welcomed the baby into Heaven, and was looking after her. maybe she wanted me to know that she and this baby were all right, together.
Why else would I think and think and think about this little one?
Insights
I've mentioned before that I am in awe of how well Sybella looks after us, and although I am grateful for her spiritual care, it saddens me that it isnt the other way around. It saddens me that she is looking after us, when I should be looking after her.
I have an insight, based on signs that Sybella watches out for us, into her personality. I think she is caring. I think she is a girl who looks after everyone around her. I think she puts herself second and others first.
But by golly, do I wish that she were here so I could put all her needs first. There is something indescribably sad about being watched over by a guardian angel that is a baby.
At her funeral, I was told by one guest, who viewed Sybella in her casket, that she looked strong. She was a baby with strength, he could see it in her face. She had courage. Combined with all the signs around us that she was looking after us, I constructed her personality in my mind as fearless, brave and strong. But also a nurturer. And a carer.
I had dreams and visions, that as other little babies died, or were stillborn in the weeks or months after her, Sybella would be the one who met them in Heaven, took them under her wing and looked after them. She would be their welcome wagon and tour guide. She wouldnt let the new angel babies be afraid or alone.
This is a real comfort for me. I like to think of Sybella as a caring leader. I just really hope, with all my might, that someone is caring for her, and tucking her in every night as well.
I have an insight, based on signs that Sybella watches out for us, into her personality. I think she is caring. I think she is a girl who looks after everyone around her. I think she puts herself second and others first.
But by golly, do I wish that she were here so I could put all her needs first. There is something indescribably sad about being watched over by a guardian angel that is a baby.
At her funeral, I was told by one guest, who viewed Sybella in her casket, that she looked strong. She was a baby with strength, he could see it in her face. She had courage. Combined with all the signs around us that she was looking after us, I constructed her personality in my mind as fearless, brave and strong. But also a nurturer. And a carer.
I had dreams and visions, that as other little babies died, or were stillborn in the weeks or months after her, Sybella would be the one who met them in Heaven, took them under her wing and looked after them. She would be their welcome wagon and tour guide. She wouldnt let the new angel babies be afraid or alone.
This is a real comfort for me. I like to think of Sybella as a caring leader. I just really hope, with all my might, that someone is caring for her, and tucking her in every night as well.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Apologies
At the moment I am having terrible trouble accessing the computer. Jack has discovered the 1939 Walt Disney cartoons of Mickey Mouse on Youtube and will not give up the laptop for anything. Not for chocolate, not for Buzz Lightyear toys.
Needless to say, I havent had an opportunity to blog for ages, so I apologise. Tomorrow is preschool day...hopefully I'll get a minute to post something!
Needless to say, I havent had an opportunity to blog for ages, so I apologise. Tomorrow is preschool day...hopefully I'll get a minute to post something!
Monday, July 19, 2010
The Boss
Tori had put me in touch with her magnificent mentor. Apparently he was keen to see me, which was fantastic, seeing as it was impossible to get an appointment any other way. He was taking no new patients...but apparently, I was special.
Now, my reason for seeing The Boss was threefold: post-natal checkup and grief counselling, pre-natal counselling and preparation (for subsequent babies) and taking time to establish a relationship with this man prior to him hopefully undertaking my future antenatal care. I also wanted him to investigate my fertility, to see whether I would have problems conceiving next time around, like I had with Sybella. We werent anywhere near ready to start "trying" (gosh, I hate that word. It sounds so forced) but I am a planner, an organiser and I like to be prepared. So I made an appointment with The Boss.
On the day of my appointment, I met Tori beforehand for a coffee. She ended up coming up to The Boss's rooms with me and waiting with me for the hour (trust me, he is worth waiting for) before we got in.
It was finally my turn. The Boss walked right out of his office, over to my chair. He shook my hand, smiled and looked me right in the eye. "Come in, Stephanie," he said. He turned to Tori and explained that he had another student in the office with him, but he might ask her to sit out in the waiting room with Tori. I told the Boss that the student didnt need to do that, I was happy for her to sit in. The reason for this, is that medical students, particularly those majoring in obstetrics and gynaecology, need to be aware of the prevalence and effect of stillbirth and pregnancy loss. I suspect that many young doctors probably go into their specialty thinking it will be lovely to be surrounded by life and birth and possibilities. And for the most part, that is what the job entails. But there is the small element of tragedy when it comes to obstetrics and I like to think that I did this student a favour by letting her hear my story. Of course, I am grossly generalising when I say obstetric students go in thinking it is all pink babies and fluffy clouds. These ladies and gentlemen are clever enough to become doctors in the first place, I am sure that they have enough awareness to know that there arent always happy endings. But my point is, that I thought it was important for the student to see the other side of the coin. So I allowed her to stay. By that token, I asked Tori into the room too, for education's sake. She was so thoughtful that she said to me, "no Steph, this isnt about me learning, I am coming in purely to support YOU." Which I was thankful for.
In the room, the Boss sat at his desk across from me. He leaned across the table, took my hand in both of his and looked me in the eye. "I am so sorry for your loss" he said with utmost sincerity. He stayed like that for a few more moments, to cement his message of respect and condolence. It was very moving.
We discussed many things during our appointment. The Boss had suspicions that if Sybella had been born alive, there would be a high probability that she would be a very sick little girl, and possibly wouldnt have survived the first year. This was in spite of the fact that we still havent had the post-mortem results returned to us, but I trust that he would know best. He would have seen a lot more situations like these than I have.
I relayed my concerns about infertility. He assurred me with conviction that the reason I had experienced infertility was indeed because of uterine adhesions, and since they had been removed, I shouldnt anticipate any other problems in this respect. He wrote me a referral for a sonohysterogram to check my tubes and uterine cavity. He asked me to have that performed after my next period. He told me that I could get pregnant as soon as I wanted, and medically, there was no reason to wait. But to be very very sure that I had grieved for Sybella before I embarked on another pregnancy.
He asked me what kind of antenatal care I planned for my next pregnancy. With Sybella, I had used the public system, and had regular clinic visits in the Outpatients ward every four weeks. Each time I would see a different doctor or midwife. I feared having to go through this system again, seeing a different doctor every time. I didnt want to be my own advocate. I didnt want to fight for extra ultrasounds or foetal heart monitoring, having to explain my story at each visit. I didnt want, like last time, tell a different doctor that my baby's movements were weak, and be dismissed, because even though they were weak, I was still having ten a day. What I wanted was one person, who knew my whole story. From Jack's ceaserean, to having a retained placenta, to infertility, to treatment, to Sybella's pregnancy, birth and death. Who had all my results and scans and blood tests in front of him. Who had access to Sybella's post-mortem results. Someone who would do whatever I needed in light of my anxiety.
I told this to The Boss. He nodded in agreement. Then HE asked ME if he could be my doctor. He explained that he understood if I wanted to return to the Clinic for any reason (e.g. to relive the same antenatal care and have a happy outcome this time). I was stunned, because I had never assumed that he would undertake my future antenatal care...I had hoped, but I didnt know what his books looked like. But here he was, asking me if he could look after me. I felt so special. It was probably then, that I developed my little crush...
I assurred him that I would be thrilled to be his patient. I gushed a little, and probably batted my eyelids too. Just kidding...
The Boss said that during my next pregnancy, we would do whatever I needed to get me through. He said that if I had experienced anxiety before, it was nothing compared to how I would feel next time. I was told I could have as many scans as I wanted. He has a little machine in his room, so I would probably get to see teh baby each time. I could call anytime I needed, 24 hours a day. I could come in whenever I needed to, between appointments. At the end, I could have foetal heart monitoring daily, or even have a little stay in hospital before the birth to get me through the last weeks. I could be induced early, or have a c-section early (37-38 weeks) if I wanted.
Well, this was most reassurring. It made me think my next pregnancy would be a breeze! I would be coddled and wrapped in cotton wool...which I think all pregnant mothers should be anyway, but here I was, lucky enough to have it actually happen. I left the appointment feeling lighter than I had in weeks. The fear of another pregnancy had dimmed somewhat. I had put my trust in this man and I knew he would see me through successfully.
You know what? I think Sybella sent The Boss to me also. She knew how distressed I was during her pregnancy and how I feared the worst. And she knew I would have more children, so that Jack wouldnt be an only child here on Earth. She wanted me to feel safe again. She wanted to make sure my next (and probably last) pregnancy was enjoyable. I love this about her. I love how good she is at looking after us, even though I should be the one looking after her. I really think that if she were here, and got to grow up, have birthdays, get married and have children of her own, she'd look after everyone around her. She'd be caring like that.
So thankyou, my Sybella, for sending me this doctor, to look after me and your future little sister or brother. Such a beautiful big sister you are already.
Now, my reason for seeing The Boss was threefold: post-natal checkup and grief counselling, pre-natal counselling and preparation (for subsequent babies) and taking time to establish a relationship with this man prior to him hopefully undertaking my future antenatal care. I also wanted him to investigate my fertility, to see whether I would have problems conceiving next time around, like I had with Sybella. We werent anywhere near ready to start "trying" (gosh, I hate that word. It sounds so forced) but I am a planner, an organiser and I like to be prepared. So I made an appointment with The Boss.
On the day of my appointment, I met Tori beforehand for a coffee. She ended up coming up to The Boss's rooms with me and waiting with me for the hour (trust me, he is worth waiting for) before we got in.
It was finally my turn. The Boss walked right out of his office, over to my chair. He shook my hand, smiled and looked me right in the eye. "Come in, Stephanie," he said. He turned to Tori and explained that he had another student in the office with him, but he might ask her to sit out in the waiting room with Tori. I told the Boss that the student didnt need to do that, I was happy for her to sit in. The reason for this, is that medical students, particularly those majoring in obstetrics and gynaecology, need to be aware of the prevalence and effect of stillbirth and pregnancy loss. I suspect that many young doctors probably go into their specialty thinking it will be lovely to be surrounded by life and birth and possibilities. And for the most part, that is what the job entails. But there is the small element of tragedy when it comes to obstetrics and I like to think that I did this student a favour by letting her hear my story. Of course, I am grossly generalising when I say obstetric students go in thinking it is all pink babies and fluffy clouds. These ladies and gentlemen are clever enough to become doctors in the first place, I am sure that they have enough awareness to know that there arent always happy endings. But my point is, that I thought it was important for the student to see the other side of the coin. So I allowed her to stay. By that token, I asked Tori into the room too, for education's sake. She was so thoughtful that she said to me, "no Steph, this isnt about me learning, I am coming in purely to support YOU." Which I was thankful for.
In the room, the Boss sat at his desk across from me. He leaned across the table, took my hand in both of his and looked me in the eye. "I am so sorry for your loss" he said with utmost sincerity. He stayed like that for a few more moments, to cement his message of respect and condolence. It was very moving.
We discussed many things during our appointment. The Boss had suspicions that if Sybella had been born alive, there would be a high probability that she would be a very sick little girl, and possibly wouldnt have survived the first year. This was in spite of the fact that we still havent had the post-mortem results returned to us, but I trust that he would know best. He would have seen a lot more situations like these than I have.
I relayed my concerns about infertility. He assurred me with conviction that the reason I had experienced infertility was indeed because of uterine adhesions, and since they had been removed, I shouldnt anticipate any other problems in this respect. He wrote me a referral for a sonohysterogram to check my tubes and uterine cavity. He asked me to have that performed after my next period. He told me that I could get pregnant as soon as I wanted, and medically, there was no reason to wait. But to be very very sure that I had grieved for Sybella before I embarked on another pregnancy.
He asked me what kind of antenatal care I planned for my next pregnancy. With Sybella, I had used the public system, and had regular clinic visits in the Outpatients ward every four weeks. Each time I would see a different doctor or midwife. I feared having to go through this system again, seeing a different doctor every time. I didnt want to be my own advocate. I didnt want to fight for extra ultrasounds or foetal heart monitoring, having to explain my story at each visit. I didnt want, like last time, tell a different doctor that my baby's movements were weak, and be dismissed, because even though they were weak, I was still having ten a day. What I wanted was one person, who knew my whole story. From Jack's ceaserean, to having a retained placenta, to infertility, to treatment, to Sybella's pregnancy, birth and death. Who had all my results and scans and blood tests in front of him. Who had access to Sybella's post-mortem results. Someone who would do whatever I needed in light of my anxiety.
I told this to The Boss. He nodded in agreement. Then HE asked ME if he could be my doctor. He explained that he understood if I wanted to return to the Clinic for any reason (e.g. to relive the same antenatal care and have a happy outcome this time). I was stunned, because I had never assumed that he would undertake my future antenatal care...I had hoped, but I didnt know what his books looked like. But here he was, asking me if he could look after me. I felt so special. It was probably then, that I developed my little crush...
I assurred him that I would be thrilled to be his patient. I gushed a little, and probably batted my eyelids too. Just kidding...
The Boss said that during my next pregnancy, we would do whatever I needed to get me through. He said that if I had experienced anxiety before, it was nothing compared to how I would feel next time. I was told I could have as many scans as I wanted. He has a little machine in his room, so I would probably get to see teh baby each time. I could call anytime I needed, 24 hours a day. I could come in whenever I needed to, between appointments. At the end, I could have foetal heart monitoring daily, or even have a little stay in hospital before the birth to get me through the last weeks. I could be induced early, or have a c-section early (37-38 weeks) if I wanted.
Well, this was most reassurring. It made me think my next pregnancy would be a breeze! I would be coddled and wrapped in cotton wool...which I think all pregnant mothers should be anyway, but here I was, lucky enough to have it actually happen. I left the appointment feeling lighter than I had in weeks. The fear of another pregnancy had dimmed somewhat. I had put my trust in this man and I knew he would see me through successfully.
You know what? I think Sybella sent The Boss to me also. She knew how distressed I was during her pregnancy and how I feared the worst. And she knew I would have more children, so that Jack wouldnt be an only child here on Earth. She wanted me to feel safe again. She wanted to make sure my next (and probably last) pregnancy was enjoyable. I love this about her. I love how good she is at looking after us, even though I should be the one looking after her. I really think that if she were here, and got to grow up, have birthdays, get married and have children of her own, she'd look after everyone around her. She'd be caring like that.
So thankyou, my Sybella, for sending me this doctor, to look after me and your future little sister or brother. Such a beautiful big sister you are already.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Tori
Tori: to.ri (noun) tawr-ahy, tohr-ahy ~ 1. medical supremo 2. superstar/charismatic to the max 3. Steph's hero.
That's her. She's my brother Sam's girrrrrrlfriend. And I love her.
I never had a sister. And I've had old boyfriends whose sisters weren't....very nice to me. There is nothing worse than feeling completely unwelcome and intrusive and unimportant, a feeling brought on by the treatment of someone else your OWN age!
So I swore black and blue that when my brothers had girlfriends, I would be welcoming, and kind, and interested in them. I think I've done okay so far. They'll have to vouch for me.
I met Tori in April 2006. Jack was 7 weeks old. It had just been discovered that some of my placenta was left inside my uterus, I had just had the D&C (that had rendered me infertile for 18 months) to remove the tissue, and had arrived at my mum's house for some TLC. Kelvin, Jack and I were walking down the driveway and Sam and Tori were backing out in the car. I saw this cute little blonde haired girl poke her head out the window and exclaim "are you okayyyyyy? ....so nice to meet you!"
I liked her immediately.
Fast forward four years. She and Sam are still going strong. She has watched Jack grow up. She has become my friend irrespective of her realtionship with Sam. I consider her my friend, independent of him. I am not nice to her because she is Sam's girlfriend and it's polite. I love her because she is nice, and she is cool and funny. She is warm, she makes an effort with everyone she meets. Her charisma is electrifying. There are no games. She is accepting, non-judgemental.
She is the first person who sent me a text message after Sybella died.
The photo of the two of us above was taken in December 2009. I was 18 weeks pregnant with Sybella....and a tad...puffy. Even my face was retaining water! I cant believe how bloated I look. Our family had gone to Bluey's Beach over Christmas, and we were spending the day at the beach. Tori looks beautiful, as per usual.
Tori is about to finish her degree in Medicine at Sydney Uni in September. She's smart.
She has done her Obstetrics and Gynaecology training a few years ago, I think. In the process, she considered one of her doctors so progressive and talented, and basically the best in his field of obstetrics and gynaecology, that she considered him her mentor. She worked under him, building a relationship and learning as much as she could in this field.
Now, this doctor IS considered the best in his field. I think he's a little famous in the pink and squishy world. I wont name him because I'm not sure if he'd like it. So I'll call him The Boss.
Tori organised for me to see The Boss shortly after Sybella died. Now, The Boss is so dang popular and sought after that you cant get in to see him if you are a normal plebian. But thanks to Tori, I was a shoe-in.
Because of Tori, I was about to embark on the safest medical professional relationship I have ever experienced. I was about to feel the most comforted and coddled that I ever had. And it was exactly what I needed.
Thanks Torasaurus xx
Considering More Children
I deliberately named this post Considering More Children, not Considering More Pregnancies, because as the time comes to think about adding to our family, Kelvin and I have been talking seriously about adoption.
Not just adoption, though. I definitely want to be pregnant again and give birth to a biological child, if nothing else, to put faith back into my own body. And to give life again, to welcome a new baby that we have created, to experience the midwife placing a warm, wet, crying baby on my breast. I need to do that.
But Kelvin and I are also very much aware of countless children in the world who are without families. So I am going to divide this post in two parts, one dedicated to adoption, one to pregnancy.
Considering Pregnancy Again
When Sybella was first born, and after we left the hospital, I was flooded with hormones and instincts. All new mothers experience this, and it's normal, of course. But I didnt have my baby to nurture (physically). She wasnt here. So my thoughts led to desperation to get pregnant again as soon as possible. All I wanted was a baby in my arms. I felt empty. I was full of milk and tears. When I started my cycle again exactly a month after Sybella's birth, I took it as a good sign that my body was ready. But then I panicked. What on Earth was I thinking? I didnt want a "new" baby, I wanted Sybella. I read somewhere that you arent ready to get pregnant again until you can differentiate between wanting a new baby, or wanting the baby that died. And I still wanted the baby that died. So I wasnt ready. But I was struck. Struck with fear. Fear that I'd never have another baby. Fear that we'd experience infertility again. Fear that my next baby will also be stillborn. Fear that Jack would be an only child. When you are by nature, a maternal entity, someone who has known from a young age that they only wanted to be a mother, and who dedicated their studies and profession to children's education while I sat, biding my time until I could have a baby of my own, these fears are paralysing. And considering another pregnancy is paralysing. I cannot feel my grief lifting, so how can I put myself through another pregnancy? What kind of toll will it take on me, physically and emotionally? I guess the only thing to do is to wait. Wait and see. It WILL happen, I know.
I see that little blonde boy so clearly. I think his name is Ned.
Considering Adoption
Back when we were trying to conceive Sybella, and having trouble, Kelvin mentioned the idea of adoption. I was surprised. It had crossed my mind, but I didnt think he'd be up for it. Biological family ties and blood relations are very important to Kelvin, he places much importance on his family name and so does his family. But I guess he has shown me that biology plays a part in families, but there is an element to him that wants to give more of himself. I believe in families, and they are incredibly important. But I am definitely a believer of nurture over nature. I dont agree that blood and biological ties are the only things that make a family.
Ever since reading Confessions From An Unknown Chinese Mother by Xinran, I have a deep desire to adopt a little girl from China. In China, male babies are highly valued, especially in rural areas, quite simply because males are needed for physical strength when farming. Due to the One Child Policy, baby girls that are born are either abandoned and left to die, left at orphanges or killed shortly after birth. As a result, Chinese orphanges are teeming with baby girls. Kelvin and I have often discussed taking this route to build our family. Not because of some romantised ideal to be another Brangelina, or Charlotte from Sex and the City. But because we cannot stand to think of these children, without homes, without families. Kelvin, Jack and I can give a little girl a home and a family. We have the love. We have the resources. I am still a little hesitant. Kelvin is the one here cheering this notion along. I'm really proud of him. I'm proud that he has so much to give. And that he is willing to step outside the box, to create love from his own pain. It will be a few years before we investigate this. Nothing may ever come of it, I dont know. But it is a serious option for us.
So there you have it. They are just ramblings of a grieving mother at this point. Who knows what life has in store for us? I have learned very lately that you can plan till the cows come home, and do everything right, but you still have no control over God's Will.
This time last year, I had no idea that I would be a Babylost Mama by now. So who knows what this time NEXT year has in store?
Not just adoption, though. I definitely want to be pregnant again and give birth to a biological child, if nothing else, to put faith back into my own body. And to give life again, to welcome a new baby that we have created, to experience the midwife placing a warm, wet, crying baby on my breast. I need to do that.
But Kelvin and I are also very much aware of countless children in the world who are without families. So I am going to divide this post in two parts, one dedicated to adoption, one to pregnancy.
Considering Pregnancy Again
When Sybella was first born, and after we left the hospital, I was flooded with hormones and instincts. All new mothers experience this, and it's normal, of course. But I didnt have my baby to nurture (physically). She wasnt here. So my thoughts led to desperation to get pregnant again as soon as possible. All I wanted was a baby in my arms. I felt empty. I was full of milk and tears. When I started my cycle again exactly a month after Sybella's birth, I took it as a good sign that my body was ready. But then I panicked. What on Earth was I thinking? I didnt want a "new" baby, I wanted Sybella. I read somewhere that you arent ready to get pregnant again until you can differentiate between wanting a new baby, or wanting the baby that died. And I still wanted the baby that died. So I wasnt ready. But I was struck. Struck with fear. Fear that I'd never have another baby. Fear that we'd experience infertility again. Fear that my next baby will also be stillborn. Fear that Jack would be an only child. When you are by nature, a maternal entity, someone who has known from a young age that they only wanted to be a mother, and who dedicated their studies and profession to children's education while I sat, biding my time until I could have a baby of my own, these fears are paralysing. And considering another pregnancy is paralysing. I cannot feel my grief lifting, so how can I put myself through another pregnancy? What kind of toll will it take on me, physically and emotionally? I guess the only thing to do is to wait. Wait and see. It WILL happen, I know.
I see that little blonde boy so clearly. I think his name is Ned.
Considering Adoption
Back when we were trying to conceive Sybella, and having trouble, Kelvin mentioned the idea of adoption. I was surprised. It had crossed my mind, but I didnt think he'd be up for it. Biological family ties and blood relations are very important to Kelvin, he places much importance on his family name and so does his family. But I guess he has shown me that biology plays a part in families, but there is an element to him that wants to give more of himself. I believe in families, and they are incredibly important. But I am definitely a believer of nurture over nature. I dont agree that blood and biological ties are the only things that make a family.
Ever since reading Confessions From An Unknown Chinese Mother by Xinran, I have a deep desire to adopt a little girl from China. In China, male babies are highly valued, especially in rural areas, quite simply because males are needed for physical strength when farming. Due to the One Child Policy, baby girls that are born are either abandoned and left to die, left at orphanges or killed shortly after birth. As a result, Chinese orphanges are teeming with baby girls. Kelvin and I have often discussed taking this route to build our family. Not because of some romantised ideal to be another Brangelina, or Charlotte from Sex and the City. But because we cannot stand to think of these children, without homes, without families. Kelvin, Jack and I can give a little girl a home and a family. We have the love. We have the resources. I am still a little hesitant. Kelvin is the one here cheering this notion along. I'm really proud of him. I'm proud that he has so much to give. And that he is willing to step outside the box, to create love from his own pain. It will be a few years before we investigate this. Nothing may ever come of it, I dont know. But it is a serious option for us.
So there you have it. They are just ramblings of a grieving mother at this point. Who knows what life has in store for us? I have learned very lately that you can plan till the cows come home, and do everything right, but you still have no control over God's Will.
This time last year, I had no idea that I would be a Babylost Mama by now. So who knows what this time NEXT year has in store?
Monday, July 12, 2010
Stephanie and Madeline
Stephanie Paige Cole's story of her daughter Madeline's birth.
Stephanie is the founder of The Sweet Pea Project. She is also a superstar. After forty weeks of excited anticipation my due date was finally here. But Madeline didn’t seem to realize that this was the day the doctors had predicted her arrival, and was quite content to stay snug in my belly for a little longer. On Tuesday I went to see my doctor. He examined us, Madeline and I, and said it was up to me. We could induce if we wanted, we could wait if we wanted. We decided to stick it out for a few more days. I trusted my body, it would let me know when the time was right. Madeline would come when she was ready. On Wednesday I lost my mucous plug. Any time now labor could begin! But I was still pregnant when I went to bed that night. “This is all completely normal,” my doctor told me. They were not at all concerned, and neither was I.
My pregnancy was uneventful and complication-free, and I loved every second of it. Sure there was morning sickness that lasted all day, fire-like heartburn, and constant runs to the bathroom- but the discomfort all seemed to melt away whenever I felt my little girl move inside of me. And she was an active little monster! Madeline had regular dance parties every night. She would begin to kick around 11:00pm and would go nonstop until she tired herself out. It was my favorite part of the day. Eating peach ice cream was another surefire way to get her going. A few bites and she was kicking up a storm. Madeline also had very predictable hiccups every morning right around 8:00am. Her hiccups were so predictable that towards the end of my pregnancy I stopped setting an alarm clock, relying completely on Madeline to hiccup me awake every morning. On Wednesday night, after her dance party, my husband read Maddie her bedtime story, just like he had every night since we first found out I was pregnant. After the story we got ready for bed. He gave me a hug and Madeline kicked me so hard that he felt it through my belly into his, and we joked that she was jealous of me hugging her Daddy. That was the last time either of us felt her kick. I woke up to unusual movement a few hours later. It felt like Madeline was twitching. I woke Richy up and we considered going to the hospital. The twitching stopped, and I wasn’t cramping or anything, so we went back to bed.
On Thursday I didn’t wake up until after 10:00am. No hiccups. That should have been my first sign that something was wrong. I ate ice cream for breakfast, hoping that the sugar rush would get her moving. I had heard that babies tend to slow down a bit right before birth, so I thought maybe labor was about to begin. I took a shower and rubbed my belly and sang to Madeline. Nothing. I was getting pretty nervous as I got out of the shower, and was on the phone with the nurse from maternal fetal medicine before I had even gotten dressed. She said I should come in just to get checked out, just to ease my mind. I called my husband as I was getting dressed, but he said he couldn't leave work. I sat on my bed and noticed that my belly looked different. Madeline seemed to be lying sideways. I called my husband back and told him that I thought maybe he should come with me, but he said that everything was fine and that I could call him if I needed and he would leave work right away. I didn't protest. I called my mom to let her know that I was going to the hospital. She offered to meet me there, but I told her there was no need for that, I would just call her later and let her know how things went. I grabbed my pillow and the camcorder, just in case I did end up going into labor, and headed out to the car. My hospital bags were already in the car. One bag with our stuff for labor, and one with clothes for all three of us for the hospital stay. Those bags had been waiting patiently in my backseat for weeks.
The hospital is about a forty-five minute drive from my house. I spent the entire ride rubbing my belly and alternating between singing to Madeline and begging her to move. At one point I started to cry and pleaded with her to please just kick once for Mommy. "It doesn't have to be a big kick Sweet Pea" I told her, "just let Mommy know you are alright." Nothing. I stopped at a red light less than a mile from the hospital and just as the light changed to green and I began to make a left turn I swore I felt her move a little. I breathed a sigh of relief and pulled into the parking lot, parked my car and walked upstairs to Labor & Delivery.
Telling the L&D nurse that I was here because I hadn't felt movement all day made it seem more real, and a little scary, but I convinced myself that it was going to be okay. At this point my worst case scenario was that something was wrong and they would have to do an emergency c-section. My mind never even drifted to worse possibilities. After forty-one weeks of complication free pregnancy, I thought Madeline was a sure thing. The nurse had me give a urine sample and then led me to a small room. She tried to find Madeline's heartbeat with the Doppler. She wasn't able to find it, but she said that the Doppler was acting up and asked me to wait one minute while she got the ultrasound machine. My mom walked in just as she was about to do the ultrasound. My mom is such a good mom. I am eternally grateful to her for ignoring me and coming anyway. The nurse began to do the ultrasound, but stopped after just a few seconds. She turned off the monitor and again blamed the machine. This ultrasound machine is so old and useless, was the lie she used. She told me she would take me across the hall to a newer machine, she just had to go make sure it was available. When she left the room my mom looked at me with worried eyes, she looked so much more worried than I was. She said she thought we should call Richy, that he needs to come now, and she stepped out into the hallway to call him. They took me across the hallway and I was still so oblivious to what was about to happen that when we walked into the room, I smiled. This was the same room where we first learned that Madeline was a little girl. I loved this room.
The head of maternal fetal medicine came in to do the ultrasound, along with the attending nurse. They had been the ones to follow me throughout my pregnancy, so it was nice to see faces I knew. The nurse stood by my side and I noticed that she looked very worried. I asked her if everything was okay, if she thought something was really wrong. She told me that they just wanted to be sure, but didn't really make eye contact. She must have already known. I think by that point, everyone knew but me. The doctor began the ultrasound and turned to me, "I'm sorry Mrs. Cole, the baby is gone." It didn't make sense to me. I told him no. I told him to do it again. He put the wand back on my belly and turned the screen to me. He pointed to her heart. It was still. I have no memory of seeing it though, I think I had lost my vision by that point. I had also lost my ability to process information. I felt like I was falling, I was dizzy, I couldn't breathe. I didn't want to breathe. Nothing made sense. The nurse began crying and my mom rushed over to me and started stroking my hair and talking to me. I pushed them both away and, trying desperately to get hold of myself and remain calm, I turned to the doctor and said "Okay, so what can we do now? What do we do?" He looked at me sympathetically and began talking to me quietly and gently about inducing labor. Oh my God, I still have to give birth?!? "No, no. We need to fix this. How do we fix this? How do we get her back? What can I do?" Everyone just stood there looking at me with such sadness, offering me nothing but their own tears and broken hearts. Still lying on the ultrasound bed with goo all over my belly I took my mom's cell phone and called Richy. I was so consumed by shock and disbelief that when he answered I just flatly said, "She's gone. Madeline's dead." Then I handed the phone back to my mom. I wasn't the only one who couldn't process the truth. My mom had to repeat it a dozen times before Richy stopped saying, "Wait, what?" He was in a car with a co-worker about an hour away from the hospital. His co-worker immediately began driving to the hospital, with Richy sobbing uncontrollably the entire way.
Back at the hospital, someone had led me to a small windowless room somewhere in the L&D wing. I don't remember getting off the ultrasound bed or walking to the room. I only remember being there. I do remember someone handing me a gown and telling me to change into it, but I refused. I just sat on the bed, completely still and silent, and stared at the walls. My mom stood motionless nearby. At one point I told her I was going to kill myself. She closed her eyes and whispered, "I know." When Richy finally arrived our doctor was waiting for him at the elevator. He brought him to my tiny corner of hell and left us alone for awhile. My mom stepped out and Richy and I collapsed into each other and cried and cried and cried.
Eventually it was time to move to a Labor & Delivery room and begin the induction. It was about 7:00pm at that point. My body was shaking so hard that they had difficulty putting in the IV and getting everything started. They gave me blankets, but the chill was coming from inside. No amount of blankets could warm me, nothing could stop my shaking. When I started to feel contractions they gave me an epidural. They didn't want me to have to feel pain. I couldn't have cared less about contractions at that point. I was numb. I was dead. Richy lay on a cot next to my bed. My mom curled up in a chair in the corner. Nobody spoke. Nobody cried. We all just lay there hoping to wake up from this nightmare. At one point I thought I felt a kick and I made the nurse use the Doppler. Of course it was nothing, Madeline was still dead, but the nurse got the Doppler out and checked for me. I rolled back over and cried quietly into my pillow. After nineteen hours of labor it was time to push. I didn't cry out or groan or yell or any of that dramatic garbage. I just did what I had to do. I pushed for two hours before they finally resorted to vacuum extraction. They told me they just needed me to give one more push and I quietly said, "No. I can't." The nurse stroked my arm and told me I was doing so well and that I was almost there, but that was the problem- it was almost over. One more push and they would take her from me. I wanted to keep her with me, in my body. I didn't want to give birth to death, I just didn't want to do this anymore. I wanted to stop and go home and come back tomorrow and have it all be different. But my body betrayed me and pushed her out. I felt my daughter being pulled from my body, and then delivery was over. She was out, she was dead. It was 2:11pm, Friday January 5th, 2007. No one spoke as the nurse carried Madeline over to the warmer, where my mom helped to bathe her. The doctor gently told me, "It was a girl." Was. He said WAS. Richy was sobbing uncontrollably in the corner of the room. He had doubled over as they pulled her out. I looked over and saw him standing there sobbing. "I could feel my soul being pulled out of me" he whispered. That is exactly how it felt for me, only mine was physical- my daughter, my soul, was pulled from my body. He says his felt more like burning, but it was the same- she was a part of us, and when she died it killed us.
My mom walked across the room, holding her first grandchild in her arms. She handed Madeline to Richy and I watched as his face crumpled. He bent his face close to hers and whispered, "I was going to call you MadeLION." They were still stitching me up, so I couldn't hold her yet. Richy stood next to me and cradled his daughter against his chest and told her how much he loves her and how beautiful she is. Then he handed her to me. My daughter is in my arms. This is the moment I had been waiting for since before I ever even conceived, but it was never like this. I looked down at her; really saw her for the first time. She was so beautiful. What struck me most were her eyes, tightly shut but still so gorgeous- big and almond shaped like her daddy's. The nurse later told me that they were brown like mine, I never got to see that. She had my high cheekbones and my ears, my little sister's nose. She was perfect. There is something about holding your child for the first time, especially your firstborn... there aren't words to describe the overwhelming rush of love that pours over you, the feeling that this is exactly what you were put on earth to do- to be the mother of this baby. All of those emotions flooded over me as I stared at her in awe. I couldn't believe that we were capable of making something, someone, so beautiful and perfect. It only took a few seconds before reality settled in. Yes she was here, she was beautiful and perfect and amazing and mine, but she was also dead. We had a few hours with her at the most, and then we would never see her again.
After an overnight labor that lasted 21 hours, I was completely exhausted, but I didn't dare close my eyes. It was so hard, my eyelids were so heavy and I had to fight to keep them open. I knew that this was all the time I would ever have with my daughter, and I didn't want to miss one second. I cradled her in my arms, her head resting in the crook of my left arm. I snuck my index finger into her fist, her tiny little fingers wrapped around mine. I told her how beautiful she is and how much I love her, I told her how sorry I was that I couldn't protect her. I sang "Oh Sweet Pea" and "You Are My Sunshine" to her. Sometimes I cried a little, but mostly I just stared at her. The nurse took her out of the room to take some photographs, and then brought her back to me. I held her for awhile longer, until Richy said it was time. Her skin was starting to get cold and her mouth was getting red. Her body was letting go, and it was time for us to do the same. I didn't want to, but Richy said we had to. I needed him to make that decision. If it were up to me I would probably still be holding her. We each kissed her one last time and told her how much we love her. My body shook as the nurse gently took her out of my arms and walked out of the room with her. I never saw her again.
They told me it was time to move me out of labor & delivery and into a recovery room. Once in my room, the nurse told us that dinner was over and gave Richy a voucher for the cafeteria so that we could get some food, and then began to explain how to use the television's remote control. I stared at her blankly, who cares about food or TV? Nothing had ever seemed more ridiculous. They kept me at the hospital for the weekend. Richy was anxious to go, but I didn’t want to leave. I wanted nothing to do with the outside world. The idea of leaving the hospital and reentering the world was horrifying. As they wheeled me out to the car I clutched Madeline's little green elephant and covered my face with my hands. I didn't want to see anyone and I didn't want anyone to see me. I felt stupid, leaving without my baby. I felt like I failed. Driving home was hell. It felt so wrong to leave the hospital without Madeline. Walking back into our house without her was hell. Facing her room, her crib, her clothes, it was all too much. For the first week I stayed on my couch with the lights off and stared into space. Blood, breast milk and tears flowed from me and I stared with disgust at the saggy emptiness of my belly. As the shock lifted, the depression took over. I hated my body for not protecting my baby, I hated myself for being alive.
Somehow slowly, too slowly even to notice, I began to come back to life. I was different, definitely, but parts of me started to come back a little. Sometimes something was funny, and I smiled. Sometimes I even laughed. Nothing ever went back to normal, but life continued on and slowly I began to participate in it again. Madeline never left my mind, but I was able to see outside of the darkness of her death a little. I was able to look at her pictures and smile at how beautiful she really was. After a few months Richy and I decided that we were ready to try to have another child. We were scared out of our minds, but we were determined not to let fear control us. Madeline was never meant to be an only child, and we were ready to bring her little sibling into the world. Plus, it had taken a year to conceive Madeline so we thought starting soon would be a good idea. This time it only took a couple of months. The pregnancy was a stressful, scary, and emotional time for me- but it was also a gift and I treasured every second. We induced labor two weeks early because I was getting very nervous toward the end of the pregnancy, and after a long labor and emergency cesarean, Madeline's little brother Ben was born healthy and alive. It was six days after his big sister's first birthday. His cry was the sweetest sound I have ever heard.
Madeline would be two and a half by now, and there is still not a day (or an hour, or a second) that goes by that I don't think of her. Some days are harder than others, but most days truly are good. I have learned how to exist in this new life I was forced into. I created the Sweet Pea Project to reach out to other bereaved parents, and I find that helping others does wonders for me as well. I am pregnant again with another little boy, Nathaniel, and I am still as nervous as ever about the pregnancy- innocence and naiveté are not things that can grow back with time. I am, however, full of hope and I do believe that this baby can and will come home with me- something I was never fully able to believe while pregnant with Ben.
I am at a place now where I am comfortable with who I am, a mother to children both living and dead. If someone comments on my belly I always tell them it is my third. If I am asked if Ben is my first I always say, "No, he has a big sister." Sometimes it goes no further than that, but I no longer dread the follow-up questions the way that I used to. Madeline is my daughter and I am proud of her. It is Mother's Day as I sit here writing this, and I am overwhelmed with gratitude to the little girl who first gave me the beautiful title of Mother. I am madly in love with all of my children, but ask anyone, there is always a special place for the first born in a mother's heart.
Perspectives
I am in the process of collecting stories from other babylost mama's, that I will post here so that you can gain some other perspectives, not just mine, day in and day out!
Hopefully it will be therapeutic for these wonderful ladies to write their stories, and hopefully all my readers can gauge a collection of different experiences.
If you are a babylost mama and you would like to donate your story to be published here, leave me a comment, or email me (address in profile).
Hopefully it will be therapeutic for these wonderful ladies to write their stories, and hopefully all my readers can gauge a collection of different experiences.
If you are a babylost mama and you would like to donate your story to be published here, leave me a comment, or email me (address in profile).
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