The eternal merry-go-round

I am grieving.

I do not have a sickness that can be caught.

I don't have a bad attitude.

I have not lost perspective.

I am not eternally ungrateful for all things, just because I am missing and grieving one thing.

I am not spiritually weak.

I did nothing to deserve this, so please don't judge.

A pill will not fix me. Some time off will not fix me. You cannot fix me.

 

I'll learn, I'll keep breathing, I'll move forward.

But there is a part of me that will always be broken.

 

A part that will always be missing.

 

I am not lost, though I feel it sometimes.

 

I am not just depressed, though it may turn into that.

 

I am not alone, and yet I've never felt so lonely.

 

I am nothing that I once was.

 

I've been put through the fire, and I'll come out of this a different person.

 

You may wish for the old me back. I wish for her too. But she is gone. Buried. Alive only in memory.

 

I hope, oh I hope, that somehow, in some way, I'll get through this and be better for it.

I hope to find meaning and purpose in my loss.

 

I hope to find strength again.

 

But I am the only one who can discover peace, hope and joy again. 

 

In my own time.

 

In my own way.

 

You may plead with me, beg to me, "Look! It's right here! Just be happy again!"

 

But your efforts will only be in vain.

 

Happiness will never come from outside of me again.

 

It must . . . it can only . . . be unearthed from the brokenness within.

 

At times I will have it all together on the outside. At times, I will fall apart.

 

I'm on an eternal merry-go-round.

 

I am never through the sadness. Anger. Denial. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.

 

Each stage is just a tease. I conquer it. I get through it. Then . . .

 

It is back again.

 

One day, I hope I can get off the incessant changes of grief.

 

Until that day, love me for who I am. Accept me right where I'm at.

 

Know that I'm still me. Even if . . .

 

I am grieving.

 

Dedicated in love to all of those who are grieving right now. My thoughts and prayers are with you.

Kristi's Story -- A lonely journey through ectopic pregnancy

I'm honored to share Kristi's story of a loss due to ectopic pregnancy.

Her story highlights several factors that are unique to an ectopic pregnancy or other early pregnancy loss:

• A husband often feels so different than the mom about the loss because he hasn't had a chance to bond with the baby.
• His reactions are often NOT helpful to the mom, which can make the loneliness in an early loss that much more painful. (Though I admit that his actions legitimately might be helpful to him.)
• Ectopics are hard for doctors to diagnose. This is why it's so important that we moms are in tune to our bodies and demand the care we (and our babies) deserve. When something is wrong, we have to trust our instincts.
• Medical personnel often don't treat ectopic pregnancies as the loss of a baby. The lack of compassion gives off the the feeling that we are just being "drama" and that "people miscarry every day, so what's the big deal?" The lack of validation for our loss -- and, therefore, the invalidation for our grief -- creates a very tricky journey of grief to navigate.

Her story also highlights what I'm sure all of us in the pregnancy-loss camp would agree with:

• Your loss changes you in a deep and profound way. And no matter how much you want to go back in time and have things the way they always were . . . you simply can't. And that is really hard to deal with.
• Your loss opens you up to a new world . . . a world of grief. A world where babies die. And a world that will probably never feel safe to you again.

On Christmas Eve, I was finishing up work and noticed that my eyes kept getting blurry and I felt dizzy.

Earlier in the week, I had started to wonder if I could possibly be pregnant because I wasn't feeling the usual signs of menstruation about to start, and I was tired more and having some nausea. So after the blurry vision and dizziness started that night, I decided to take another pregnancy test. (I had taken one a few days earlier which was negative, but thought it might have been too early to test.)
When I saw a faint second line on the test, I was overcome with joy . . . as well as full of anxiety about how my husband would feel. I decided not to say anything to him until I saw the doctor on Monday and knew for sure. 

On Sunday, Christmas Day, the spotting began.


It seemed to take forever waiting for Monday morning to come so I could call the doctor's office.  When Monday morning came, my husband planned a last-minute trip out of town to drop off some car parts at a machine shop and maybe to stop on our way out to see one of his daughters who is pregnant. While he was loading up the van, I called the doctor's office and found out that they were closed that day.

On the way to my step-daughter's house, I suddenly had to throw up, and hung my head out of the window to do so. When we got to the house, my daughter immediately told her half-sister about mommy throwing up, and she in turn immediately asked me, "What are you, pregnant?" I just kind of brushed it off, but told her later when we were alone that I thought I might be. 

Later that day, I admitted to my husband that I could be pregnant, and as I feared, he wasn't happy about it. He was constantly being negative about it, saying that he was too old to have another baby (he was 42 and I was 34) and that he had nothing to show for his life.

When we got home, we noticed our pet guinea pig was acting funny and wouldn't eat. I called and made an emergency visit to the vet and found out that she had an obstruction probably from chewing on the string to my pajamas a few days earlier, and she might not make it.

The next morning, the vet called to tell us that the guinea pig didn't make it. Then I went to the doctor and anxiously waited in the room for the doctor to come in and tell me for sure if I was pregnant. With my husband acting the way he was, I didn't know how to feel.

When the doctor came in, I could tell she looked nervous. She told me that the urine test came back negative but would call me with the results of the blood test. I immediately started crying and told her that I wasn't sure if I wanted to be pregnant because of the way my husband was treating me. I had wanted a baby for so long and just wished he could be as happy as I was.

I left the doctor's office and went to the vet's office to pick up our dead guinea pig. The nurse called me later with the blood test result and told me that I was pregnant. According to the hCG number, I was about 5 weeks along. Because of the spotting and cramping, I had to keep having my hCG checked.

The following weekend, my husband actually came with me and my daughter to my parents' house  to celebrate Christmas (which is something he never does.) We had a good weekend . . . we bought a couple of new guinea pigs, and he seemed to be taking the pregnancy news better, even though he never talked about the baby. The spotting had stopped for most of the weekend, until it started back up on New Year's Day.

That next Wednesday, my husband was being a total jerk . . . ranting and raving about everything except what was really bothering him (which I knew was the baby), and then storming out to his shop without even saying goodbye. My cramping had gotten much worse that morning, and I finally decided that afternoon to drive myself to the ER. 

I dropped off my daughter at the shop with him and told him where I was going. I spent several hours alone in the ER waiting to have a transvaginal and abdominal ultrasound. The doctor told me that my hCG levels had been very low for as far along as I was. (The doctor's office had always told me they were rising, but I guess they were never doubling like they should.)

The woman who did the ultrasounds is an old friend of mine, and I could tell from her face that something was wrong. The doctor told me I could just not be as far along as everyone thought (which I knew exactly when I conceived), or it could be either an ectopic pregnancy or an impending miscarriage. With no solid answer, they sent me home.

That Friday, the doctor's office called and told me that my hCG dropped a little and that the doctor wanted to try another ultrasound that Monday. The weekend seemed to drag on forever waiting for Monday to come. When I had the ultrasound, once again I was told that they couldn't see anything on the sonogram, but that my cervix was still closed. The official report came back saying that there was no evidence of an ectopic, and that the radiologist believed it was consistent with an early pregnancy. 

But the next morning, while I was working, I could feel the bleeding start. I ran into the bathroom and saw that the bleeding had gotten heavier. I told my husband I believed I could be miscarrying.  He had a physical therapy appointment he was getting ready to go to for his shoulder surgery, and I told him to go ahead and go. As the bleeding continued to get heavier, I called the doctor's office and they told me to come in and get checked. 

I was devastated to hear that my cervix was now open. It was hard to listen to a baby crying in the room next to me as I waited for my hCG number to come back. My number had risen a little and was told it could be an impending miscarriage or an ectopic pregnancy, or that my pregnancy still could be viable. Again, I was told I should just go home and rest. 

When I got home, I decided to take a bath to help relax. When I got out, I started to freak out when I saw that there was blood running down my leg and that the tub was filled with blood and several clots, including one the size of my hand. I yelled for my husband to come in, and he helped me get dressed and had me lie down. 

I called the ER since the doctor's office was closed and told them what happened and what the doctor had told me. Once they heard which doctor's office I went to (the hospital and a doctor at the clinic are in the middle of a lawsuit and he is banned from the hospital), they told me that I was having a miscarriage and there was nothing they could do for me. They told me to come in if I was bleeding through more than two pads in a half an hour. 

The bleeding stopped a few hours later, but the following night, I was cramping a lot worse. I had taken a Percocet and it wasn't doing anything to help with the pain. I called the ER again and told them that my doctor told me it could be ectopic, and again (once they heard what clinic I went to), they told me that if the doctor really believed I could have an ectopic, they would have done something by now. They inisisted I should just take another Percocet.

The next day, I had another hCG drawn. I was sure that it would be 0, and that I had miscarried. Instead, I was shocked to hear that my number had gone up again. 

The next week, my hCG levels kept rising slowly, but still nothing showed on the ultrasound. My doctor referred me to a gynecologist out of town who wanted to see me the next day. He told me that there was no way that this was a viable pregnancy and that he believed it was in my right tube. He said that on the ultrasound, there was more fluid developing around that tube. The ultrasound also showed fluid behind my cervix and around both ovaries and tubes. 

I told him about all the bleeding the week before, and he was shocked about that, too. Nobody could explain what was going on. My case was not the typical ectopic. 

The doctor suggested that I have the methotrexate injection. [This is a drug that will dissolve the baby and placenta, which would help prevent further damage to the tube.]

I had to wait for the pharmacy to get it ready, so we left to go shopping and kill time for a couple of hours before wereturned. By this time, the wating room was full of pregnant women and women with new babies. I couldn't stop crying as I waited for them to call my name. 

When the nurses brought me back to the room, and I saw the sonogram machine and the chart on the wall showing the various stages of pregnancy, I bawled harder than I ever have in my life. After the nurses gave me the two injections in my hips, they let me out the back way, so I wouldn't have to see all the pregnant women again. 

I cried the whole way home. I had told my husband that it made it even harder knowing this was my last chance to have a baby. At first, he seemed to be more open to trying again, but he hasn't even touched me in so long, like he's afraid I'll get pregnant again.

 I feel so alone. Not a single day goes by that I don't think about the baby. It's my first thought upon waking and my last thought before going to sleep each night. 

Tomorrow I go back to see the doctor who gave me the methotrexate injection to have an HSG test. [This is a test where they inject die into your tubes to see how if there is any blockage.] I am anxious to find out how much damage to my tubes there has been. 

I have had two laparoscopic surgeries in the past, with lots of scar tissue, adhesions and cysts having to be removed. I developed pelvic inflamatory disease after the second surgery, so I am worried what the doctor will find. I don't know if my husband will be coming with me or not. I might be going through this alone as well. 

I just wish I could back in time before any of this ever happened. It's so hard even getting on Facebook now, especially when I see pregnancy updates from two of my step-daughters, some friends, and my husband's cousin. It seeems like every day, somebody else is announcing their pregnancy. I even had to suspend my account for awhile because it just got to be too much to bear.

I don't like this woman who I have become . . . this woman who is angry and hurting all the time . . . this woman who knows that everything that you have ever wanted can be taken from you just like that, and there's nothing you can do about it.


A word to other mommas . . .

I would tell other women going through this that they should not be afraid to let their feelings out . . . that it's okay to be angry, it's okay to be sad. I felt so bad at first that I was angry at God until I talked to my pastor, and he made me realize that it's okay and natural to be angry with God, and that "God's got big shoulders and can take it."

I also have realized that I feel a lot of guilt and anger at myself. I've realized that I sometimes blame myself for being anxious about being pregnant, that maybe somehow my fears caused it. I also have been so angry at my husband for his reaction to my pregnancy and have blamed him, but I know deep down it's not anybody else's fault that this happened, that no one caused it. 

Also, it's very important and helpful to reach out to others who have been there for help to get you through it. I feel so alone with my friends and family, because none of them have any ideas what I am going through, so the support pages on Facebook have been a godsend for me.


Thank you, Kristi, for sharing your story of your baby, and the experience of your loss. I know the loneliness of losing a baby to ectopic -- but know that you are never truly alone in this loss. Thank you for being brave in sharing your story.

I feel like every pregnancy loss story is so important and deserves to be told. If you would like to share your story, please email me at renyeart@gmail.com. We can post your story anonymously if you would prefer. 

My goal in sharing stories on this blog is:

1) To honor our beloved babies and keep their memory alive.
2) To validate and honor the grief of the moms who have lost their little one.
3) To be a resource to women who are hoping to find someone, somewhere out there, who can relate to their feelings of loss. I hope this blog will be that resource.

Am I over it?

Yesterday was weird for me.

It was a good day mostly -- I had a friend come by for a few hours for lunch before we both headed off for our support group. We stopped by wal-mart on our way to group and picked up ovulation predictor kits . . . laughing because it would be clear to the check-out girl that we both just wanted to get "knocked up." It felt good to be carefree for a little bit, to laugh and to think about getting pregnant again without sheer panic.

I told her, "Wouldn't it be fun if we got pregnant at the same time?!" We both agreed that it would be fun, but deep inside, we knew the potential for how painful that could be. What if one of us loses our baby, and the other goes on to have a healthy baby? A pretend innocence can only last so long. I had to add, "Well, it would be fun anyway if we both had healthy pregnancies, and healthy babies that we could keep."

Yesterday was also good because I was able to figure out our vegan meal plan and go grocery shopping, as well as run some other errands in the morning/early afternoon. It was nice to be productive earlier in the day. The check-out girl at Fred Meyer told me she wanted to come eat at my house because we eat healthy. I laughed -- but honestly, I take a certain amount of pride in filling a grocery cart with produce and very little else.

Overall, it felt like a very good day.

But I also felt kinda weird yesterday.

My friend and I talked about our losses a lot. It's weird that your baby's death can become normal and natural conversation. But as we talked -- and later at our support group -- I felt like I was talking about Olivia and our loss in a very cerebral way. I just couldn't feel emotional about it. I actually felt far more emotion for my friend's experience yesterday than I could for my own.

As we drove to wal-mart, I thought, I just wish I could put this whole experience in a box, shelve it and forget about it. Just move on, and completely forget this chapter in my life. I want to pretend again that the idea of getting pregnant isn't terrifying. I want to pretend like I'd never experienced a loss, and that life was normal. And not a "new normal." Just NORMAL.

At our group, this was the first meeting where I just didn't feel like I belonged. I was feeling very disconnected from my own feelings. In the past groups, I always could relate to the feelings others shared. But this time, I really just felt like a spectator.

I saw people there that I really cared about. I saw girls that I now consider friends. And one that I have "talked" with over FB and our blogs, but hadn't officially met yet. But deep inside I wondered . . . Does this lack of emotion mean I'm over it? Is this part of an early loss . . . feeling this way after only 3 months? How long will I come to this support group? When will I be moving on?

When I got home, I found Ryan working on his post to tell his side of Olivia's story. I curled up next to him, tried not to read over his shoulder, and eventually fell asleep to the sound of his fingers tapping across the keyboard.

As I lay there in my almost asleep state, I realized that I could never box my loss up -- tempting as it had seemed earlier in the day. To forget my loss meant to forget my love. And the truth is, I had loved Olivia with all my heart from the moment I knew she existed.

The problem is that thinking of my love for her hurts. It's easier for me to be intellectual about my loss. It's a lot harder when I think about my love for her.

Even as I know I couldn't do it -- boxing up everything and pretending to be the old me still sounds pretty tempting.

I got up early this morning and read Ryan's post (which is still just a draft, in case you try to look for it). Reading his side was very eye-opening for me, and yet, very hard. Our loss of Olivia has impacted our marriage and family in such a huge way. I felt yet again that I just can't deny that we had this experience. If I did, I would not just be denying my love for her, but I would be denying my husband's grief too. He grieves for a lost baby, but even more, for his family that would never, ever be the same.

Have you ever felt like boxing it all away, and pretending your loss, and your grief, didn't exist? If you did box it away, what was it like?

Perspective

I came across these words today on the comment section of a different blog.

"I don’t like the fact that every little issue along life’s path, from miscarriages to spats with family, are glorified these days. Blogged about. FB statuses, galore. Sometimes, just for extra annoyingness, cryptic FB statuses. People spending hours whining about what used to be commonplace events.

I’ve had two miscarriages. I have two lovely, healthy girls.

Was I sad about my miscarriages? Yes, very much so. Did I name them, or write a memorial to post online, or turn the conversation back to myself every time anyone spoke about loss or bad luck? No. Because I have perspective.

And I’m counting my blessings. What I actually have more than makes up for the loss of a beautiful idea. And don’t even get me started on people who say they found it hard to care for existing children because of a miscarriage …. Talk about not seeing the forest for the trees."

Well, I guess if she knew me, she'd disapprove of just about everything I've done since we lost Olivia.

I left cryptic FB posts when I really wanted to share with everyone that we were pregnant, but that we might lose the baby. I wanted to beg for the prayers of those who love me so that together we could flood God's throne on behalf of my baby. But my husband and I weren't on the same page about how and when our news should be shared. So cryptic message it was.

I do spend hours thinking, talking and writing about Olivia. Whining? Well. I don't know. Maybe sometimes I whine.

Did I name my child, write a memorial post online, and occasionally turn the conversation back on to my loss when I talk with my friends. Yep.

Do I struggle at times to meet my daughter's every demand on a particularly difficult day? Guilty as charged.

The commenter above does not approve of my actions because she admittedly has "perspective."

But I have done all of these things for the exact same reason. I have perspective.

I've shared in previous posts about how we almost lost Madelyn during my pregnancy twice. Once to threatened miscarriage at 12 weeks. I had hemmorhaged, and after going to the ER, found out I had a 50/50 chance to keep her.

My whole family was prepared to lose her. And we were all very happily surprised when she clung to life.

I named her "Madelyn Jane" in part because of this experience.

Madelyn means "strong woman." She was one strong little girl to hold on even while my body made it so hard for her to do so! Jane means "believer in a gracious God." What a gracious God we serve to let me keep my little girl!

Often -- especially now that I've lost Olivia -- I look at her deep hazel eyes and think, "I almost missed this." I came this close to never knowing the feeling of her arms when she "squeezes the words out of me." I came this close to never snuggling with her in bed, her soft sweaty body squeezed as close to me as possible. I came this close to never hearing the sweetest words ever spoken: "You're my best friend, Mommy. I love you sooooooooooooo much."

I came this close to losing 3 years of precious, beautiful moments with my daughter. I came this close to losing a lifetime more.

And THAT is my perspective.

With Olivia, we too went to the ER early in my pregnancy. The doctor gave us hope. He said he would not give up on our baby. He wasn't willing to call it a miscarriage, or ectopic. He was choosing to believe our little one could make it.

The nurse who called to inform me my hcg numbers had risen also had hope. She hoped everything would be fine, and that our baby would live.

I had hope. Ryan had hope. Our families had hope.

We all had so much hope, and so much love for this little tiny creature we knew would be Maddy's best friend and our beloved child.

The morning we had the final blood draw, I had read in scripture that "With God, all things are possible." I clung to that hope and to the faith that God would do the impossible, and give us Olivia too.

But God's not that predictable. He was strong enough. Her life was possible. But for some reason, He chose to take her straight to heaven.

God had a purpose for Olivia's life. I don't like it and some days, I simply don't approve. But He had numbered her days. Her purpose was not to love on me and let me love on her. Her purpose was not to whisper sweet words, give big hugs, and bless us most amazingly with her adorable presence.

But she DID have a purpose.

And that's why I'm on this journey. That's why I blog, I write, I cry, I talk, I think, I post messages on FB and attend support groups.

Because I have the perspective of a women who almost lost a lifetime with a child . . . but didn't.

And I have the perspective of a woman who almost lost a lifetime with a child . . . and did.



Baby Olivia,

I'm missing you so much today. I hope you are having fun today playing at Jesus' feet. I hope you have become friends with some of my friends' babies. Let me tell you, their moms are amazing. I wish we all could have had playdates together here on earth.

Can't wait to meet you in heaven.

Until then . . . all my love.

Mommy

A big lesson from a little potty

Sometimes God chooses weird times to talk to us.

Mine happened to be while Mommy and Maddy were having Mommy/Maddy pee time. (Now that she's potty training, that's what we call it!)

I was struck by how often I complain these days -- at least mentally. Complain that I'm not pregnant with Olivia. That babies die. That I'll never know my daughter this side of heaven.

Really, I could go on forever about these complaints, but you get the gist.

As I was thinking about my complaints, I realized that I was missing out on everything God WAS doing in my life.  Maybe I have been physically there for it -- but I certainly haven't been recognizing it, or even praising Him for it.

I focus on being terrified of when God will take Maddy . . . instead of thanking Him for her life and health for this day.

I stress about when I will get pregnant next and how that will go . . . instead of trusting that He will be in control, and that His will is always best.

As I grieve the loss of a relationship with my little girl . . . I've failed to recognize the many beautiful, and, I hope, lasting friendships I've created since starting this journey.

In everything around me, I've been focusing on what I don't have or what I'm afraid to lose . . . instead of seeing God's providential hand still working on my behalf, even when I'm angry and bitter at Him.

As I was thinking about this, I thought about how much I do for Maddy, and she has no idea. She complains to me when she doesn't get ice cream or when she doesn't get an extra bed-time book . . . but she doesn't realize how much I do for her, and how much time I give her every day to make sure she's as healthy and as happy as a 3-year-old should be.

I guess God does that with me, too. Works on my behalf, while I don't recognize the half of it, and only tell him the things I'm mad at Him for doing.

I struggled with this idea earlier this week in small group. We talked about giving thanks in all circumstances, and I just didn't know how I could do that. The examples the author of our study gave were too petty, I felt. What about when your child dies?? How do you thank God in THAT circumstance?

But still . . . the idea of giving thanks in ALL things in scripture.

". . . give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus. "

1Thessalonians 5:18 (NIV)

I have a feeling this idea of giving thanks in a loss is going to be a lesson I'm going to have to learn over, and over, and over again. Because, for those of you who don't know, I've been really struggling with anger toward God. And it's really easy for me to focus ONLY on what I've lost.

Seeing glimpses of God's hand does not negate my need to "focus" on my loss through grief. And I think this day is more of a respite, but that the anger, hurt and feelings of betrayal will all come again. But I think having His gentle reminder today really helped me trust, even just a little, more in Him.

And that little bit of trust is giving me some peace and comfort tonight. And for this moment, I am very grateful for the things and people He has given me. And I'm grateful for a God who doesn't give up on us, even when we give up on Him.

Kristin's Story -- Miscarriage at 20 weeks

Tonight, I am honored to share the story and pictures of Cameron Nicole -- a beautiful baby girl miscarried by Kristin. This momma is so brave in sharing all the heart-rending details of going through pregnancy as an 18-year-old with an abusive boyfriend . . . then having to make the decision to let her child die or die herself.

I want to be sure to protect this momma's heart -- so if you want to comment, please keep your comments full of love.

-- Rachel

I lost my daughter, Cameron Nicole, at about 20 weeks gestation due to a number of things. To this day, I am still not sure the EXACT reason I was induced to deliver. I have a general idea, but haven't received many answers.

My pregnancy came as a shock to my former boyfriend and me. When I became pregnant with Cameron Nicole, I was very young -- only 18 years old, and still a kid. So many things ran through my mind when I saw a plus sign appear on the pregnancy stick: This is not good timing. This is NOT the person I want to have kids with. How am I going to support a baby?

Although I was very nervous, I became a mom instantly, and I loved that little baby more than I have ever loved anything.

At first, my pregnancy was picture-perfect. But in the back of my mind, something just felt wrong. I have never suffered a loss, nor have I known anyone close to me who had. Every time I had a Dr. appointment, I was terrified of the baby dying. There was just something that felt wrong. Maternal instinct is an amazing thing.

About 7 weeks into my pregnancy, I was having a lot of cramping. I took myself to the hospital with a fear of having a miscarriage. The Dr. did an ultrasound and couldn't find a heartbeat. I was devastated. They told me the pregnancy may be too early. Or that I could be experiencing an ectopic pregnancy.

I just couldn't believe this was happening. I couldn't breathe. I don't think I cried one time, though . . . I just had to stay strong. My mom was in the emergency room for all 10 hours I was in there. The hospital called in Drs. to come in and look at my ultrasounds, blood tests, and so many more things that I am probably unaware of. I was admitted to the hospital for fear that my tube would rupture if it was an ectopic pregnancy. For the next 3 days they monitored me and checked my hcg levels. By the last day, there was great news: My hcg levels were doubling and I was sent home with so much hope! I had a sonogram appointment scheduled for a week later to check for a heartbeat.

That week was the slowest week of my life. I was so anxious to find out if my baby was alive! At that appointment, I heard the most incredible sound, the sound of my baby's heartbeat. I was so relieved! My mom and I cried together and were just so relieved. At this moment, I realized that things would work themselves out and everything would be okay. I had amazing support from my mom.

This is where my story gets hard for me to tell . . . I honestly believe my daughter potentially saved my life. The father of my daughter (or what I consider him . . . a sperm donor. He was NOT a dad.)was abusive, spent all of our money on alcohol, gambling, other woman, and who knows what! I found out several times that he had been with other women, but didn't have the strength to leave. I felt so embarrassed to be single and pregnant, so I put up with all of the horrible things he did to me. It wasn't until he pushed me up against a wall and locked me in a room. My pregnancy gave me the strength to leave that horrible, toxic home, and to be single and pregnant. I don't know if I ever would have had the courage to leave.

After I moved out of the home I had helped create, I was very fortunate to have an amazing family. Although it was so hard to take the help from my mom, I needed it. I needed a safe place to live.

I can't say that my pregnancy was stress free . . . it was nothing near that. I found out Cameron's "dad" became homeless and unemployed a few weeks after I moved out. I knew that meant no help financially from him. I also knew I would have done everything in my power to keep him away from her. If he put his hands on me while pregnant, what would he do to her?! I talked with so many lawyers about my situation and wrote up a parenting plan so I could sleep at night, knowing his chances of seeing her when she arrived were slim.

October 9, 2010 at around 10 p.m., I went to the emergency room for the second time experiencing severe cramping. When I was brought back and I received 3 enemas because the Dr. said I was "just constipated." I told him repeatedly, "NO, NO, IT'S SOMETHING DIFFERENT, I WOULD KNOW IF I WAS CONSTIPATED!" I was sent home with some type of laxatives, that I refused to use. (Throughout my pregnancy, I don't believe I took ANY type of medications, besides vitamins . . . I would power through any type of pain.)

On October 10, 2010 at around 10 a.m., I was sitting in my office at my desk when the most shocking thing could have happened to me, My water broke. I didn't know what to do with myself. This was my first pregnancy so I didn't know what was normal, and what wasn't. I knew that I had to get to the hospital as soon as possible. I left work bawling, but didn't tell anyone what was happening, just that I needed to leave.

I got to the E.R. and my water was still breaking. I was screaming for someone to help me, and to tell me what was happening and why. I didn't understand I was only 20 weeks along. About an hour after being in the E.R., my mom showed up and I was rushed up to labor and delivery. I was in a little dark room and felt so alone. The Dr. in labor and delivery checked my cervix and did a bunch of other tests. After about an hour after being in that little room, he diagnosed me with "premature rupture of membranes" and said that I had the option to either go home and see if my water bag would seal up, or stay in the hospital to see. Either way, I would have to be on bedrest the rest of my pregnancy. They also said there was about a 30% chance that I would make it full term. I just didn't know how they expected me to make decisions.

While signing my discharge papers, my temperature shot up to 103.2 from 98.0. I started uncontrollably shaking, sweating buckets, and my heart rate was extremely high. The Drs. were horrified and just kept saying they have never seen this before. Experts were called in. About an hour later, the expert Drs. arrived and told me I would have to deliver, and if I didn't, I had a 90% chance of getting sepsis (a blood infection) and a very high chance of ultimately dying.

I was stuck between choosing death for me, or death for my baby. As a mother, I couldn't wrap my head around choosing death for my child. I was more than willing to die for my baby. The Drs. gave me an hour to make a decision. (I think they wanted me to come to terms with what was happening, so I didn't feel forced.) My nurses and Drs. were incredible.

I was on my deathbed, hardly able to even open my eyes I was so sick, and I just couldn't bear the pain any longer. I finally gave in the towel and let them induce me. I could feel myself fading fast. They tried 3 times to induce me, and it was the most incredible pain I had ever felt. I was throwing up, shaking, sweating and screaming my lungs out. My cervix just wouldn't dilate. I was hooked up to so many machines, and had a lot of powerful drugs put in my IV.

The worst parts were when they had to do ultrasounds, I couldn't stand seeing my tiny little baby moving around in there having no idea what was about to happen. I held my pregnant belly and talked to her the whole time. I didn't want to let go. I had over 30 Drs. and nurses coming in and out of my room, doing bloodwork and they even brought in a mobile catscan because at one point they believed I was getting meningitis. I had no hope that I would make it out alive.

Somehow Cameron's dad found out and was calling the hospital begging to come see me. I banned him from showing up . . . I couldn't believe he ever thought he would belong there. He also had the nerve to text me, and my mom repeatedly, "is our baby going to die?" and "is this the end?" Those were not the words I needed to hear.

As soon as labor pains kicked in, they suggested that I get an epidural. When the woman came in to give me the epidural, I started bleeding heavily and it felt like time to push. At that moment, I knew this was it. I think mentally I went away during my delivery. How could I mentally be there delivering a baby I know would die?

I remember hearing the Dr. tell me to push and with one push she was out. Cameron was born at 5:38 a.m. on October 12, 2010. They rushed her away to test for a heartbeat. She lived for 3 short minutes . . . minutes I wasn't awake for. I thank God that my mom was there to hold her hand. I fell asleep and didn't wake up until around 9 a.m. My dad was next to me holding my hand.

I was in the hospital for the next few days feeling a million times better, but feeling the emotional side was unbearable. At first I didn't want to see my baby . . .  I just couldn't imagine seeing her lifeless body. My mom talked me into it and I gave the okay to bring her in.

She looked like a tiny baby, even at only 20 weeks. She had 10 fingers and 10 toes. She was perfect in every way, just beautiful. I did not hold her, I just looked at her for hours. That is the one part I regret. The hospital took a few pictures and got her hand and foot prints. I was sent home with empty arms. It was the most confusing feeling ever: To be pregnant, give birth to a beautiful baby girl, and to leave the hospital without a baby in my arms.

Grieving without the support of a husband/significant other was really hard. I was all alone. Being so young, I had absolutely no friends who could relate. Needless to say, I lost a lot of friendships. I wasn't able to try again for a baby that I wanted so badly.

The Drs. also said I had contracted Chorioamnionitis (also called amnionitis or intra-amniotic infection), which is a bacterial infection that occurs either before or during labor. The name refers to the outer membrane (chorion) and the fluid-filled sac (amnion) that encloses the embryo. Chorioamnionitis affects between 1 and 10% of women at term and up to 33% of patients who deliver preterm. Chorioamnionitis usually develops when bacteria that are part of the normal vaginal flora "ascend" into the uterine cavity. The amniotic fluid and placenta, as well as the baby, become infected. E. coli, group B streptococci, and anaerobic bacteria are the most common causes of chorioamnionitis. E. coli and group B streptococci are also the two most common causes of infection in newborns.



I miss my baby more and more every day. It's crazy to think she has been gone a little over a year now.

A word to other mommas: Some things I would suggest . . .Take as many pictures as possible, every inch of your baby. Hold your baby! I can't say that enough!

Thank you for reading!

Kristin

Thank you, Kristin, for sharing the story of Cameron's life and death. What a beautiful baby girl you had.



I feel like every pregnancy loss story is so important and deserves to be told. If you would like to share your story, please email me at renyeart@gmail.com. We can post your story anonymously.

My goal in sharing stories on this blog is:

1) To honor our beloved babies and keep their memory alive.
2) To validate and honor the grief of the moms who have lost their little one.
3) To be a resource to women who are hoping to find someone, somewhere out there, who can relate to their feelings of loss. I hope this blog will be that resource.