Alicia's Story -- Baby Kenneth, Stillborn at 22 weeks

Alicia contacted me through email and asked if she could share the story of her son. Kenneth was stillborn just last week, following 9 years of trying to conceive and a diagnosis of secondary infertility.

Thank you, Alicia, for sharing the story and photos of your beloved son.

-- Rachel

I recently gave birth to my son Kenneth Raymond, Jr. He was 22 weeks and 5 days old. He was 11" and weighed 1 lb., 10.5 oz.

My son was healthy, and up until that point, my pregnancy was problem free. He didn't take his first breath but he "lived." He lived inside my heart and he made his presence known from the inside every day.

The journey I've endured to conceive my son started nine years ago. I had many difficulties trying to get pregnant. I was diagnosed with secondary infertility after two years of trying. I've taken fertility drugs, I've done artificial insemination but to no avail. I still wasn't pregnant.

I had personally given up and had begun to deal with the fact that I would possibly never have children. After getting married last year, my husband would tell me of these visions he had of me carrying his child. Those visions and the way he described them were music to my ears and that alone made me look into seeking treatment again. After some tests we found out that my fallopian tubes were blocked and that that was probably the reason why I've been having a hard time conceiving.

I opted to have laparoscopic surgery to open my tubes, and lo and behold three months later I was pregnant with our son. I was ecstatic and my family was so excited for me because they knew how much I had longed for this. My one goal in life when I was a child was to be a mom.

Two days before losing my son, I had what I thought would be a regular monthly check up with my doctor. I mentioned some spotting and slight bleeding from the day before which prompted them to do a speculum exam. I had begun to dilate and my son's membranes had begun to bulge through my cervix. I was sent to the emergency room right away. I was admitted and kept under observation. I was having contractions I had yet to feel and my cervix was slowly opening throughout the day.

I had high hopes in getting a cerclage placed in but it was too late. My son was slowly pushing through and through. This was all due to a bacterial infection and an incompetent cervix. There was nothing my husband and I could do except expect the arrival of our son.

He was absolutely beautiful. The moment I held him in my arms was pure bliss. It tore me up inside to have to let him go knowing that meant I'd be coming home with nothing but a card with his prints and two pictures of his lifeless body.

 

It hurts every day. Without the love and support of my husband, I'm not sure where or how I'd be right now. As our last wish, we decided to cremate our son so that he could be by our side forever.

It's a scary thought for us right now, but we have hopes in conceiving a child again. Our son in some type of way has taught us what to look out for this time around. Because of him, we know what has to be done in order to carry out a full-term pregnancy.

Thank you for letting me share my story. I hope it inspires others to do the same.

Can someone PLEASE just find that switch?

I'm not sure exactly the moment when it happened, but I'm pretty sure it happened the moment that second line popped up on the pregnancy test with Olivia.

A switch was flipped.

And for the life of me, I don't know how to turn it off!!!

It was the baby-making switch. The one that gears my heart, my finances, my emotions, my decisions, my (lack) of rational thinking, my fears, my apprehensions, my (almost) everything in me to wanting to MAKE A BABY!

That switch got turned on with Olivia. I desperately wanted to make her, keep her, and love on her forever.

I didn't get 40 weeks with her. I didn't get to take her home. I got 7 weeks with her. It was not enough.

But that switch did NOT turn off. In fact, whatever messages it was sending my body only increased in intensity and drive.

I wanted Caleb. I wanted Elliot.

Now, I'm pretty sure what you might be thinking. "But Rachel," you may say, "you have little miss. You have Maddy. You have full arms and a full heart. You are in the middle of adopting. Surely you are satisfied??"

And the answer is . . . "Yes, I know those things. Yes, my arms and heart are full. But I'm not satisfied. That switch is still on. No matter how much I try to ignore it, appease it, educate it, rationalize to it, excuse it, give in to it, talk about it, indulge it . . . that stupid switch is still on and I can not turn it off."

And you know what? I think you should know that if I COULD turn it off, I actually would at this point. I really would. I would wait until my next promotion. I would wait until Ryan has his dream job. I would wait until the adoption is finalized. I would wait until we owned our home. I would wait until Little Miss was potty trained.

There are billion things I could wait for to make the timing "perfect."

And yet, that switch keeps sending me the message:

 "NOW. Do it now. Make that baby now. Try this month. And if you don't get it, try next month. Keep on trying. Because you don't know how many eggs you really have left. You don't know their quality. You don't know how much time you truly have before your ovaries stop doing their job, nor do you know when all those "perfect" circumstances will line up. You don't know how many more miscarriages or losses you will endure before you bring home a live baby. You have no idea. SO for the love of EVERYTHING IN YOU, KEEP GOING GIRL!!!!"

And yes. That's really what it sounds like.

The hard part is that I don't feel like many people understand. Nor are they supportive. Now, don't get me wrong. They are supportive of ME and love me to death. They are supportive of our family. But they are tired of seeing me hurt. Maybe they want me to move on. Maybe they are telling me I'm doing enough right now, I can't handle another loss or another high-risk pregnancy. Maybe they just don't want me to risk my life again. Maybe they want me to focus on little miss right now, and not another baby.

There are some people that really understand from MEND and from our Rainbow Baby group. But most, well, most don't.

And I get it. The part of my brain that is still totally rational can agree with most of their cases, and I could logically say, "Sure, it's probably not the best time to be trying to conceive."

But I can't find that switch.

It is like being hungry. You can tell yourself it hasn't been that long since you've eaten. You can tell yourself that you shouldn't feel so hungry right then. You can avoid all restaurants, and menus, and even ignore the fridge. You can refuse to read on Facebook what others are currently eating for dinner. You can even give meaning and purpose to your hunger.

But you can't just will away hunger.

It is a force to be reckoned with, willing your body to just satisfy it!

And a force just like the one that is in me.

I wish I could find the switch. I really do.

But I can't.

So, please, be patient and gentle with me as I work through this. As we try to conceive (or try not to conceive even when I want to) and I go through a lot of ups and downs every month. Please don't remind me of every reason right now is the wrong time, because I know all that. Know that some months Ryan and I are on the same page, and other months we really aren't. He is the rational one in all of this, and I'm doing my best to have us make good decisions and be as much on the same page as we can be.

Maybe instead, just ask me how I'm doing with all of it. And be gentle.

And one last favor -- if I do get pregnant and we have a baby, please don't ever say "I knew you'd be pregnant as soon as you adopted! It always happens." OR "You just had to let it go and relax. Once you let it go, God knew and gave you a baby." Or anything like that sort.

We aren't adopting so we can get pregnant. We adopted because we set on that course of action before we were pregnant with Olivia, and I always wanted to adopt. We've been on the adoption road for more than 2 years. We are adopting because we love little miss.

And "relaxing" has never really been a cure for any disease, let alone infertility. So we'll just leave that one alone, too.

:)

One last thing. (I promise). Thanks for still reading my blog. I know it's a lot of the same . . .  "I want a baby I can't have." But -- you're still here, and I still appreciate your support. Maybe now more than ever. <3

15 things you thought you knew about miscarriage . . .

1. Miscarriage could happen to you. But you never thought it would.

2. It couldn't happen to you -- you're too strong.

3. It couldn't happen to you -- you're not strong enough.

4. If it DID happen to you, it wouldn't take long to move on.

5. Love must grow with weeks. The later the miscarriage, the longer and harder the grief.

6. In a miscarriage, the baby just sort of disappears . . . there is no labor or contractions involved.

7. You are safe after 12 weeks.

8. If you lost a baby to miscarriage, your friends and family would know exactly how to support you in your sadness.

9. As long as miscarriage happens in the first trimester, the grief can't be that bad.

10. If you take your vitamins, exercise, plan it out just so, and do everything RIGHT, you are not at risk of a miscarriage.

11. Only unhealthy babies and pregnancies are lost to miscarriage. There are very few other reasons for a loss before 20 weeks.

12. You have control over your body.

13. You would know if something was wrong with your baby.

14. Miscarriage is a bump on the road to family-building. You can always try again.

15. Miscarriage is a tragedy for other people. Not for you . . . Never for you.

15 things you thought you knew about miscarriage . . . 

until you had one.

Insomnia

It's been almost two years, and I never thought I'd be dealing with this still: insomnia.

My friend Jeanne has mentioned a few medical issues that could pertain to my ridiculous wide-eyes that insist on seeing 2 am every night, er, morning.

Whatever is causing it... It has changed. It used to be that I couldn't sleep because every time I tried, I would have a nightmare about Maddy dying... Usually in the form of her falling into a black ocean and disappearing forever. (For those of you who have been on cruises, imagine having your child jump off the banister in the middle of the night... And that's how my nightmares were.)

A little later it became more about the fact that I wasn't grieving as I needed during the day. (Really, I stuffed it quite often.) so then it would come overflowing out at night... Usually on my blog.

Gradually, it became nothing about grief, or Olivia, or my subsequent losses. It just... Became. It just was.

I wasn't up thinking about anything in particular. I just wascup.

I think of my babies every day. Not intentionally... I don't sit around crying anymore... Or at least really not often. I don't put on my "grieving pandora station" i created that always brings me to my proverbial knees.

And yet... Here I am. Up almost all night long.

Anyone have suggestions?

A shadow

I should be right around 6 months pregnant right now.

It's easy to remember because Elliott was due only 5 days in the month before Maddy was due (Maddy was due January 20th, Elliott was due January 15.)

So 5 years ago this month, I was 6 months pregnant with Maddy, we moved into our current house, and I went on bedrest for the first time.

I remember how I felt. I remember which maternity clothes I was wearing. I remember approximately how big I was at this point.

I remember going through Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas with a big belly, lots of contractions, bedrest, and lots of expectation.

This year, the January due date still looms in my mind. Except this one is empty. This one holds no great expectations.

With our loss of Olivia, I was very caught up in the timeline. I always knew which week I should be on. I was painfully aware of others who were traversing through the milestones with a live baby in their belly. I hated myself for it, but I was insanely jealous. And insanely angry that it couldn't be me.

With Caleb, I intentionally did not allow myself to dwell on which week I'd be on. To be honest, I really just did my best to suck it up and take it like a big girl. I had times of jealousy, but those were tempered with the knowledge that my relationship with that pregnant person would move on, I would come to love their baby, and and my feelings were normal and would eventually subside.

Intentionally forgetting the milestones has been harder to accomplish this time around.

I realize that I was ONLY 5 weeks along. Barely pregnant, as some would put it. (As though people would say you were barely engaged or barely married ... But that's for another blog.) But maybe because that week that I knew I was pregnant was going so RIGHT, I really thought this was it. I don't know why, but I really thought I was getting a baby out of the deal.

I have not mourned this baby like I did with Olivia. I have not spent endless nights crying, pouring my heart over my blog, or telling everyone about my loss.

I have made myself do things before I was really ready. I made myself move forward before I could fully think about what (or who) I was moving FROM.

But this experience has been like a phantom for me. My baby is gone, flushed down a toilet at a gas station. And yet the pregnancy, in my heart, lives on as a shadow. Something that hints at what is real, what should have been. But is clouded, dark, and has no tangible form.

I cannot tell you how often I remind myself of how early I was. That it was a mistake to get attached, a mistake to care. That it is silly to name this baby. That truly, I am the only one who cares for his life, the only one who mourns what it could have been.

And yet, this shadow on my heart remains.

Baby Elliott ... You may not have been with me long. And maybe you didn't get the mourning you deserved. But I can tell you that I really did love you. I really did want you. And i'm really, really sad that January 15 will come ... But you never will.

Love you always,

Momma

It's complicated

I think I'm pregnant.

But I'm probably not.

And that's exactly what I tell myself over, and over, and over again.

Your boobs really aren't THAT sore. And I'm pretty sure they were more sore yesterday, so that means you're not pregnant.

You're always this thirsty. (Not.)

That's not pregnancy nose. That's completely normal to gag at the smell of a chicken coop, when every once else seems to be just fine. And it's normal to think your clean drinking glasses smell weird, too. And for all the sudden not to be able to stand the smell of your kids' breath. (Right??)

You can't be pregnant. You have insomnia. If you were pregnant, you'd be dead asleep by 8.

You can't be pregnant. You weren't trying hard enough. You weren't doing enough RIGHT things. You weren't taking a prenatal. (Goodness, should I start??)

 You can't be pregnant. Because you ALWAYS think you're pregnant. And only 4 times have you been right. And only 1 time have you brought home a baby.

Which brings me to number 2 . . .

Even if you were pregnant, what gives? More than likely -- I'll bet somewhere around 99% -- you'll only be pregnant for a few short weeks. If that. You'll battle hope v. realism every day. Until the bleeding starts. Or the pain starts. Or your breasts feel less tender. Or the ultrasound screen comes up empty (again.) Or your hcg levels start to drop. Or your tube ruptures. Or. Or. Or. Or. Or.

None of the scenarios obsessively playing about in my head right now are about a live baby.

It's more like, what the heck am I supposed to do with another loss? How can I protect my heart? What if I just pretend I don't care? Will it hurt less then? What if I expect it? What if I tell no one?What if I tell everyone? How can my family deal with more bad news? What if the test is negative, and all this obsession is really for nothing?

And why the heck did we have unprotected sex to begin with?

And why the heck am I secretly willing that pregnancy test in a week to come out positive -- even when I know the outcome likely won't be?

And when the heck did all this get to be so dang complicated??

Ps. I wasn't pregnant.

The comparison trap

Today, a momma friend and I had a playdate (aka, Let our kids run wild for a bit while we enjoy a moment of sanity and coffee.) My house looked worse for wear, but it was a nice break for my soul.

Our conversation was very enlightening.

Really, your kids hit you in the face, too? I thought to myself as we talked.

You're kidding? I'm not the only one that has a hard time keeping up vacuuming?

Your kids won't eat a bite? Mine won't STOP eating, and it's driving me nutso.

And, maybe the not-so-expected . . .

So checking Facebook makes you a little crazy, too? Funny, I thought it was just me.

See, if you don't know me, you wouldn't know that I'm crazy-sensitive to Facebook posts on pregnancy. Now, given the fact that I'm in my early thirties, and people are popping kids out like skittles, I can't really get away from it. Some days most days, my newsfeed is completely full of pregnancy announcements, gender reveals, pregnancy complaints, ultrasound photos, belly shots, labor statuses and "Look, they've arrived" photos.

I once blogged that checking my newsfeed was akin to walking through a minefield. People didn't like that post so much. I guess they thought I was trying to compare innocent pregnancies and babies to a war field intent on obliterating people to pieces. So . . . on second thought . . . maybe not the best word picture.

But emotionally -- it CAN be like a minefield. It's like taking a beautiful stroll . . . everything looks calm, peaceful and innocent. And then BAM. Something blindsides you. And maybe it just hits you where you're sensitive. Or, maybe, it derails you for the entire day.

And since sometimes, I tend to think of myself as the center of a microcosm (aka, really, the universe), I thought it was JUST ME. (Don't we all?)

Until my friend said, "You know. I'm tired of seeing statuses about food. About what nutritious food my friends are eating and feeding their kids. Or what Skakeology program they are doing that is getting them in shape. I'm tired of seeing updates on losing that baby weight."

Now here is my super cute friend, who's way more in shape than I am, and her newsfeed keeps poking at her, like someone pokes at a bruise. Because she may be in shape -- but like she said, When is it enough? When have I lost ENOUGH weight? What if I look fine, but don't have that 6-pack I used to have? What if I like to go to McDonald's? What if I didn't lose weight as fast as the others? Do they look at me, and think, Gee -- she really could lose another 10 pounds?

And there it is.

See, Facebook is awesome for the really cool things. Like keeping in touch with old friends. Sharing photos with faraway relatives. Networking for your business, sharing thought-provoking blogs and articles, and meeting friends online who are going through exactly what you are going through.

But it's also the perfect setup for the perfect trap.

Comparison.

And I have a feeling, most of us are caught up in it. Especially us moms.

Checking Facebook is like "comparing everyone else's highlight reels to your behind-the-scenes," as a wise woman once said. And we all know the behind-the-scenes is not always pretty. Not always post worthy.

And instead of assuming everyone else has those same not-so-pretty behind-the-scenes, we falsely assume that their "status du jour" accurately represents their entire life.

That cute baby photo?

Maybe it conveys the idea that our little sinker is always this cute at meal time. That my life consists of going from one cute picture-perfect moment to another.

But that wouldn't be the whole story. Or even the right story.

It doesn't tell how this little miss had developmental delays causing her to eat at a 6-month level, instead of at a 12-month level. It doesn't explain that the reason she's eating Cheerios was because it was one of the only foods she would tolerate that was not a puree. It doesn't show the total frustration that often still consumes both baby and parents when it comes to food.

It doesn't show that the only reason she's in this house, getting the picture taken by yours truly, is because she is a ward of the state.

It also doesn't show how much our family went through (and how many babies didn't make it) on our path to become this little girl's forever family.

There always is so much behind the scenes, isn't there?

So what do you do when you find yourself on either side of the comparison trap?

I don't have any easy answers.

But for me, I've dealt with it this way . . .

When I know I'm feeling particularly vulnerable (to baby announcements or even clean house announcements or "I feel pretty amazing as a mom" announcements) I simply don't check my newsfeed. I'll admit, I keep posting. And perhaps selfishly, keep reading what comments people leave on my posts. But I don't go browsing through other people's lives when I know it's a matter of time before I'll say, "OUCH! That kinda hurt!"


I also try really hard to not take things personally. Their awesome day, or amazingly clean house, or rock-star worthy vacation is NOT MEANT to say anything about ME. It's not about me at all. And the moment I try to put myself in the equation, I take away any beauty that truly is in their post.

By that same token, I've stopped expecting people NOT to post. And instead, expect them TO post. The only thing I can really do is just take responsibility for my feelings, and take control of my Facebook time to meet my needs. Sometimes that means I block someone's updates JUST while they're pregnant -- and check in on their page on really good days. Sometimes that just means I take a mini FB vacation.

If I'm still thinking clearly by this point, instead of nursing the wounds of pricking my soul on that awful comparison trap, I make myself say all the things I'm grateful for. Gratitude has ridiculous healing powers for our hearts.

And if I'm really brave, I'll share some of those behind-the-scenes moments. Like this:

Screaming. Ehhhhh... not so cute.

Laundry. The bane of my existence. (Oh, that and dishes.)

What do you do you even do with this? Maddy's in there.
But finding her is like playing Where's Waldo?

Notice how my husband and I kinda look, well, dead?
(Maddy took this pic by the way. I didn't have any energy to hold up my hand.)

And last, I remind myself constantly of some of the wisest words ever shared with me.

"Curiosity did not kill the cat . . .

"Comparison did."

And I, for one, don't want to be that cat.

What do you do when you find yourself comparing? How do you get out of that trap and find gratitude in what you have? How do you navigate your Facebook "minefield"?