Images

Sometimes, in remembering, it feels like I am looking back at someone else’s life. I see images, as though I’m on the outside looking in.

I see my shaky hands holding that positive pregnancy test in January 2009, wondering if I should wake my husband or if I should wait a few more days to tell him, after I’ve taken a few more tests.

I can see his sleep-filled face, not fully registering what I was telling him, afraid to believe this positive could stick. I see a trash can full of positive pregnancy tests, for it took a full week of testing to convince myself I was going to stay pregnant.

I see myself reading pregnancy books about things to avoid, what to eat, what not to eat, and all about the baby’s development. One week in early pregnancy the book said the baby was the size of a blueberry. I held a blueberry in my hand and imagined it was my baby.

I see myself scared – so fearful of a miscarriage. I buy a home Doppler so I can check in and make sure the heart is still beating. I remember when I thought a miscarriage was the only thing I had to fear in pregnancy. I was sure once the first trimester ended my worries would be over. Then I was introduced to a new fear – I read about someone having a miscarriage at 16 weeks. I breathed a huge sigh of relief once I passed that week.

I see myself lying on the couch, so still, waiting for those flutters I had read about. I feel something. Was that my baby? It happens again, and this time I’m sure. My baby has gotten big enough for me to feel her moving. Lying on the couch becomes a nightly ritual: my time to close my eyes and wait for that little life inside me to make herself known.

I see myself filled with excitement. Soon I would find out the gender of my baby. Soon we would know if we were having Madelyn or Wyatt. Soon I could start buying baby clothes. I was so excited to register. We went to Babies R Us and looked around in preparation. I see Nathan and I arguing over bedding. If we have a girl, he doesn’t want anything too pink. But I’m the girly girl who thinks the more pink the better. For the first time we think maybe we should hope for a boy. We had always said we wanted a little girl. We would have loved a boy too, and been just as excited. But we were really hoping for a girl.

I see myself the night before the ultrasound. I am nervous and scared. What if we find out something is wrong? What if something has happened and there’s no heartbeat? Nathan tells me not to worry. I also tell myself not to worry. Nothing is going to be wrong. I know so many people who have had babies, and nothing has ever been wrong for them. Why should I be so afraid? I’m overreacting. I need to learn to stop worrying – I don’t want to be that kind of mom. I calm down, but still get little sleep. I’m too excited.

I see myself in the waiting room. Nathan joins me there. Our appointment time passes by, and we still wait. I’m in so much torture, both with anticipation and nervousness. They call our name. I tell the ultrasound tech I brought some orange juice to drink, just in case she needs to get the baby moving. I lie on the table and practically hold my breath while she puts gel on my stomach. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for since the positive pregnancy test.

She checks the heartbeat. It’s perfect.

Then, those words. The words no one wants to hear. The words “Something’s wrong. I need to get a doctor.” (More about that day is here.)

I see us in shock. This can’t be happening. I see tears falling down my face as we wait in a room while they get us a perinatal appointment. They let us leave from a special exit – an exit that allows us to avoid the waiting room full of pregnant women.

Women with hopes and dreams.

My hopes and dreams.

The ones that had been taken away from me.

I see me at home, in bed. Unable to get up or do anything but cry. What was going to happen to my baby?

I see us at subsequent ultrasounds and in the hospital. The baby is doing so well. Surely she is going to be ok. She is a fighter. So many prayers are being prayed. Miracles happen everyday for babies. I have every hope my baby will be one of those stories.

I see my stomach twitching and jerking through my clothes. Nothing makes me happier. I grab Nathan’s hand so he can feel the movements too. Sometimes she kicks so hard it hurts. But I don’t care. That’s my baby in there.

I see myself excited that I will be meeting my baby soon. The one I’ve gotten to know so well. The one whose heart rate goes up when I speak. The one who has been my world since that first pregnancy test. My little one.

I see her eyes flutter open to look at me, and then close, never to open again.

I see myself now, looking at my husband as he sleeps. Seeing her in his face. He gave her the shape of his eyes and his mouth.

I see tears on my cheeks as fresh grief washes over me.

I realize I am not on the outside looking in.

This is my life.

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Autopsy Results

Today I called the doctor to ask about a pain I was having, and they told me to come in to be examined as they wanted to make sure I did not have an infection.  Fortunately, I did not.  I will have my final post-partum visit in about 3 weeks.

The autopsy report happened to be in, so my OB shared it with us while we were there.  It turns out the reason Madelyn didn’t have amniotic fluid is because one kidney was missing (left renal agenesis) and the other was underdeveloped (right renal hypoplasia).  As said before, the lack of amniotic fluid led to the lack of lung development (pulmonary hypoplasia), and this chain of events is referred to as Potter Sequence.  As we already knew, she also had an av canal heart defect.  The autopsy also revealed an abnormally shaped thymus, though this could be a result of the lack of fluid.  Finally it says something about right atrial enlargement, abnormal lobation, and a supranumerary digit (there was a barely-noticeable extra flap of skin next to her pinky).

What we still do not know is what caused these things to happen.  My OB said there is very likely to be some underlying cause as each of these things only have a 1-3% chance of occurring in isolation, so the chance that multiple things would be wrong and not be connected is miniscule.  I will be calling the geneticist tomorrow to make an appointment for sometime next week.  Hopefully she will give us insight into the cause of things, as well as whether or not the cause is hereditary and likely to pose a problem for any future pregnancy.  I hope not, not only for the future, but because I just know how terrible I would feel knowing that I was carrying some gene that hurt my baby girl.

On a different note, I’d like to give a shout-out to my friend Valerie who made us an awesome digital scrapbook of Madelyn.  It’s absolutely beautiful.  She also sent us some lovely candles that smell wonderful.  She actually makes them!  Check out her store here.

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Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness

For those of you who do not know, October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month.  It was declared as such by Ronald Reagan in 1988.  October 15 is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day.

In remembrance of the too many babies that couldn’t stay in this world, Walks to Remember are being held across the country.  Here is a link to information about the walks.  Many of the walks include some sort of ceremony in which candles are lit, balloons are released, and they read the names of the babies who are being remembered.  From what I understand, funds raised for the walk go to support awareness and research for pregnancy and infant loss.

I’m not sure if I will be able to participate this year, but it is something I will definitely be doing in the future in honor of Madelyn.  My parents and brother joined in on Louisville’s walk this past week-end.  My mom has promised pictures, which I will share if I get them in digital format.

Before my own devastating loss I had no idea there was such a thing as Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month/Day.  I was so glad to hear about its existence, along with the walks, as it is something I can and will do for Madelyn every year.

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Bittersweet

Today it has been 3 weeks since Madelyn was born and 3 weeks since she left this world.  I was contemplating all of this, and thought I never really understood the meaning of the word “bittersweet” until now.  At the same time, “bittersweet” seems too mild of a word to describe the strength of the polarity of emotions I’ve felt:  my sadness and pain go much deeper than “bitter”.  When I think of “bitter” it brings to mind something that merely leaves a bad taste in one’s mouth, and this is much, much more than that.  The love and happiness Madelyn brought to us also go much deeper than “sweet” conveys.  Yet I can’t think of a better word to capture how I feel about the situation.

I guess what I really want to say is that if I could go back in time, knowing what I know now, knowing that she would be with us for so short of a time, and knowing how badly it would hurt when she died, I would still have chosen to have her.  I would choose to endure all of this, and so much more, all over again for the chance to have her in my life.

My life will never be the same, because of her life and because of her death.  Both have changed me in different ways.  Both introduced new emotions to my life.  Because of her my life is richer, yet so much emptier because she was taken away.  Our hearts have been forever captured, yet forever wounded.

I miss her so much.

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