One Week Later: July 10th

It still feels like a dream.  A nightmare. I knew that the possibility was there.  I never let myself get too attached.  I didn't really believe I was pregnant.

I don't know if I ever felt movement, but I knew I was pregnant.  The pregnancy tests and the ultrasounds proved it.

6 weeks

11 weeks

I was excited to share a due date month with many friends; from church, our homeschool group and online friends I had met in previous birth groups.  It was starting to feel real.  I was getting a bump, had crazy nasty heartburn and had cravings that Todd couldn't keep up with.  I was up at night to pee, had a hard time sleeping, all those wonderful, joyous parts of having a living, growing being within you.  Marvelous.

July 3rd brought 19 weeks and the *BIG* anatomy scan.  So thankful that Todd was able to go with me. 

We got to the center early.  We were both incredibly nervous.

When we were called back to the room, I noticed the tech was new.  So new, she was still being trained in.  Thankfully, the tech monitoring her was one I was very familiar with.  She found a twin last time and was the one to tell us it wasn't living.  She also did several other scans for us, both last time and this pregnancy.  I was so happy to see her. 

I laid down, the newbie tech started scanning, and was having a hard time.  The other tech, I'll call her 'M', said "frequency is your friend."  I thought it was cute, but I knew it wasn't good.  As soon as that wand hit the belly, it should have showed something.  So M took over.  She moved the screen away from Todd and I, and was pressing rather hard.  She had to move the head of the bed down, and I just knew.

I just knew...

"I'm so sorry" is what we were told.  It happened again.  I sobbed.  Todd sobbed.

It happened again.

I asked M to see if she could tell the sex and she couldn't.  I asked her to measure baby as best as she could, and the measurements came out to around 16 weeks. That means baby had been dead, inside me again, for three weeks.  Three weeks.  No wonder I didn't feel movement...

We got to see our baby and she was able to get a picture printed out for us.

Head is tucked in, hands are by the face and legs are curled up in the fetal position.

I got up, and immediately felt like I was going to pass out.  I couldn't take it. After getting myself together, I knew what had to be done.

See, we were planning to do a gender reveal with the kids.  They were so excited to be adding to our family.  The boys were, obviously, hoping for a brother and the girls were hoping for a sister.  Natalie had even said several prayers asking God for it to be a girl.  So cute. Needless to say, going home and telling them was hard.

They took it well.  Much better than last time.  I think it's still sinking in, though.  I don't know that the older kids really thought it was going to happen this time.

Todd and I knew what we had to do.  I messaged my midwife, who was on her way to Tennessee to visit family for the 4th Of July.  She called the local clinic and talked with someone about having us at the hospital for a delivery.  Our dear friends were willing to watch our kids, so they were covered.  We snuggled our kids, packed our bag (something we knew we needed to do after last time) and headed to the hospital. 

Because I was being seen for a home birth, I had no reason to register at the hospital.  Never mind that I was not far enough in gestation for it to be a viable birth, I needed to register at the Family Birthing Center.  Name and birth date given to the woman at the desk; primary care physician, OB (or in my case, midwife) and reason for admittance (induction). 

She obviously didn't see my belly, nor did she have my files to see how far along I was.  She took out a sheet of paper from her filing cabinet and said "this is a release for your baby."  I about died.  My heart was already broken and I have to go through this?  I told her this was an induction for a loss, to which she said, "so there will be no baby?"  No.  There will be no baby for me to take home.  Again.

We make our way from the registration area to the desk in the FBC.  They still had not received any information from my provider, so they put me in the first room available.  One of the closest rooms to the door.  You know, the door that everyone goes through to visit their family members who just had a baby.  Yeah.  You get the picture.  Joyous talk.  Kids skipping up and down the hallways.  All things you'd expect when you're going to see someone and their beautiful new baby.

Our nurse was fabulous.  Super sweet and tender.  She happened to be part of the bereavement support group through the hospital.  Just the right person to have on board. 

My first dose of cytotec, used to ripen the cervix and aide in dilation, was at 10pm.  A lot later than we had hoped.  We knew this process could take a while.  The OB even said he's seen it take a couple of days.  Last November, it took one dose of cytotec and roughly 5 hours.  That time, however, my body had already started the miscarriage process.  This time, I was closed and tight. 

I was moved to a room that was much further away from the entrance.  It happened to be the biggest room the FBC had. I would say a good 40-50% of the room was windows.  We had a fabulous view of the Mississippi river.  Well, from what we could see that late at night, anyhow.  You can see the room on the video here if you really want to. 

Over the course of the night, I was given a 50mcg dose of cytotec every four hours.  Lots of peeing at night due to the IV, so very little sleep was happening.  We knew exactly how everything would go, so the fear wasn't as bad this time around.  Maybe that part was a bit easier on the nurses?  Not having to deal with crazy emotions all night long? 

Morning came.  I watched the sun rise over the Mississippi.  It was so beautiful.  Majestic. Almost beautiful enough for me to forget what was going on.  Almost.

Around 11am I got up to use the bathroom and my water broke.  This is the second time it's happened spontaneously.  The first time it was for my first miscarriage.  ::sigh::  The fluid was a light brown which was indicative of a loss. 

The day was slow.  Todd got in a bite to eat, my great aunt stopped by for a visit with flowers and cookies and we received lots of phone calls.

Later in the evening, I was informed by the nurse that I had received my max dosage of cytotec.  Being a VBA2C patient, that was about it.  However, the OB on call had done some research and was *comfortable* giving me up to 200mcg doses of cytotec to get me moving along.  I knew the risk of rupture was there, but I was being monitored and I felt comfortable with it, so we did another dose. 

We had friends stop in around this time.  I knew Todd needed someone other than me and our nurses to talk to.  It was nice to have them there.  Unfortunately for them, they're a bit queasy, so when the anesthesiologist came in to do the epidural (I didn't need to be a hero), they NEEDED to leave. 

After the epi was placed, I got to wear the lovely blood pressure cuff and heart monitor.  The nurse was nice enough to turn my bed around so I could see the fireworks as they were being shot off of a barge on the river. It was really nice to be able to watch.  Our kids were just across the river being cared for by other friends of ours.  I was sad we couldn't be with them.  I was thankful to see the fireworks celebrating our freedom.  I was crushed knowing what was to come.

After the fireworks display, I was starting to itch like crazy thanks to the epidural.  Benadryl was given to counteract the epidural.  I became VERY lethargic.  I tried to talk to our friends who made it back up after the fireworks, but my brain was moving much faster than my lips, making me very entertaining to listen to.  I heard the three of them cracking up a few times.  Unfortunately, the benadryl made me so lethargic/sleepy, that my blood pressure went REALLY low.  So every 15 minutes, when the cuff went off to take my bp, it would beep because it was so low.  Call in the nurse for a retake, bp is fine, start the whole process over again.  It seemed like it was ALL NIGHT LONG.

7am on the 5th came another shift change, the fourth nurse change.  We had the same two nurses the entire time except check in.  They were both fabulous.  So gentle and understanding.  I was too afraid at this point to pee in the toilet, knowing that things were moving along and baby could come at any time.  The nurse offered a bed pan to pee in.  I felt bad for her, but happy baby wouldn't be delivered in the toilet. 

Around 9:30, she did a cervical check and noticed I was almost there.  She did another check a minute later, and found baby.  She had baby in her hand and called for the OB.  Once the OB was in, she put baby in his hand.  He clipped the cord and immediately noticed the cord was thing and stringy.  The intern then grabbed baby laid the body in a container on the table.  My heart was broken. I was angry at where they put my baby.  Sterile.  Cold. 

I asked to hold our baby.  Our wonderful nursed grabbed a hand knit blanket, scooped baby up and let us have our time.  She did check for us and saw we had a boy.  She asked if we had a name for him. 

Solomon Joseph.  Our son.

I had picked out a name for a boy and a girl before we had even conceived.  Solomon means 'wise' and Joseph means 'God will expand'.  Guess He just wanted to expand our heavenly family.  Again.

Todd and I both took our turns holding him...going over all his features.  They were so tiny.  So beautiful.  Just too small.  We examined his cord and it was so thin.  So thin and VERY twisted.  The doctor was fairly confident that this was the reason he passed away.  Solomon just didn't get what he needed through the cord and it couldn't sustain him. 

A fluke.  Something that shouldn't happen, but did.  Something that could happen to ANYONE.  

Our nurse said she'd like to take him to get footprints and measurements.  She asked if we would like him back when she was done.  Todd and I looked at each other, asking the silent question "do we?"  This was our sweet, precious son, but it was just his shell.  Just his body.  He had been with Jesus for three weeks already.  So we let her take him after Todd took a picture. 

We cried and held each other.  It wasn't fair.  How could this happen?  Why would God allow this to happen AGAIN?  AGAIN!?!?!

A bit after another dose of cytotec, the OB was able to work the placenta out.  It came out intact which was good.  I avoided another D&C.  We okayed chromosome testing on baby to see if we could find any other answers.  I also had blood work done, six vials worth, to see if anything on my end caused this and if anything could be prevented in the future.

I don't remember time at this point.  It was a few hours later, and the nurse came in to give me a RhoGham shot.  She then stopped the epidural drip and removed my IV.  Todd and I stared blankly at each other.  I felt like it was all my fault and apologized to him many times over.  Deep down I *know* it's not my fault, but after failing to keep THREE babies alive in my womb, how else should I feel?

Two friends came by with a sweet gift and a sandwich for Todd.  It was nice to have a distraction.  It was wonderful to have friends pray over us.

After they left, the nurse brought in our box.  ANOTHER box. 

Our nurse, and another nurse whom I actually went to high school with, put together this scrapbook page.  It will be framed and hung on our bedroom wall

Solomon was over an ounce heavier and was two inches longer than our Chelsea, lost at 13 weeks. What a difference three weeks in the womb makes.

His footprints, measurement and a lovely blanket made for us by a local crafting group.  So thankful for those women.

This time, with our baby being a bit bigger, we were given a hat.  Solomon wore it for a bit.  I will treasure it.

We wanted to increase our family.   We felt our family was incomplete.  All we wanted was a 'take home' baby this time.

Instead, we went home with another box.

Empty

I knew something was wrong for a little while.  I was feeling TOO good.  Almost like I wasn't pregnant, although my pants were getting tighter and my back was CERTAINLY feeling the pregnancy.

It was Sunday after church.  Todd and I were prepping a turkey to put in the oven, as we were having friends over that evening for dinner.  I went to set the timer on the oven. 

As I was walking over to the couch, I felt a RUSH.  It was like my heart rate shot up suddenly, I felt a hot, redness overcome me.  I didn't know what to do.  I felt cramping in my abdomen, so I ran to the bathroom.  That part felt too familiar. 

I sat down to try and use the bathroom and there was nothing.  I noticed several waves of pain in my abdomen and back.  They came and went every four minutes or so: I was in labor at 15 weeks.  I stood up to try and deal with the waves of pain and there was a gush.  I sat down and SCREAMED for Todd.  One of those screams where you know something is wrong. 

When he made it upstairs, he knew.  He knew it wasn't good.  I told him I was bleeding and feeling labor pains.  He helped me get dressed and go downstairs.  He called friends of ours to come and watch the kids so we could go to the hospital.  We were off as soon as they were in the door.  The sad part is, is Austin (10) knew something was wrong.  He was trying to tell the other kids that it was "too soon".

Todd pulled us into the emergency area and the nurses came with a wheelchair.  "What's the emergency".  It hurt so bad to say I'm in labor at 15 weeks.  I was wheeled to the intake desk; blood pressure, temp, personal information, heart rate, etc. I was asked how far along I was again.  A nurse asked if they should take me upstairs to OB, and was told not to because I was only 15 weeks along.  Which, translated, means there's nothing they can do.

Friends had met us at the hospital and I was surprised to see them there.  I had no idea.  It felt like I was there alone.  I don't know how to explain it.  IV was started, blood was drawn, and an order for an ultrasound was given.

It was super quiet in the room as the ultrasound was being done.  I saw every one's eyes glued to the screen.  No one said a thing, except for the apologies from the techs about how hard they had to push on my abdomen.  It felt like forever that they were looking at our baby.  I just wanted SOME sort of answer. The last ultrasound we had, baby was EASILY seen, moving and wiggly with a GREAT heartbeat.  After a look over with the two techs and the doctor, they finally said they were "sorry".  Our remaining twin had died.

I remember crying inconsolably.  I remember forgetting to breathe. 

The doctor lets us know our options. We could have a D and E or use cytotec to dilate and give birth to our baby.  We chose the latter.  We had seen our baby on ultrasound.  We had seen a gorgeous heartbeat, a face, hands, feet, fingers and toes.  We couldn't do the D and E.

The nurse in the ER shared with us that she had lost a pregnancy 33 years ago.  She said she still has a hard time every August, even though it's been SO LONG.  As she was saying this, you saw the tears well in her eyes.  She gave me a great big hug, said she'd be praying for us, and off we went upstairs.

Our first nurse at the family birthing center was super sweet.  She was quiet and spoke tenderly.  She let us know that she would be doing things in baby steps with us throughout our 'journey'.  We were told by the OB that the cytotec could take a few hours up to as long as a few days. 

I prayed that God would make it quick and as painless as possible.  However, knowing my previous experience with cytotec, I knew it would hurt.  And it did.  It hurt a lot.  It was a constant contraction with NO breaks.  I tried to breathe, but I had no comfort.  See, with my other labors, I knew my pain would prove fruitful.  I knew I was bringing forth life from my body. The only thing I would be birthing this time is our dead baby.

I opted for IV narcotics.  The nurse explained she could give me a dose every hour.  So I happily accepted.  I was able to relax and get a little rest, but it was short rest.  It wore off within 30-35 minutes and I was feeling pain again.  I then asked for an epidural, as I did NOT want to feel any further pain.

Several times I had to head to the bathroom to go pee.  I had passed clots each time and each time I worried it was baby.  We had no idea how large baby was going to be.

The nurse was kind enough to offer another dose of the fentanyl before the anesthesiologist arrived.  I prayed that God would keep the pain away long enough to get the epidural in.  I prayed that God would make this a quick ordeal, and it was.  The fentanyl did it's job long enough.

Shortly after the epidural was placed, the nurse tried to get me comfy on my side to allow the epidural to work evenly.  I had felt another clot pass, but this time, it WAS baby.  I laid on my back and let the nurse examine what was passed.  She had to call the OB.  I was staring at Todd looking for a reaction.  I didn't get one.  He looked....blank.

The OB had to cut what little of a cord there was.  She said it was rather stringy.  And, while I would have been 16 weeks pregnant the following day, baby had only made it to 12.5-13 weeks.  We could not tell the sex of the baby, as it didn't live long enough.

Because we couldn't tell the sex, we were told to just pick what was in our hearts.  THAT was painful.  Everyone in the family was hoping for a girl, and I FELT like we were having a girl, so that's what we went with.

Our daughter was placed on a handmade kimono meant for preemies and early stillbirths.  She was placed face down so I wasn't able to see her face.  I suppose that was for the best, as what was placed on the blanket, on my lap, didn't look like a baby.  Because she had been gone for several weeks, her body had started to decompose.  I could make out the bones in the back of the skull, her ribs, stringy arms and legs, and a little bum.  In total, she only measured 4-1/2 inches and weighed.9lbs.

Todd and I both took turns holding out baby.  It was a difficult sight to see and it was difficult to say "we're done" and have her taken away.  After that, there was nothing left.  Not twins.  Not a single baby.  Just emptiness.

Her name was Chelsea Marie.  I fell in love with the name Chelsea, as it means safe harbor.  I felt that after her twin had passed, we were safe.  That she was safe in me.  

My placenta wasn't coming out like it should have.  The OB didn't want to pull on the cord, since it was so thin.  They placed another cytotec near my cervix and waited for it to come out on it's own, and it did.  However, after an ultrasound, it was determined that I needed to have a D and C because it didn't ALL come out.  If left inside, the remaining tissue could create a nasty infection in my uterus.

Thankfully, I had an epidural.  For that reason I did NOT need to be put under general anesthesia for the surgery.  They upped the amount of medicine going through the catheter and gave me a different narcotic through the IV.  I don't remember much of what happened.  I remember hearing clanking of different instruments and I remember bright lights.  I DON'T remember people or anyone talking to me.

My legs and feet were numb for the next 8 hours.  I was barely able to move in my bed.  I couldn't sleep and I couldn't calm down. 

A while after my surgery, the nurse brought in a box.  In this box was the only tangible items that we'll ever have to remember our baby; a small blanket, footprints, a stuffed lamb, the kimono that baby was laid upon, and a few other small items.

I wasn't prepared for the wave of emotions these items would cause.  Not for me OR for Todd.  It was SO HARD to hear him cry.  More than cry: sob.  I not only lost a part of me, but he lost a part of him, too. 

The next few hours were quiet, intermixed with minutes of crying.  What else were we to do?  Our children at home were being well taken care of by our friends, so we focused on us. We cried, we ate, we answered phone calls and texts.  We did not sleep.

The nurses let us know we could stay another day if we wanted.  It's normal for women to stay for two days after birth.  Staying meant delaying reality.  Staying meant a sort of safety.  For that reason, we chose to head home Monday evening after our kids were in bed. 

Heading out the door, I came to the realization that most women who would leave the family birthing center, left with a baby in their arms.  I left with a box.  My uterus was empty and so were my arms.  It was hard.  So. Very. Hard.

When we got home, I headed for the shower.  It was nice to get washed off and feel somewhat normal and at be at home.  Todd did the same shortly thereafter.  It was nice to be alone.

We felt it was rather odd that we had a name for our little girl that we had just birthed but not for her twin.  It would be weird to say "Chelsea and her twin".  So, we decided to name twin B Carter Edwin.  It was a name that Todd loved.  So it fit. Chelsea and Carter.

Tomorrow it will be one week since we lost Chelsea.  It has been 5 weeks since Carter's passing.  Each day we cry a little less. The sting of emptiness remains and, from what I understand, could stay with us for quite some time.  My womb is empty.  Our arms are empty.  I'm recovering from a birth but we have no baby to hold.  I am in physical pain with little comfort to be had.

We have been blessed beyond belief by friends by their time, their kind words, the flowers, the hugs, the meals, everything. I don't think we could make it through without them.

I see the OB on the 12th for a followup.  I had blood drawn to possibly get answers on WHY I lost my babies.  We may never have an answer, but we wanted to try.  I had low progesterone and was on suppositories for 10 weeks.  I also may have lost a triplet at 4 weeks.  Because I'm RH-,  that baby's blood could have mixed with mine causing my body to react poorly to the remaining babies.  Or, it could be a fluke.  Only God knows.

We desperately want to have a baby to hold and snuggle.  God willing, we will be able to conceive again soon.  Until then, we pray and wait.  We get comfort from the little things in our box.