What Happened

My little girl, Ella was born two months ago today. I’ve wanted to tell my story for a while now, but have been putting it off. God knows I play the event in my head several times a day. It is really weird how I can be back in that moment in an instant. But, there are times that I wonder if it really happened.

It all started with cramps. I had been having mild cramps all day, but figured I ate something that didn’t agree with me or that I was just growing. I had a lot of cramping the first couple of months of the pregnancy, so I figured this was nothing. My husband and I were in bed watching Entourage and I got up to go to the bathroom. I started screaming from the bathroom because I had passed my mucus plug- though at the time, I didn’t identify this as a mucus plug- I hadn’t gotten to the labor part of What to Expect When You’re Expecting, but I knew something wasn’t right. I phoned the on-call doctor and she told me just to drink water and lay down. I followed her instructions, but about a half hour later, my intuition told me to just go get it checked out.

We arrived at the hospital around midnight. The doctor checked me and said everything felt fine, but that she wanted to do an ultrasound also. The ultrasound showed that my cervix was shortening. She told me that she wanted me to stay over night so that they could monitor me. At this point, I wasn’t terribly worried. I thought I was in good hands and that I’d get all fixed up. The monitor showed that I was having contractions and that my uterus was irritable.

I sat around for another day and on Monday morning, I was wheeled up to Perinatology for another ultrasound. Ella looked beautiful! She looked so big. The technician said that all of Ella’s organs looked good. Ella was measuring 1 pound 3 ounces. She got a really good shot of her foot and was able to confirm that Ella was indeed a girl. Then, she proceeded to check my cervix. Again, I was not familiar with any of this. I ignored the chapters on what could go wrong when reading my pregnancy books. She told me that my cervix was funneled and was only a couple of millimeters long. She told me to get dressed and then she wheeled me into the peri’s office. Before she started talking, I asked her to call down to my room to see if my husband had arrived. I had sent him home the night before to get some much needed sleep and he wasn’t back yet. I still wish he would have been there to hear the news. She basically told me that I could do nothing and see what happened or I could have an emergency cerclage and receive progesterone shots once a week. She was pregnant, so I asked her what she would do if she were in my position. I didn’t really get a straight answer from her, but I think she was trying to say that I should take the latter route. She told me that she’d consult with the head doctor and then come see me in my room a little later. She rolled me out to the lobby and left me there for the nurse from L and D to come get me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more alone. I just started crying. The receptionist came over and gave me some tissue. I had only been back in my room for a couple of minutes, when the peri came to see me again. She said she’d looked at the print out of my contractions and that my uterus was too irritable to sew me up, therefore cerclage was not an option. This was the first time that I thought, “Oh my god, I’m losing this baby.” This was the first time I felt hopeless. The peri left and my actual doctor came in to see me. My husband arrived shortly after. I started crying the second he walked in because I knew that I had to tell him the horrible news. My doctor’s plan was to send me home. She told me I needed to be on complete bed rest and that someone would come to my house once a week to administer progesterone shots. At 24 weeks (I was 22 at the time), I could get a round of steroid shots to accelerate the development of Ella’s lungs. She also said that if I made it to 25 weeks (viability), I could continue my bed rest at a hospital that had a level 3 NICU. I was given my first progesterone shot and a bottle of Nifedipine (to stop the contractions) and was sent home. Looking back, I wish I would have refused to go home. I should have just asked to stay in the hospital to be monitored 24/7.

I tried to remain so positive the week I was on bed rest. I never complained about the aches and pains I was experiencing from being in bed 23.5 hours a day. I knew that I would rather have been in bed in pain than be delivering my daughter. I had my husband tape up pictures of healthy babies on my wall so that I could meditate on the idea of bringing home a healthy baby. My husband did such an amazing job caring for me. I woke him up at 5 am each morning because I was starving. He’d get up and make me eggs or oatmeal and then we’d go back to bed for a few more hours. I was trying to consume a lot of protein and fat so that Ella could grow big and strong since it was inevitable that she would be born early. I really couldn’t do much lying in bed, so I watched a lot of TV and checked my email frequently. As the week progressed, my contractions got stronger and closer together.

Seven days had passed since I went to the hospital. Again, my husband and I were in bed watching Slumdog Millionaire. I had been in touch with my doctor all day because I was having more intense contractions. Again, I got up to go to the bathroom and discovered that I was bleeding. I called my doctor and she asked me to put her on speaker phone so that she could speak to both of us. She explained to us that it seemed like Ella was coming and asked us if we wanted to try to save her (did we want to resuscitate at birth), because if we did, we’d need to go to another hospital that had a level 3 NICU and she would not be the delivering doctor. I spoke without even asking my husband for his opinion. I told her that I wanted to do everything to keep Ella inside me, but that if she was going to come, I wanted nature to take its course. I still feel bad about this decision, but my feeling was that I didn’t want her to spend months in the NICU and the rest of her life sick. I wanted to be selfish and do anything to keep her alive, but I also knew that it wouldn’t be fair. In the end, I didn’t even have to make this decision because Ella wasn’t alive at birth.

I arrived at the hospital around midnight. The doctor went to check me and saw that my membranes were bulging and that I would probably deliver soon. The nurse started to explain to us what would happen. I asked if they could just knock me out and take the baby out of me. She said that while they could do that, they really wanted me to be a part of the whole process and see my baby. She said it helps with the whole grieving process.

As I settled into my room, the contractions were so strong that I was screaming. Once I got my epidural (my water broke while I was receiving it, by the way) and some anxiety medication, I was more comfortable.

Morning came and my doctor finally arrived. It was her birthday and she was scheduled off for the weekend, but she came in to deliver Ella. My contractions were leveling off a bit, so I was given Pitocin to speed things up. At about 10:45, I was ready to deliver. The nurses held my legs up and told me to push. I started to cry as I made my first push. I couldn’t believe that this was it. I would be with Ella no more. My doctor told me to push again and by the third push, at 10:50 Ella was out. My doctor had tears in her eyes and was so calm. She told me that Ella was not alive and that she was quite bruised because the labor is hard on such a little baby. I was surprised that she wasn’t alive. When I had arrived at the hospital, Ella’s heart was beating away. I thought I’d at least get to see her alive for a couple of minutes. My doctor explained to me that the whole process is really tough on the baby and that she probably died when my water broke. The nurse wrapped Ella in a blanket and put her on my chest. The nurse gushed and said Ella was so beautiful. That soothed me. I was so afraid of seeing her because I thought she’d be underdeveloped at 23 weeks. My teary eyed husband was right next to me and his head was lying on my chest too. Ella felt so warm. I examined her hands, feet, and lips. I held her on my chest for about two hours and then gave her to the nurse so that she could get cleaned up.

Ella was brought back into my room one more time about 8 pm that night. She was cleaned and dressed all in pink. There was a fresh pink rose in her basket. The nurse handed her to me, but I only held her for a minute. Once again, I asked the nurse to take her away. At the time, it was just too hard to look at my dead baby.

To this day, I still don’t know why I gave her to the nurse so easily. I should have held onto to her longer. I should have refused to give her up. I should have refused to leave the hospital without my baby. I also know that no length of time would have been enough.

Giving a Middle Finger to the Universe Today

AHHHHHHH! SCREAM! That's what I want to do today. I want to punch my hand through a wall. I want to jump off a building. I am so ANGRY today. I am angry that I do NOT have my daughter here with me. I am angry that today was supposed to be my baby shower. It feels so superficial to be angry over a stupid shower. But, I'm sad that I don't get to go show off my big, 33 weeks along belly. I don't get to go and celebrate Ella's impending arrival. I don't get to haul all of the gifts back to my house and set everything up. I was ROBBED! Robbed of my shower, robbed of a peaceful birth, robbed of bringing her home from the hospital, robbed of all her firsts- her first step, her first word, her first day of school. I'm angry that I have close family and friends who know what yesterday was (the two month anniversary of her birth), know what today is, know that Mother's Day was last weekend and that they don't even acknowledge me by sending an email, a text, or calling. I know my loss is not the center of THEIR universe, but it's only been two months since I birthed my baby, held her and then had to give her away so that she could be put to rest. I'm angry that I have a small group of friends who I used to work with that I invited to view this blog and they never even responded. At least, send an email that you haven't looked at it yet. Geez. And, for the first time, I'm feeling angry at my doctors. Ella was perfectly formed. There wasn't a thing wrong with her. She died because my body failed her. I'm wondering if my doctors did all they could to prevent this. Did they listen to me at every appointment when I DID state symptoms I had been having that CLEARLY relate to what happened? Were they aggressive enough with treatment? I'm not sure.

Show and Tell

Okay, this post is brought to you by the teacher in me.

I've just finished up my seventh preemie hat. I haven't worked out all the details yet, but I'd like to donate these to the hospital where I had Ella. I am very much a novice knitter, but wanted to get started on something. I've had a hard time finding patterns for micropreemies, so I've been trying to adjust the patterns I find on my own. I still need to learn how to make the cute pom pom for the top or figure out where to buy them. The pink hat in the picture is actually the hat that Ella wore. It is so tiny, but when I look at her pictures, the hat looks huge on her precious head. I enjoy knitting the hats. Even on days where I don't leave house, I know that I still accomplished something if I worked on hat. Sometimes my hands start to hurt from knitting for so long, but I keep going for Ella.

I'm also working on another project. In honor of Ella, I will send a card to you to on your child's birthday. I think it would be nice to receive a card just to know that someone is thinking of you on such a difficult day. I got this idea from my friend Shannon, who started doing this after losing her daugther, Clare at 20 weeks. Nine years later, she still sends cards to the hundreds of families that signed up. Right now, I'm designing the first set of cards that will go out. So, more details to follow...

Kicked In The Ribs

I desperately need to blog today (it is addicting). My husband has our lap top at work, so I'm writing from my Ipod. So bear with me. Mother's Day sucked. I really wanted to be positive and feel appreciative that I still have a mom. But, I felt so hurt that nobody acknowledged the fact that it was my Mother's Day too (well, my husband sent me flowers- love him). I wanted someone to say they're sorry that it was my first Mother's Day and that my baby isn't here with me. I think people didn't say anything because they didn't want to upset me or weren't sure if I wanted to hear it. But, ignoring everything made me furious. Today, I went to school to visit my students for the first time since I went out on bedrest. It was so good to see them. I started crying immediately when I saw them. It was difficult to see my coworker who is 22 weeks pregnant. Her belly looked exactly like mine right before I had Ella. The best part of the visit was when my boss and friend (i call her my "fross") asked me how big Ella was. I want people to ask questions like that. I want to talk about what happened and I want to talk about her. On the way home, my oldest friend called. We've been friends since we were 3. I have been avoiding her calls because I just knew she was pregnant. So today I finally answered and just flat out asked her if she was pregnant. She said "yes, I'm 11 weeks." It felt like somebody shit kicked me in the ribs. I just started balling. I'm really glad that I was able to tell her how jealous I was, even though I feel terrible about it. I told her that it felt so unfair for her to be having two children when I didn't even have one. Thankfully, I think she really understood. She reads this blog and I hope she's okay with me sharing our conversation. All I can say is that I'm so glad I scheduled therapy this afternoon. I really needed it.

Happy Mother's Day

Happy Mother's Day to all of the wonderful moms I've met here. I'm so grateful for the support I've found through the blog. I will be thinking of you on Sunday and hoping that someday we all will have healthy babies to hold and love.

Who I Want To Be

I didn't want to be a mom who lost her baby. I didn't want to leave the hospital with my arms empty. I don't want to be sitting here devastated over the loss of my baby.

But mostly, I don't want to be a sad, angry, bitter person for the rest of my life. I don't want to be angry with people who say the wrong things or ignore me. I don't want to avoid friends who are pregnant or who have small children. I want so badly to be in the present, to appreciate the things I still have. I'm not entirely sure how to do this, but it is my ultimate goal.

I went to my first support group this week. I was really looking forward to going and I loved it. It was just me and four other women. It was nice to hear how others are dealing with their losses and to be able to talk about everything and feel that I didn't have to make small talk- I could talk openly and honestly. We all lost our babies for different reasons, but are all experiencing the same emotions. I wish the support group was held every day and that I didn't have to wait a month for another meeting.

I'm Not Supposed To Be Here

In all that I do lately, I can't help but feel "I shouldn't be doing this. I'm supposed to be pregnant."

I shouldn't be out walking at the beach, I'm supposed to be in bed waiting for July 10th. I shouldn't be doing my hot yoga or scrubbing my bathtub.

Yesterday, my mom took me for a lovely spa day. I spent a lot of time thinking, pregnant women shouldn't go in saunas, I shouldn't be here, I'm supposed to be pregnant. I shouldn't be eating feta cheese on my salad and drinking a glass a wine.

This Friday, I would be 31 weeks along. I am supposed to attend my first birthing class on Saturday and then celebrate Mother's Day on Sunday, looking forward to my first Mother's Day next year. I'm supposed to have my baby shower May 16th.

My mom told me that she wants to have a family photo done when my sister and her kids come to visit Memorial Day weekend. I thought, I don't want my photo taken, I should be pregnant and happy in that photo and now I am nothing.

Every time I see a pregnant woman or a couple with a small baby, I think that is supposed to be me.

The sad thing is, it doesn't seem like this feeling will ever go away. No matter how many babies I have in the future, I will always feel that Ella was supposed to here.