I'm horrible at writing thank you notes, in fact I still have quite the stack to finish. There is a handful of people that I want to publicly thank.
Becky K.
My God. You literally held me through hearing the hardest sentence any parent dreads hearing. I have never been so happy that you work at that hospital. Thank you for holding my hand, for speaking up when the words didn't come out, for protecting my family's privacy, for protecting my sad veins (she drew my blood folks), for listening to me trying to rationalize over and over again. And simply for being there and not just this time, but always.
Ashley S.
You have been one of my best friends since I've moved up north. We've seen each other through plenty of ups and downs, I'm pretty certain this will be the worst, at least I hope so. I'm also pretty certain that there will be plenty more ups and downs. I'm not sure how to thank you, just know I love you.
Becky C.
This lady. You're just awesome simple. And somehow with your awesomeness you manage to always know what to say to me, you have no idea how amazing that is - it's a skill. Your texts while I was in labor and even the week following meant so much. Similar to your skill with words, you have a skill with timing, each text came at the perfect time. I hope you know I am always here for you too, you're such a beautiful, fantastic person and mother. Don't ever forget it.
Andrea E.
You my dear totally stepped up and my God I love you for it. Sending Janie to me was great, she's such a strong lady too, I appreciate it so much. You were another that had some good timing with text messages (although, I don't think anyone's timing could truly be "bad" during all this). Still though, I felt your prayers, and your kindness and I love you so much for it.
Megan A.
You my dear are just amazing - enough said. You always make me smile and laugh - which is much needed. I don't think I need to say it, but thank you, for the nursing school advice, for the hugs, the laughs, and the tears. Looking forward to more fun, happy times, and of course more Ryan stories - he's my favorite. Love you doll face.
Crissy L.
Holy Jeebus, I don't even know where to start. First, thank you for sitting at my lab table. Second, thank you for knowing how to handle the ridiculous things that come out of my mouth. Third, you are one of the few people I can count on, and one of the few that I trust with all my stories and one of the few that are bluntly honest with me - and I love you for it! I'm trying not to get sappy, but let's be serious, you have kept me put together, you've been my glue - especially since Jake has been back to work. You've listened to me try and figure out why this happened, and when I get a little too crazy, bring me back to sanity. I value and appreciate our friendship more than frappes, triple chocolate meltdowns and beer. Truth is, you are stuck with me. Now, lets hug (kidding..kind of).
Kim D.
Ahh...I love you. You take care of my kids (Izzie included) better than me some days. That in itself is more than enough for the biggest thank you in the world. Then you sent me your Mom, Dave and of course yourself at the hospital and funeral, and days since. You were perfect and knew what Jake and I needed and even what the rest of our family needed through all this. I have never had a friend like you with the love that you give to others. I admire that about you, so much. I keep hearing what you did for others at the funeral, how you, Mom and Dave prayed over others, how you would just go up to others and give them a hug if it looked like they needed it. Kim, you are such a special person, you were made to care for others. You are so much stronger than I think you realize. I am so grateful Alicia told me to have you watch Rory, way back when (feels like a lifetime ago). I love you, thank you for all that you do for me, Rory, Jake and the rest of our family.
Bobbi D.
Two things, I'm going to make it quick. First, thank you for prayers and strength, you are so special and have a gift. Second, thank you for raising Kim the way you and Tom did. And being the strong woman you are, you set such a great example for her and it shows.
Megan W.
You live a billion miles away. I hate it. With that said, you are still my best friend. I don't need to tell you thank you, but I know you like the attention. (ha!) So, thank you for the long, in to the early hours of the morning talks. Thank you for your honesty (always) no matter how crude it may be. Thank you for looking out for me and wanting and trying to protect me from life and it's challenges. Thank you for your bad luck stories that always make me laugh, I still think you should write a book and make the world laugh. You know how I feel about you, I love you and hate you, you make me crazy with some of the crap in your life, but always always always through all the crap we have been through all these years and miles upon miles apart....you are there. Thank you.
Adam J.
You are with Jake everyday. I think you have helped shape him into the Dad he has become. Thank you for keeping an eye on him, for watching out for him and protecting him from getting hit by a semi. Simply, thank you.
My amazing Aunts.
I can't tell you enough how thankful I am that you three came up here. I needed you, my mom needed her sisters, and the three of you have the added bonus of being entertaining. I appreciate you all so much. Jake and his grandparents are still talking about guys. Grandma and Grandpa are still waiting on a phone call for travel dates. (haaha)
Derek and Takoya.
You
guys are always there for us, just thank you. I know we don't to see
each other as often as we all like, but still, thank you. We love you
both so much, you are two of our greatest friends.
Carly L.
My big cousin, you sent me the best letter in the whole world. I read it every few days still, (your letter is turning into a novel). I don't really know what to say...I have always looked up to you and respected you. Reading your "wisdom" has been everything I could ask for and more. Thank you a million times.
Becca and Eric H.
Thanks again for the food, flowers, hugs, and prayers. It was incredibly thoughtful of you guys and so appreciated!
Kaleena B.
Thank you for being there for us, especially Jake. He needed his big sister and we all love having you around. Don't be a stranger, Rory loves her Aunt!
D. Bear - Danie R.
My pretty lady, I just want you to know I love you. You are so strong, smart, caring, and countless other things I admire about you. Alina is so lucky to have you for a mom. I miss you.
My August 2013 Mom Group.
You ladies are the greatest mix of crazy, smart, humor, and love all in one. I am so happy I decided to join way back last December. I have never been in a "mom group", and didn't know what to expect. I surely didn't think I would have the bonds we do. Now, I can't my life without all of you. Through losing Izzie, I said that the group held me up and kept my spirits up, gave me strength, and you ladies did all that and more. I'm so happy for you all of you and your new babies, all of you are wonderful, amazing mothers. I love you all, and appreciate you all.
Ben and Sammie Q. (catch Q yea?!)
Oh where to start....I'm not going to. Too much to say, so thank you. I love you both so much, and Jake I think does too.
My mom, Grandma and Grandpa...there aren't enough words and you have letters in the mail.
To everyone that was there for us at the funeral or that was there in thoughts, thank you for that also. Your prayers and thoughts were felt and so appreciated, thank you.
Thursday, August 29, 2013
Finding Grace and Acceptance
Continuing...
We spent our first night home alone, just Jake, Rory and I, no baby to hold or wake up to crying. The things you dread most about having a newborn (the sleepless nights, constant feedings, and changing a million diapers) you find yourself begging for if it means holding your lost child. I spent the first night numb, not sure how to look at Rory or be her mom. Thankfully she was tired and didn't require a ton of attention and mostly laid next to me.
Jake and I spent the next few hours talking about everything that just happened. I had never seen him so confused. Something you have to understand about him is that he is not emotionally expressive, he is a logical, realistic man. Looking at him in his recliner I saw a broken father that didn't know how to miss his daughter. I asked him to tell me what he was thinking, all Jake could say was "I was really looking forward to having her, I was excited.."
We didn't say anything else the rest of the night.
The next morning we woke up and once again our new reality hit. We laid in bed and let the silence consume us. In two hours we were going to have to meet with the funeral home and plan Izzie's ceremony and make decisions most don't have to make for another 20some years.
We put our strong faces on and faced the day smiling, laughing, pretending to be normal.
On our way to the funeral home I got a call from the hospital notifying me that Izzie would be on her way to a hospital in Milwaukee for her autopsy. Little did I know the drama that would come with her being sent there. (More on that later)
At the funeral home we made the arrangements, picked out her casket, songs, flowers, but we didn't have anywhere to bury her. I don't think most people know where they are going to be buried in their twenties, well Jake and I now do. We made an appointment at a local cemetery to pick out our graves.
FUNNY STORY: Jake and I use humor to cope. This might seem totally wrong to some people. Anyhow, when we were discussing where to bury Izzie, we decided that we wanted to be at a cemetery where all our family could eventually be together, which meant a public cemetery. Well, Jake casually mentions that we need to find a couple plots in the furthest back corner away from everyone. I laugh and ask why, and he says "choosing our plot is like choosing a seat in a classroom and I like to sit in the furthest back corner away from everyone." Not a hilarious story, but it lightened the mood.
At the cemetery we did get a couple plots in a back corner that won't be expanded on.
The next day was a shopping day. I had to get outfits for everyone including myself and Izzie. My mom, friend Ashley, and I left my house and headed to the store. Another friend works there and I told her to just pick clothes for me. The first outfit was the only one I put on, thankfully it fit.
I do ok, even now, in public. I don't want people thinking I am weak and I don't want strangers asking me a million questions, I don't need pity. This day, I did not do well. I literally put the shirt on and felt my breast start leaking. My milk chose that moment to make its appearance - fantastic. Then, I looked at myself in the mirror and said "this is what I will be wearing when I bury my daughter. My daughter died. My child, Isabel." I sobbed. I keep writing that it's an impossible feeling, it's impossible to describe and it is. There is no word, in any language (I looked) to describe the heavy loss of your own child. If you find some word, please pass it on to me.
If I thought picking out my own outfit was difficult, picking out Izzie's outfit was like the ninth circle of hell in Dante's world. This led to another breakdown in Kohl's, looking like a crazy person leaning on a shelf crying holding baby clothes. I'm allowed a couple more jars of crazy juice, I think.
The morning of the funeral I woke up and prayed for strength. I have always had faith, losing her ironically, only made that faith stronger. I think it had to because I have to believe something. I choose to believe that God took her from me because she was meant for something more, something she could do here with us. I have to trust that she is being held and loved by our loved ones in heaven. If I don't believe that, than where is my little girl? Surely more than "6 feet under", surely her pure spirit was meant for more, right?
My house on this day had this heaviness about it, as I watched everyone, no one knew how to approach me, no one knew how to talk to each other even. We are a close family and somehow this morning we all seemed wrapped up in our own thoughts.
When we arrived at the funeral home some people were already there - my close friend Kim and her mom, and Jake's Grandparents. I cannot even begin to explain what these people mean to me, I wouldn't have made it through the doors of that place if they weren't there. The funeral coordinators greeted us and brought us to our little girl who was waiting for us, dressed to impressed with her big teal bow. She was even more beautiful than I remember, she was perfect. A few people had gifts for Izzie, her great grandma (Jake's grandma) knitted her a blanket (that matched the teal - wasn't even planned) and we swaddled her in that. I have a necklace for her and I, it's Mizpah a verse from the bible that says: "May the LORD keep watch between you and me when we are away from each other." She has half and I have the other, we both wear them everyday. Rory gave her a locket that Izzie now holds forever that says "sisters forever". My mom, her and I got her a 3 generation bracelet, says "grandmother, mother, daughter". Jake left her a daddy's princess onesie and something special from him wrapped inside.
Over 50 people came to say "hello" and "goodbye" to Izzie, some went up and talked to her, others hung back and said silent prayers. It was one of the longest almost hour of my life. I wanted to just pick her up and hold her close like a newborn should be held and loved. I wanted a miracle. Desperate for that miracle I stayed away from her and just watched others be near her. At ten to 1pm we had to close her casket. The funeral coordinators walked us into the garage and let us pay our respects. This was the last time we would ever see Izzie in this life, she's our angel now. Accepting that and trying to say good bye at the same time is impossible.
The funeral service opened with "Amazing Grace" and our priest begun his blessings and prayers. Standard Catholic funeral. We went to the cemetery afterwards and drove to the "back of the classroom" to Izzie's final resting place. Jake and I of course stood up close to her, everyone else surrounded us. We debated if it was like a circle of strength or just weird feeling. We aren't used to being the centers of attention like this, so we never expected to have so many people there to help keep us together.
We chose to stay with Izzie as she was buried, but first we had to walk back to the car while the funeral directors dismissed everyone. I think my legs basically stopped working walking back to the car. I remember just leaning completely on Jake. People walked over to us to say good bye, it was mostly quick good byes until these 4 girls came up: Kim, Andrea, Becky and Megan. They were all crying. 3 of these ladies I have only known a short time and met through Kim, but they have the biggest hearts of almost anyone I know. They picked me right up and knew how to make me smile while we all cried. Pretty sure I fell in love with all of them right then. You never know who's going to be there for you until a life changing event (good or bad) happens.
Everyone was gone. We walked back over to Izzie. We heard the bobcat driving over with a bucket scoop and started laughing hysterically. The driver of the bobcat or "grave digger" (original nickname, I know) as we called him thought we were nuts. It didn't take long for her casket to be covered and grave to fill. Once again, the laughter stopped and that heaviness took over.
This is how we physically said good bye to Miss Izzie. Everyday now we tell her "good morning" and "good night", I talk to her while I'm driving in the car, or holding Rory while she sleeps, and countless other moments. I'm fairly certain Jake does too.
We spent our first night home alone, just Jake, Rory and I, no baby to hold or wake up to crying. The things you dread most about having a newborn (the sleepless nights, constant feedings, and changing a million diapers) you find yourself begging for if it means holding your lost child. I spent the first night numb, not sure how to look at Rory or be her mom. Thankfully she was tired and didn't require a ton of attention and mostly laid next to me.
Jake and I spent the next few hours talking about everything that just happened. I had never seen him so confused. Something you have to understand about him is that he is not emotionally expressive, he is a logical, realistic man. Looking at him in his recliner I saw a broken father that didn't know how to miss his daughter. I asked him to tell me what he was thinking, all Jake could say was "I was really looking forward to having her, I was excited.."
We didn't say anything else the rest of the night.
The next morning we woke up and once again our new reality hit. We laid in bed and let the silence consume us. In two hours we were going to have to meet with the funeral home and plan Izzie's ceremony and make decisions most don't have to make for another 20some years.
We put our strong faces on and faced the day smiling, laughing, pretending to be normal.
On our way to the funeral home I got a call from the hospital notifying me that Izzie would be on her way to a hospital in Milwaukee for her autopsy. Little did I know the drama that would come with her being sent there. (More on that later)
At the funeral home we made the arrangements, picked out her casket, songs, flowers, but we didn't have anywhere to bury her. I don't think most people know where they are going to be buried in their twenties, well Jake and I now do. We made an appointment at a local cemetery to pick out our graves.
FUNNY STORY: Jake and I use humor to cope. This might seem totally wrong to some people. Anyhow, when we were discussing where to bury Izzie, we decided that we wanted to be at a cemetery where all our family could eventually be together, which meant a public cemetery. Well, Jake casually mentions that we need to find a couple plots in the furthest back corner away from everyone. I laugh and ask why, and he says "choosing our plot is like choosing a seat in a classroom and I like to sit in the furthest back corner away from everyone." Not a hilarious story, but it lightened the mood.
At the cemetery we did get a couple plots in a back corner that won't be expanded on.
The next day was a shopping day. I had to get outfits for everyone including myself and Izzie. My mom, friend Ashley, and I left my house and headed to the store. Another friend works there and I told her to just pick clothes for me. The first outfit was the only one I put on, thankfully it fit.
I do ok, even now, in public. I don't want people thinking I am weak and I don't want strangers asking me a million questions, I don't need pity. This day, I did not do well. I literally put the shirt on and felt my breast start leaking. My milk chose that moment to make its appearance - fantastic. Then, I looked at myself in the mirror and said "this is what I will be wearing when I bury my daughter. My daughter died. My child, Isabel." I sobbed. I keep writing that it's an impossible feeling, it's impossible to describe and it is. There is no word, in any language (I looked) to describe the heavy loss of your own child. If you find some word, please pass it on to me.
If I thought picking out my own outfit was difficult, picking out Izzie's outfit was like the ninth circle of hell in Dante's world. This led to another breakdown in Kohl's, looking like a crazy person leaning on a shelf crying holding baby clothes. I'm allowed a couple more jars of crazy juice, I think.
The morning of the funeral I woke up and prayed for strength. I have always had faith, losing her ironically, only made that faith stronger. I think it had to because I have to believe something. I choose to believe that God took her from me because she was meant for something more, something she could do here with us. I have to trust that she is being held and loved by our loved ones in heaven. If I don't believe that, than where is my little girl? Surely more than "6 feet under", surely her pure spirit was meant for more, right?
My house on this day had this heaviness about it, as I watched everyone, no one knew how to approach me, no one knew how to talk to each other even. We are a close family and somehow this morning we all seemed wrapped up in our own thoughts.
When we arrived at the funeral home some people were already there - my close friend Kim and her mom, and Jake's Grandparents. I cannot even begin to explain what these people mean to me, I wouldn't have made it through the doors of that place if they weren't there. The funeral coordinators greeted us and brought us to our little girl who was waiting for us, dressed to impressed with her big teal bow. She was even more beautiful than I remember, she was perfect. A few people had gifts for Izzie, her great grandma (Jake's grandma) knitted her a blanket (that matched the teal - wasn't even planned) and we swaddled her in that. I have a necklace for her and I, it's Mizpah a verse from the bible that says: "May the LORD keep watch between you and me when we are away from each other." She has half and I have the other, we both wear them everyday. Rory gave her a locket that Izzie now holds forever that says "sisters forever". My mom, her and I got her a 3 generation bracelet, says "grandmother, mother, daughter". Jake left her a daddy's princess onesie and something special from him wrapped inside.
Over 50 people came to say "hello" and "goodbye" to Izzie, some went up and talked to her, others hung back and said silent prayers. It was one of the longest almost hour of my life. I wanted to just pick her up and hold her close like a newborn should be held and loved. I wanted a miracle. Desperate for that miracle I stayed away from her and just watched others be near her. At ten to 1pm we had to close her casket. The funeral coordinators walked us into the garage and let us pay our respects. This was the last time we would ever see Izzie in this life, she's our angel now. Accepting that and trying to say good bye at the same time is impossible.
The funeral service opened with "Amazing Grace" and our priest begun his blessings and prayers. Standard Catholic funeral. We went to the cemetery afterwards and drove to the "back of the classroom" to Izzie's final resting place. Jake and I of course stood up close to her, everyone else surrounded us. We debated if it was like a circle of strength or just weird feeling. We aren't used to being the centers of attention like this, so we never expected to have so many people there to help keep us together.
We chose to stay with Izzie as she was buried, but first we had to walk back to the car while the funeral directors dismissed everyone. I think my legs basically stopped working walking back to the car. I remember just leaning completely on Jake. People walked over to us to say good bye, it was mostly quick good byes until these 4 girls came up: Kim, Andrea, Becky and Megan. They were all crying. 3 of these ladies I have only known a short time and met through Kim, but they have the biggest hearts of almost anyone I know. They picked me right up and knew how to make me smile while we all cried. Pretty sure I fell in love with all of them right then. You never know who's going to be there for you until a life changing event (good or bad) happens.
Everyone was gone. We walked back over to Izzie. We heard the bobcat driving over with a bucket scoop and started laughing hysterically. The driver of the bobcat or "grave digger" (original nickname, I know) as we called him thought we were nuts. It didn't take long for her casket to be covered and grave to fill. Once again, the laughter stopped and that heaviness took over.
This is how we physically said good bye to Miss Izzie. Everyday now we tell her "good morning" and "good night", I talk to her while I'm driving in the car, or holding Rory while she sleeps, and countless other moments. I'm fairly certain Jake does too.
Sunday, August 4, 2013
Izzie is born.
Continuing on...
After the fetal demise nurse left us for the night my mom came back with our hospital bag we had packed a few days before. Jake's grandparents then came up at about midnight, they were distraught and confused and needed to be with us for a bit. That's what everyone said - "I just need to be with you guys". I know no one knew what say to us or do to help us. I wouldn't know what to do if I was trying to be there for someone - honestly, I would be grateful it wasn't me. I'm also sure that many at some point either said it or thought just that - I'm grateful it wasn't me, or at the very least I hope they realize just how blessed they are to have their children safe in their arms.
At about 1:30am I asked for the epidural after that was finished and the pain from contractions was finished I finally tried to get some rest. At 3:30am I was woken up due to shift change and I met my second nurse. The first RN was fantastic, but the second was even more so. I can't thank the both of them enough for everything they did for my family, they showed such compassion and strength for us.
I watch a couple movies while Jake rested and woke again just before 7:00am. I looked at my phone and through the night my facebook and text messages exploded with friends, family, and friends of friends sending thoughts and prayers. It didn't hit me right away that this was actually real until then. I genuinely thought this was just a bad dream and I was going to hold my little girl today and everything would be ok.
My doctor came in at 8:00am, I had no idea how he would react to this. I had just seen him on the Friday before and everything was fine, he predicted that she would be born this week, but not like this. No one could have predicted this. Doc walked in and had went straight over to Jake and I and held our hands, and held back tears. My OB has been an doctor for 25 years and is usually a man of few words and is also one of the most intelligent, well spoken persons I have ever met. I have always trusted him completely and still do. When he turned to talk to me all he said over and over was how sorry he was, I could tell he was blaming himself - as if there was some way he should have known this was going to happen. I found myself reaching out to him and explaining to him how he has nothing to justify to me, just to help me through this and help us find answers.
He checked me and broke my water, I was at a 3 and her head still wasn't in position. Saying that hearing that news made me upset doesn't begin to explain how devastated I was. After 12 hours of labor I expected to be at at least 5cm. My labor with Rory, my first daughter, was 2.5 days of labor on pitocin, I was seeing this labor turn in to a marathon too.
I asked my doctor to give me a c section, dreading the long labor it seemed I was going to have. He explained that in these situations they urge the mother and family to try and deliver naturally and hold off on a c section unless the mother is in danger or labor is stalled and not kicking back up. I told him I didn't think I could do it, which I didn't. How was I suppose to just sit there laboring and then expected to push my dead child out of me? It was impossible to wrap my head around. Impossible that all these people expected me to do this and "be strong". It made me angry, none of them were expected to this impossible thing. Doc then encouraged me, Jake encouraged me. Somehow they convinced me that I am stronger than I know.
Jake's dad and his dad's wife came to the hospital at about noon. I napped again. At 1:30pm I started to feel some pressure and asked to be checked. I was at a 7 - THANK GOD! At 2:15pm I started to feel this intense pain and pressure and knew it was almost time. I needed more pain medicine I did not want to feel her coming out. I did not want to feel the pain of her ripping through my body. I was at a 9 at 2:25pm and begging to push. My room turned into chaos at that point. My nurse was running around trying to set everything up, trying to get my pain medicine, trying to get my doctor down to my room and trying to keep me and Jake calm while talking me through my contractions that I could now completely feel as if my epidural wore off. It was hell.
At 2:40pm my body was ready and I was at a 10, her head was low and perfectly were it needed to be. That's when reality hit me. I looked at Jake and told him I couldn't do this. I couldn't deliver her, I had to keep her inside me where she was suppose to be safe and protected from everything. I apologized to him for losing her, for doing something wrong. This is one of the moments I will remember forever. My man is just that a Man. He has this incredible strength and understanding of me. It's not the words that he said, it was how he just held me and held my hand while I delivered our second daughter.
I started pushing and it was so much harder than I remember it being - then I remember it's because she isn't alive, she isn't "helping". I looked at my doctor once while pushing - he was crying. I didn't look at anyone else after that and kept my eyes closed and listened to my breathing.
Isabel "Izzie" Grace was born at 2:56pm. She was perfect and so beautiful. I kept waiting for her cry, waiting for a miracle. I denied to myself that this was possible, that this was real life. She had to be alive.
I looked around the room at everyone and everyone except me was crying. I didn't know what to do. I was numb.
After I was cleaned up and checked for tears (there was none) Doc came and explained that there was a narrowed part of the umbilical cord, a spot he never would have noticed unless looking for it like he was in this situation. It's possible that this could be our answer as to why we lost her. He also explained that based on her coloring and skin breaking down that she most likely passed away sometime Monday - the last time I felt her move. How didn't I know?! Why didn't I go in when I felt something was wrong? Could I have saved her?
All these questions I allowed myself to ask once and haven't asked since. I will never know the answer. The only one I do have answer to is why didn't I go in when I first felt something was wrong - Izzie was a lazy baby in utero. She didn't move a ton and never passed kick counts. She still had a routine and as long as I felt a few throughout the day, I was happy.
We asked everyone to leave the room so we could have some time with Izzie. The nurse brought her to us, neither Jake or I could hold her. When we looked at her all we could see was Rory. They could have been twins. I held her hand and rubbed her face, she was so cold. How could she be so cold, she was just inside my body? At that moment I felt I failed as a mother. Jake must have seen something in my face, he came over and kissed me and told me I'm an amazing mother and he wouldn't want anyone else to be the mother to his children. I love him.
We let everyone come in that wanted to see her. Some wanted to hold her, others just cried over her. I was still as protective of her, if not more, and remember looking over at her constantly just to make sure she was alright.
I called a friend and asked her to come pray over all of us, especially Izzie as we let her go. I have faith and believe in God, but this was like nothing I have ever experienced. I felt His presence and that of everyone else too.
The next step to this journey, was leaving the hospital. Through all of this I asked myself "how am I suppose to..." this was a question I didn't even fathom how hard it would be to answer. My perfect, beautiful daughter laid in front of me all swaddled and ready to go home and keep her mommy and daddy awake all night and drive her big sister crazy. Instead, we have to leave her here where she will stay the night and go to another hospital in the morning.
I think this is when everything came crashing down on me. I didn't know how to physically walk of this room and leave. Jake asked the nurse to take her for us. I think a part of me left with her then to stay and protect her.
We got home that night and held Rory so tight.
I'll leave it there....
After the fetal demise nurse left us for the night my mom came back with our hospital bag we had packed a few days before. Jake's grandparents then came up at about midnight, they were distraught and confused and needed to be with us for a bit. That's what everyone said - "I just need to be with you guys". I know no one knew what say to us or do to help us. I wouldn't know what to do if I was trying to be there for someone - honestly, I would be grateful it wasn't me. I'm also sure that many at some point either said it or thought just that - I'm grateful it wasn't me, or at the very least I hope they realize just how blessed they are to have their children safe in their arms.
At about 1:30am I asked for the epidural after that was finished and the pain from contractions was finished I finally tried to get some rest. At 3:30am I was woken up due to shift change and I met my second nurse. The first RN was fantastic, but the second was even more so. I can't thank the both of them enough for everything they did for my family, they showed such compassion and strength for us.
I watch a couple movies while Jake rested and woke again just before 7:00am. I looked at my phone and through the night my facebook and text messages exploded with friends, family, and friends of friends sending thoughts and prayers. It didn't hit me right away that this was actually real until then. I genuinely thought this was just a bad dream and I was going to hold my little girl today and everything would be ok.
My doctor came in at 8:00am, I had no idea how he would react to this. I had just seen him on the Friday before and everything was fine, he predicted that she would be born this week, but not like this. No one could have predicted this. Doc walked in and had went straight over to Jake and I and held our hands, and held back tears. My OB has been an doctor for 25 years and is usually a man of few words and is also one of the most intelligent, well spoken persons I have ever met. I have always trusted him completely and still do. When he turned to talk to me all he said over and over was how sorry he was, I could tell he was blaming himself - as if there was some way he should have known this was going to happen. I found myself reaching out to him and explaining to him how he has nothing to justify to me, just to help me through this and help us find answers.
He checked me and broke my water, I was at a 3 and her head still wasn't in position. Saying that hearing that news made me upset doesn't begin to explain how devastated I was. After 12 hours of labor I expected to be at at least 5cm. My labor with Rory, my first daughter, was 2.5 days of labor on pitocin, I was seeing this labor turn in to a marathon too.
I asked my doctor to give me a c section, dreading the long labor it seemed I was going to have. He explained that in these situations they urge the mother and family to try and deliver naturally and hold off on a c section unless the mother is in danger or labor is stalled and not kicking back up. I told him I didn't think I could do it, which I didn't. How was I suppose to just sit there laboring and then expected to push my dead child out of me? It was impossible to wrap my head around. Impossible that all these people expected me to do this and "be strong". It made me angry, none of them were expected to this impossible thing. Doc then encouraged me, Jake encouraged me. Somehow they convinced me that I am stronger than I know.
Jake's dad and his dad's wife came to the hospital at about noon. I napped again. At 1:30pm I started to feel some pressure and asked to be checked. I was at a 7 - THANK GOD! At 2:15pm I started to feel this intense pain and pressure and knew it was almost time. I needed more pain medicine I did not want to feel her coming out. I did not want to feel the pain of her ripping through my body. I was at a 9 at 2:25pm and begging to push. My room turned into chaos at that point. My nurse was running around trying to set everything up, trying to get my pain medicine, trying to get my doctor down to my room and trying to keep me and Jake calm while talking me through my contractions that I could now completely feel as if my epidural wore off. It was hell.
At 2:40pm my body was ready and I was at a 10, her head was low and perfectly were it needed to be. That's when reality hit me. I looked at Jake and told him I couldn't do this. I couldn't deliver her, I had to keep her inside me where she was suppose to be safe and protected from everything. I apologized to him for losing her, for doing something wrong. This is one of the moments I will remember forever. My man is just that a Man. He has this incredible strength and understanding of me. It's not the words that he said, it was how he just held me and held my hand while I delivered our second daughter.
I started pushing and it was so much harder than I remember it being - then I remember it's because she isn't alive, she isn't "helping". I looked at my doctor once while pushing - he was crying. I didn't look at anyone else after that and kept my eyes closed and listened to my breathing.
Isabel "Izzie" Grace was born at 2:56pm. She was perfect and so beautiful. I kept waiting for her cry, waiting for a miracle. I denied to myself that this was possible, that this was real life. She had to be alive.
I looked around the room at everyone and everyone except me was crying. I didn't know what to do. I was numb.
After I was cleaned up and checked for tears (there was none) Doc came and explained that there was a narrowed part of the umbilical cord, a spot he never would have noticed unless looking for it like he was in this situation. It's possible that this could be our answer as to why we lost her. He also explained that based on her coloring and skin breaking down that she most likely passed away sometime Monday - the last time I felt her move. How didn't I know?! Why didn't I go in when I felt something was wrong? Could I have saved her?
All these questions I allowed myself to ask once and haven't asked since. I will never know the answer. The only one I do have answer to is why didn't I go in when I first felt something was wrong - Izzie was a lazy baby in utero. She didn't move a ton and never passed kick counts. She still had a routine and as long as I felt a few throughout the day, I was happy.
We asked everyone to leave the room so we could have some time with Izzie. The nurse brought her to us, neither Jake or I could hold her. When we looked at her all we could see was Rory. They could have been twins. I held her hand and rubbed her face, she was so cold. How could she be so cold, she was just inside my body? At that moment I felt I failed as a mother. Jake must have seen something in my face, he came over and kissed me and told me I'm an amazing mother and he wouldn't want anyone else to be the mother to his children. I love him.
We let everyone come in that wanted to see her. Some wanted to hold her, others just cried over her. I was still as protective of her, if not more, and remember looking over at her constantly just to make sure she was alright.
I called a friend and asked her to come pray over all of us, especially Izzie as we let her go. I have faith and believe in God, but this was like nothing I have ever experienced. I felt His presence and that of everyone else too.
The next step to this journey, was leaving the hospital. Through all of this I asked myself "how am I suppose to..." this was a question I didn't even fathom how hard it would be to answer. My perfect, beautiful daughter laid in front of me all swaddled and ready to go home and keep her mommy and daddy awake all night and drive her big sister crazy. Instead, we have to leave her here where she will stay the night and go to another hospital in the morning.
I think this is when everything came crashing down on me. I didn't know how to physically walk of this room and leave. Jake asked the nurse to take her for us. I think a part of me left with her then to stay and protect her.
We got home that night and held Rory so tight.
I'll leave it there....
Losing Izzie
I have one story I need to share and then there will be countless more. My first is the story of my daughter, Isabel "Izzie" Grace. I found out we were expecting our second child on December 5, 2012, it was early on, literally two weeks after conception. I was having morning sickness and was insanely tired, Jake told me to take a test because he just knew. We were so anxious and excited, life was about to change and we were giving our first child, Rory, a sibling!
I should add that Rory is just about turn 2, her birthday is August 12th. I was terrified at the idea of having two daughters so close in age. On top of that Izzie's due date was August 16th. So depending when she was born they could share a birthday or have them right next to each other (perfect....).
The rest of my pregnancy developed normally, except that Miss Izzie was a lazy, lazy baby. She never passed a kick count - ever. My OB ensured me that as long as she was consistent with her movements and counts, she is just a less active child (Rory was a crazy dancing monkey, polar opposites).
Everything, my entire life, our life, changed on July 30, 2013. I woke up that morning having contractions and just feeling "off". Jake assumed we were having a baby and was so excited. About mid-morning I called my mom and asked if she would come up and sit with Rory and I since I wasn't feeling well. When she got to our house I told her how crappy I felt and that I hadn't felt Izzie move in a while. Rory was exceptionally needy that day and needed to be close to me so it was until 4:30pm that I finally called the hospital to ask to come in and be monitored.
At 5:00pm I arrived to the labor and delivery department and got myself in the gown and comfortable on the bed. My friend, Becky arrived shortly after and sat with me. At this point I convinced myself all was fine and I would be laughing about this later. The nurse came in to start the monitors and hook everything up, that starts with finding a heartbeat. I rolled from side to side, to my back, back to my side - all they could pick up was my heart.
Another nurse came in at about 5:15pm. I was getting anxious and felt sick to my stomach. She right away picked up a heartbeat! She took my pulse to be sure, it again, was my heart. They told me the doctor was coming in to do an ultrasound to see what was going on. I already knew, I think I knew all day. Becky came and held my hand as we both held on to all the hope and faith we could.
5:35pm the on-call OB doctor came in and started the ultrasound, I saw a still baby, my still baby not moving, not breathing, just still. Izzie was gone. The doctor officially told me at 5:38pm that my perfect beautiful daughter was no longer with us. "I'm sorry, there is no heartbeat" is actually what he said.
I don't think saying "I broke down" or "I cried hysterically" can even cover the the heart wrenching pain that went through me. I felt a piece of my heart, the piece that Isabel Grace, my daughter held, ripped out of me.
The next couple hours were a blur, a blur I can and will replay over and over again. I am not the type or person that falls apart and stays broken. I try to heal and pick up the pieces, try to find answers to my questions and that is all I could do until Jake got to the hospital and held me. I started asking a million questions "where do we go from here?", "how can we find out what happened?", "what are my options?", and a million more.Before Jake arrived, I decided to run every test they offered and not to wait. Thankfully Becky worked at the hospital and helped keep the traffic to my room to a minimum, she drew my blood and held my hand as I made phone calls to my mom and Jake. My mom arrived about a quarter after 6:00pm. Jake was still over an hour away. Ashley, one of my greatest friends, came to the hospital about 6:45pm. Jake still had no idea we lost our daughter.
The doctor came in and told me the amniocentesis was ready and explained the procedure, but before that we had to verify again that Izzie was truly gone. They need two physicians to verify that life is gone. I warned my mom and Ashley not to watch the ultrasound, being the stubborn women they are, they didn't listen. I watched as they seen what I did and tried to pray a miracle into this little baby inside me.
Once the ultrasound was complete, the doctor jumped right into setting up the amino and walked me through it. For those that have never had an amino - it's not horrible, but it definitely isn't comfortable having a needle inserted into your stomach. If you ever need to have one don't watch and remember to breathe. The amino didn't take long maybe ten minutes? I needed a break after all that to wait for Jake and talk to him. The next step was going to be the hardest thing I will ever do in my life and in our life together.
Jake made it to the hospital at about 7:30pm. He knew at this point, he insisted I tell him what was happening. When he walked into the hospital room, it all became real and I knew that he was going to pull us through this. I explained everything we had done so far, all he could ask was "are they sure?"
The doctor came in to talk to Jake to ask if we were ready to start induction. Jake became protective explaining to the doctor that I was on pitocin for my labor with Rory and it lasted over 2 days, he didn't want that for me again. (I love this man.) The doctor explained that they really advise against doing c-sections in these situations since the recovery is going to be hard enough, having to recover from a c-section too was only going to make it harder. We understood and continued with the pitocin.
Everyone left at this point, Becky needed to sleep, my Mom and Ashley went to our home and took down the nursery for us, including repainting. We met with a nurse that deals with "fetal demise" that's what we were calling it, the loss of our baby. She talked to us about support groups, what we could expect her to look, all the legal things we needed to do and funeral arrangements. Funeral. Wrapping your head around that - funeral arrangements for your child - is impossible to understand unless you've been there.
I'm going to leave it here for now.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)