(Written in September.)
"How are you feelling?"
"How are you doing?"
When people ask me these questions they don't really wants to know how I "feel". They don't know what to say, quite frankly I'm sure I make them uncomfortable when I do speak out about Izzie and how it "feels". I don't know if its that they simply don't know how to respond or they simply can't open themselves to listen.
What some don't understand is that I need to talk about her, that is how I feel close to her. I can't reach over and hug my almost 6 week old daughter, instead I talk about her and remember her, think about her. People are right that losing a child is unimaginable. That the pain is unspeakable. However, there is a difference in losing a child you held that was breathing, that you watched grow and a stillborn, and even more so in a miscarriage. I am sick and so angry hearing about people that have had one or even 6 miscarriages say that they know what it is like to lose a child. I'm sorry if this offends some people, but you have no idea what it is like. What you feel during a miscarriage is frustration, sadness sure, but it is nothing compared to losing the child you felt kick, that you named, that you prepared to be born. Losing a child at 10 weeks is different than at 32 weeks, or even 20 weeks. Even worse yet, losing the child that actually used to sleep in their crib and was completely healthy until they just didn't wake up, or passed away in a horrific car accident.
No one knows what it is like to be a "loss mom" or a "loss parent". Imagine how you would feel and multiply it by a million, then take that number and multiply it by the largest number you can think of and you still can't come close.
Jake was telling me how he felt last weekend. That's when I realized that him and I don't feel the same way, we're on different sides of the fence. I had asked him about hanging a picture of Izzie in our room, just for us, so if others don't want to see her they don't have too. This way though we have her.
He said pictures are for people that you knew, that you met.
Well that was a slap in the face. I knew Izzie, I know her still, but I am the ONLY person that does. I may not know her voice, what color her eyes are, if she had my smile or Jake's...But I know the only "life" she had.
Jake tried to explain how guilty he felt, like he didn't take care of me well enough, and he didn't protect Izzie. He told me how guilty he felt for taking my pregnancy for granted, why didn't he need to feel kicks if he was going to be holding her in 9 short months? He feels empty because he feels he took her for granted.
How do I explain to him that he is feeling "normal"? I can't.
I never realized all the loss that is out there until now. These women, well US women, aren't "allowed" to talk about our babies, our children. It's too scary.
Thank you to those that let me, and other loss parents, talk about their children. Even if we tell the same story over and over, even if we cry, or make you cry. You are helping us heal. You help us try to work through our complicated feelings and thoughts.
Thank you.
Showing posts with label Izzie. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Izzie. Show all posts
Thursday, October 17, 2013
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....
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