No, I'm not pregnant. However, I do have renewed hope that I may some day have a healthy, term pregnancy. Last week, I had a large uterine septum corrected. Basically, since birth, I have had a large wall of fibrous tissue splitting my uterus in half. Until this fall, I believed that I had been struck by lightening twice - two pregnancies, two disastrous and unexplained endings. I believed my doctors when they told me there was no way to know what caused Patricia's death at 31 weeks. I believed them when after two sonograms in between pregnancies, they said it was safe to try again and that the odds were in our favor. I believed them with they told me Anna's birth at 26 weeks was due to incompetent cervix, another condition I had no risk factors for...you get the picture. Basically, they were all wrong.
When I was 6 weeks pregnant with Anna, I went in for an early sonogram and the technician remarked that she saw what looked like a bicornuate uterus, or heart shaped uterus. This was not seen during any previous sonograms, neither pregnant nor non pregnant (of which there were three). I was concerned, but my doctor assured me there was no causal link between bicornuate uterus and stillbirth. Though it went on to cause me a great deal of anxiety during my pregnancy with Anna, since I was already pregnant, there was nothing we could do but wait.
After Anna was born, my doctor recommended an x-ray procedure called an HSG to confirm the shape of my uterus. However, I was required to wait until my cycle returned to ensure I wasn't pregnant (ha!) and this didn't happen until July of this year. When we determined through HSG and 3D ultrasound that I actually had a uterine septum and not a bicornuate uterus, my doctor was shocked. She said it was a miracle either girl made it so far because the miscarriage rate is so high. However, the septum is overwhelmingly likely to be the cause of both Patricia's stillbirth and Anna's prematurity.
At last, we had an answer! I took it hard. It was nice believing that what happened to both girls was not my fault and could not have been prevented. While I understand that this condition was not my fault, it is extremely difficult to process the idea that Patricia's death and Anna's early birth and subsequent issues could have been prevented with an easy, 45 minute outpatient surgery.
I had the procedure, a hysteroscopy, done by an experienced Reproductive Endocrinologist. After the surgery, he said the septum was larger than he expected but he believes he got it all and a second surgery won't be needed. It was almost too easy. I had no pain, very little bleeding, and was out in time for brunch! I am so thankful that the "fix" was so easy, but I am still working to let go of the anger. Patricia's death, and a literal lifetime of pain for Anna could have and should have been prevented.
I truly believe that our family will benefit in so many ways from the addition of a little brother or sister (or both!) for Anna, and I hope that we will get the all clear to begin trying soon.
Showing posts with label stillbirth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stillbirth. Show all posts
September 29, 2014
August 28, 2013
Patricia's Birth Story, Part 2
This is the second part of the story of Patricia's birth, written in May of 2012.
We were scheduled early in the morning on Thursday, March 29th, 2012. When we arrived, the nurse took us right back to ground zero. Again, she put gel on my belly and started up the machine. I held Cliff’s hand as she confirmed that our first child was no longer living. Before coming in that morning, we had decided to try to find out whether we were having a boy or a girl. But baby’s legs were crossed tightly and we couldn’t see. We were meant to be surprised upon delivery, just like we had planned. My Dr. checked me and said that my body hadn’t made any progress on its own. This was not surprising, but could make the induction harder. She said she had alerted labor and delivery that I would arrive at 3pm that afternoon to begin the induction. She again warned me that the process could take many hours, especially since I was a first time mom and it was just too soon. Although she wouldn’t be in labor and delivery that day, she was scheduled to be on call on Friday so she would be with me all day and all night.
When we left the hospital, Cliff and I tried to think of ways to pass the time. We stopped by a bookstore to get some reading material for the hospital. A few doors down from there was the AAA travel agency. We decided to stop in for a bit and do some vacation planning. At the time, we just wanted to get away. We talked with the agent about Mexico and the Caribbean, and got some magazines to take with us. As we were leaving, she asked when I was due. I broke down and we ran out and drove home.
My parents picked us up around 2:30pm and we headed to the hospital. We brought our hospital bag with pajamas, snacks, water, books, and computers. I was scared, but calm. We took the elevator up to the second floor, just like we had been told to at the birthing seminar Cliff and I attend a couple of weeks prior. When we got to the maternity floor, we forgot our way and walked into the postpartum side. We asked where to check in and the nurse said cheerfully “oops, back to the other side! You’ll be back here later!” We wouldn’t. At that point I started crying and followed as we were guided to the labor and delivery side. The nurse behind the desk first motioned to the sign in sheets but upon realizing who we were, she quietly led us to our room. It was isolated, away from the others, and the staff had placed a white flower on the door to signify the purpose of our visit.
We had some time to get acquainted with our room before our first nurse came to introduce herself. She brought me all of the forms to fill out and helped me get into the hospital gown and figure out how to use the adjustable bed. Then the waiting began. They had to receive instructions from the Dr. on call regarding my first dosage. In the meantime, the nurse placed a hep lock on my left wrist and told me a little about pain management. Then, more waiting. At 5pm, she came back in and administered my first dose of Cytotec. According to the Dr., I was to receive additional doses every four hours. Therefore, the waiting continued.
I sat in the bed and Cliff and my parents were scattered around the room. We read through the folder of information the hospital gave us about stillbirth and talked about the vacation we were thinking of taking. A few visitors from church stopped by to talk to Mom, but I wasn’t up for seeing anyone. Eventually, Mom and Dad decided to go get some dinner. My Dr. said I could eat or drink whatever I wanted, so they were going to meet my brother for dinner and bring back some for Cliff and me. While they were gone, Cliff and I tried to give each other support and distract ourselves by reading, getting on the computer, and watching tv. At some point, the night nurse came in to check on us and introduce herself. Her name was Janet. Mom and my brother arrived back at the hospital first. They had stopped by Buy Buy Baby to pick up something for our baby to wear, a blue outfit and a pink outfit. Dad had to wait for our food to be cooked before returning. When he arrived, we ate our burgers and French fries. Then, the five of us sat in my hospital room and talked about random things. We even laughed a few times. Looking back, I think we were all in such a state of shock that we weren’t allowing ourselves to feel the weight of all the sadness surrounding the event. We were looking forward to meeting the newest member of our family.
By 9pm, I was starting to feel some small contractions and it was time for my second dose of Cytotec. This time, the dosage was doubled. Not too long after that, my family left to go home. We all wanted to try to get as much sleep as possible because we expected Friday to be a long, rough day. After they left, Cliff and I again tried to distract ourselves. We discovered that reading was tough, since we would read and re-read the same sentence over and over and still not comprehend its meaning. We browsed the internet, and watched Netflix on my ipad. A couple of weeks before, we had started watching the tv show Monk from the beginning, so we saw a couple of episodes of that. My contractions started picking up, and I had a monitor on my belly so we could see them on the screen. When Janet came back for my third dose at 1am, they were getting pretty uncomfortable. I knew I did not want to “be a martyr” as the first Dr. put it, meaning natural childbirth was no longer my plan. However, I also did not want to receive demerol through an IV because I wanted to be in a conscious state of mind when my child was born. Although I knew I would likely choose to get an epidural, I did not want to get one this early because I was afraid it would slow down my labor. At this point, I was only 1cm dilated. (This is where I should have asked more questions. Little did I know, nothing could stop or slow down contractions induced with Cytotec!) I agreed to take a couple of sleeping pills. We hoped it would help me relax and possibly sleep for a few hours despite the contractions.
Our plan did not work. By 2am, my contractions were very strong and painful. Cliff was lying behind me in the hospital bed trying to rub my back and comfort me as I cried out, but there was little he could do to lessen the pain. We called for Janet and requested an epidural. I did not realize how long it would take the anesthesiologist to get to us. That hour of waiting was the most difficult hour of my life. I was hooked up to the IV machine in order to receive fluids. My contractions were coming one right after the other with no break in between and they were very powerful. I was trying to remember everything we had learned in birthing class and I was yelling at Cliff “I’m breathing, I’m breathing.” I got up and walked around, I leaned over the bed with Cliff rubbing my lower back, I held on to Cliff as tight as I could, but nothing helped. The emotional pain we were both feeling magnified the physical pain I felt from the contractions. It seemed so unfair. Finally, at 3am, the anesthesiologist was ready. I signed the paperwork mid-contraction and sat facing sideways on the bed. I was told to lean over and arch my back and remain still, which is quite hard when you are in active labor! The pain of the needle shocked me and Cliff says he will never forget the face I made as it went in. Then I could feel the cold anesthetic flowing and I willed it to take effect quickly. The Dr. said it could take up to 45 minutes to be in full effect. As the minutes passed, I could feel the pain of the contractions lightening. However, there was a “hot spot” running right down my belly that was still feeling a lot of pain and the Dr. had to put more anesthetic in and have me lie on my side so it would be sure to get to that area. By 4am, the epidural was in full effect and I was able to relax. At this point, the nurse checked me and I was dilated to 5cm and fully effaced.
Cliff and I decided to try to get some sleep. He and Janet rearranged the furniture in the room so that he could pull out the small bed in the loveseat, but he felt too far away and eventually sat in a chair next to the bed so he could be closer to me. Due to the combination of being tired after the contractions, the epidural, and the sleeping pills, I fell into a deep sleep rather quickly.
At 7:30am, the daytime nurse came in to introduce herself and check my progress. When she lifted my sheet open, she discovered our baby lying peacefully between my legs, still in her amniotic sac. She left to get my Dr. while Cliff called home to let Mom and Dad know to come back to the hospital. I was still waking up when my Dr. came in and we were all surprised to discover that I had delivered a perfect little angel while I slept. It was if my body and our child wanted to give me the gift of avoiding the emotional and physical pain of the final stages of labor. I am grateful for that gift.
My Dr. lifted our baby onto a holder. She opened the sac, cut and clamped the umbilical cord and then placed our firstborn into my arms in a blanket with tiny footprints on it. She told us that we were the parents of a baby girl. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe that after all of this, I had a beautiful baby girl, and I was going to have to say goodbye to her. In my mind I begged her to cry out and to take a breath. I begged for it all to be a mistake. Cliff captured a few of our first moments as a family with our camera. We cried over her tiny little body and I did not want to let her go. We told her her name was Patricia Kirsten. When I became calm again, we agreed to let the nurses take her and clean her up and put her little pink outfit on.
Soon after my family arrived, the nurse brought Patricia back in to her family. She was in her pink sleeper and hat and wrapped in a yellow knit blanket. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. She was beautiful. The shape of her eyes and nose were just like Cliff’s. Her lips were delicate and red. Her hands and feet were the most precious in the world. She was our baby. They told us she weighed 4 pounds and 2 ounces, and she was 16.5 inches long. I couldn’t believe how big she was, and that an hour ago she had been a part of me.
Later, the photographers from the organization Now I lay Me Down to Sleep arrived to take pictures of Patricia with us. They were very kind, and we are thankful for their presence that morning. My aunt and uncle also visited us and met Patricia. I don’t know how long we spent with her. Eventually, everyone left the room and gave Cliff and I the chance to say a private goodbye to our precious baby girl. In those moments, which will never be enough, we told her how much we loved her. We told her how much we wanted her and how sad we were that we would not get to see her grow up. We told her that she would always be our first child, and that we would remember her and love her forever. And we will.
We were scheduled early in the morning on Thursday, March 29th, 2012. When we arrived, the nurse took us right back to ground zero. Again, she put gel on my belly and started up the machine. I held Cliff’s hand as she confirmed that our first child was no longer living. Before coming in that morning, we had decided to try to find out whether we were having a boy or a girl. But baby’s legs were crossed tightly and we couldn’t see. We were meant to be surprised upon delivery, just like we had planned. My Dr. checked me and said that my body hadn’t made any progress on its own. This was not surprising, but could make the induction harder. She said she had alerted labor and delivery that I would arrive at 3pm that afternoon to begin the induction. She again warned me that the process could take many hours, especially since I was a first time mom and it was just too soon. Although she wouldn’t be in labor and delivery that day, she was scheduled to be on call on Friday so she would be with me all day and all night.
When we left the hospital, Cliff and I tried to think of ways to pass the time. We stopped by a bookstore to get some reading material for the hospital. A few doors down from there was the AAA travel agency. We decided to stop in for a bit and do some vacation planning. At the time, we just wanted to get away. We talked with the agent about Mexico and the Caribbean, and got some magazines to take with us. As we were leaving, she asked when I was due. I broke down and we ran out and drove home.
My parents picked us up around 2:30pm and we headed to the hospital. We brought our hospital bag with pajamas, snacks, water, books, and computers. I was scared, but calm. We took the elevator up to the second floor, just like we had been told to at the birthing seminar Cliff and I attend a couple of weeks prior. When we got to the maternity floor, we forgot our way and walked into the postpartum side. We asked where to check in and the nurse said cheerfully “oops, back to the other side! You’ll be back here later!” We wouldn’t. At that point I started crying and followed as we were guided to the labor and delivery side. The nurse behind the desk first motioned to the sign in sheets but upon realizing who we were, she quietly led us to our room. It was isolated, away from the others, and the staff had placed a white flower on the door to signify the purpose of our visit.
We had some time to get acquainted with our room before our first nurse came to introduce herself. She brought me all of the forms to fill out and helped me get into the hospital gown and figure out how to use the adjustable bed. Then the waiting began. They had to receive instructions from the Dr. on call regarding my first dosage. In the meantime, the nurse placed a hep lock on my left wrist and told me a little about pain management. Then, more waiting. At 5pm, she came back in and administered my first dose of Cytotec. According to the Dr., I was to receive additional doses every four hours. Therefore, the waiting continued.
I sat in the bed and Cliff and my parents were scattered around the room. We read through the folder of information the hospital gave us about stillbirth and talked about the vacation we were thinking of taking. A few visitors from church stopped by to talk to Mom, but I wasn’t up for seeing anyone. Eventually, Mom and Dad decided to go get some dinner. My Dr. said I could eat or drink whatever I wanted, so they were going to meet my brother for dinner and bring back some for Cliff and me. While they were gone, Cliff and I tried to give each other support and distract ourselves by reading, getting on the computer, and watching tv. At some point, the night nurse came in to check on us and introduce herself. Her name was Janet. Mom and my brother arrived back at the hospital first. They had stopped by Buy Buy Baby to pick up something for our baby to wear, a blue outfit and a pink outfit. Dad had to wait for our food to be cooked before returning. When he arrived, we ate our burgers and French fries. Then, the five of us sat in my hospital room and talked about random things. We even laughed a few times. Looking back, I think we were all in such a state of shock that we weren’t allowing ourselves to feel the weight of all the sadness surrounding the event. We were looking forward to meeting the newest member of our family.
By 9pm, I was starting to feel some small contractions and it was time for my second dose of Cytotec. This time, the dosage was doubled. Not too long after that, my family left to go home. We all wanted to try to get as much sleep as possible because we expected Friday to be a long, rough day. After they left, Cliff and I again tried to distract ourselves. We discovered that reading was tough, since we would read and re-read the same sentence over and over and still not comprehend its meaning. We browsed the internet, and watched Netflix on my ipad. A couple of weeks before, we had started watching the tv show Monk from the beginning, so we saw a couple of episodes of that. My contractions started picking up, and I had a monitor on my belly so we could see them on the screen. When Janet came back for my third dose at 1am, they were getting pretty uncomfortable. I knew I did not want to “be a martyr” as the first Dr. put it, meaning natural childbirth was no longer my plan. However, I also did not want to receive demerol through an IV because I wanted to be in a conscious state of mind when my child was born. Although I knew I would likely choose to get an epidural, I did not want to get one this early because I was afraid it would slow down my labor. At this point, I was only 1cm dilated. (This is where I should have asked more questions. Little did I know, nothing could stop or slow down contractions induced with Cytotec!) I agreed to take a couple of sleeping pills. We hoped it would help me relax and possibly sleep for a few hours despite the contractions.
Our plan did not work. By 2am, my contractions were very strong and painful. Cliff was lying behind me in the hospital bed trying to rub my back and comfort me as I cried out, but there was little he could do to lessen the pain. We called for Janet and requested an epidural. I did not realize how long it would take the anesthesiologist to get to us. That hour of waiting was the most difficult hour of my life. I was hooked up to the IV machine in order to receive fluids. My contractions were coming one right after the other with no break in between and they were very powerful. I was trying to remember everything we had learned in birthing class and I was yelling at Cliff “I’m breathing, I’m breathing.” I got up and walked around, I leaned over the bed with Cliff rubbing my lower back, I held on to Cliff as tight as I could, but nothing helped. The emotional pain we were both feeling magnified the physical pain I felt from the contractions. It seemed so unfair. Finally, at 3am, the anesthesiologist was ready. I signed the paperwork mid-contraction and sat facing sideways on the bed. I was told to lean over and arch my back and remain still, which is quite hard when you are in active labor! The pain of the needle shocked me and Cliff says he will never forget the face I made as it went in. Then I could feel the cold anesthetic flowing and I willed it to take effect quickly. The Dr. said it could take up to 45 minutes to be in full effect. As the minutes passed, I could feel the pain of the contractions lightening. However, there was a “hot spot” running right down my belly that was still feeling a lot of pain and the Dr. had to put more anesthetic in and have me lie on my side so it would be sure to get to that area. By 4am, the epidural was in full effect and I was able to relax. At this point, the nurse checked me and I was dilated to 5cm and fully effaced.
Cliff and I decided to try to get some sleep. He and Janet rearranged the furniture in the room so that he could pull out the small bed in the loveseat, but he felt too far away and eventually sat in a chair next to the bed so he could be closer to me. Due to the combination of being tired after the contractions, the epidural, and the sleeping pills, I fell into a deep sleep rather quickly.
At 7:30am, the daytime nurse came in to introduce herself and check my progress. When she lifted my sheet open, she discovered our baby lying peacefully between my legs, still in her amniotic sac. She left to get my Dr. while Cliff called home to let Mom and Dad know to come back to the hospital. I was still waking up when my Dr. came in and we were all surprised to discover that I had delivered a perfect little angel while I slept. It was if my body and our child wanted to give me the gift of avoiding the emotional and physical pain of the final stages of labor. I am grateful for that gift.
My Dr. lifted our baby onto a holder. She opened the sac, cut and clamped the umbilical cord and then placed our firstborn into my arms in a blanket with tiny footprints on it. She told us that we were the parents of a baby girl. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe that after all of this, I had a beautiful baby girl, and I was going to have to say goodbye to her. In my mind I begged her to cry out and to take a breath. I begged for it all to be a mistake. Cliff captured a few of our first moments as a family with our camera. We cried over her tiny little body and I did not want to let her go. We told her her name was Patricia Kirsten. When I became calm again, we agreed to let the nurses take her and clean her up and put her little pink outfit on.
Soon after my family arrived, the nurse brought Patricia back in to her family. She was in her pink sleeper and hat and wrapped in a yellow knit blanket. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. She was beautiful. The shape of her eyes and nose were just like Cliff’s. Her lips were delicate and red. Her hands and feet were the most precious in the world. She was our baby. They told us she weighed 4 pounds and 2 ounces, and she was 16.5 inches long. I couldn’t believe how big she was, and that an hour ago she had been a part of me.
Later, the photographers from the organization Now I lay Me Down to Sleep arrived to take pictures of Patricia with us. They were very kind, and we are thankful for their presence that morning. My aunt and uncle also visited us and met Patricia. I don’t know how long we spent with her. Eventually, everyone left the room and gave Cliff and I the chance to say a private goodbye to our precious baby girl. In those moments, which will never be enough, we told her how much we loved her. We told her how much we wanted her and how sad we were that we would not get to see her grow up. We told her that she would always be our first child, and that we would remember her and love her forever. And we will.
August 27, 2013
Patricia's Birth Story, Part 1
In May of 2012 I finally felt ready and able to document the details of Patricia's birth. I have never shared it publicly but knowing how much it helped me to read others' stories, I am sharing it now.
On Monday, March 26th, 2012 I went to work after a wonderful babymoon weekend in San Antonio with Cliff. I was excited because I was reducing my counseling schedule to two nights a week which meant I would get to go straight home to enjoy a walk with Cliff. During our walk, I didn’t notice baby moving or kicking much. I tried to remember the last time I felt movement but I couldn’t pinpoint it because I had been busy at work that day and baby was usually more active at night anyway. After we ate dinner, I sat in the recliner and relaxed, hoping baby would take advantage of the extra space and say hello to us. I started to get a little worried when after two hours of relaxing and watching tv, I still felt no definite movement. We decided to go to bed and I tried lying on my left side because baby usually got very active at this time when I was in this position. When I felt nothing, I began to get even more worried. Being a first time mom who is also in graduate school (and thus not fully up to date on my pregnancy reading to the week), I wasn’t sure what was normal at this point. Cliff and I considered going to the emergency room, but we convinced ourselves that everything was probably fine and they wouldn’t be able to do anything for us anyway. I decided to go to my Dr.’s office first thing in the morning, just to make sure.
It was a restless night. We woke up on Tuesday morning feeling grey. I convinced Cliff that I would be fine at the Dr. by myself and he should plan to bike home from work as usual. This meant that I would drop him off at work and go straight to my Dr. I texted my boss that I’d be in late because I had to stop at the Dr. on the way. I think Cliff and I both desperately wanted to believe that everything was okay, even if deep down we sensed something was really wrong. On the way to Cliff’s office, we both voiced the thought that if there was a problem, I would call Cliff and he would get a ride to the Dr.’s office from his coworker. We were both in denial.
I arrived at the Dr.’s office just before they opened at 8:30am. There was no one in the waiting room but the front desk was staffed so I walked up and explained to the receptionist that I was 31 weeks pregnant and I hadn’t felt the baby move since Sunday. I knew my Dr. was at one of the office’s other locations that day, but the receptionist said they would get me in with another Dr. I took a seat in the waiting room, and even while I was sitting there, I was trying to convince myself that baby was fine. I felt a couple of twinges and thought to myself “I think I just felt something, I’m so silly for being here.” A few minutes later, a nurse called me back. She took my weight and led me back to the sonogram room where we had first seen baby on the monitor, 22 weeks ago. She put gel on my belly and started up the machine. She let me know she was just taking some measurements and then left the room to get the Dr. I continued to lie there, a terrible feeling building up inside of me. She hadn’t said “Oh, everything looks great” or showed me baby’s heartbeat like I was desperately praying for. I started praying to God and the universe to please make everything okay.
The nurse and the Dr. came back in after a few minutes and she started up the machine again. The Dr. pointed to the screen and said “Here is the chest cavity. Here is where we’d expect to see a heartbeat and it’s just not beating.” My world collapsed. I gasped loudly. I couldn’t breathe. I simply couldn’t believe it. As I started to cry I asked him, “Are you sure, are you sure?” He was.
The Dr. said he didn’t see any signs of bleeding or tearing, and that everything looked as it should. He said that it was probably an accident involving baby’s cord, and that there was nothing I could have done to cause or prevent it. He said sometimes these things just happen. He told me that he would schedule me an appointment with my Dr. on Thursday morning, two days from then, and she would check to see if my body made any progress on its own to deliver baby. He said that I would be induced Thursday afternoon and that the process could take a couple of days. He also told me not to “be a martyr,” to get something for the pain. He said he was very sorry.
I remember calling Cliff and telling him that he needed to get his coworker to drive him to the hospital immediately. I said “We lost the baby.” I hate that I had to make that phone call. I hate that I was in such denial that I didn’t let him come with me to the Dr.’s office that morning. My poor husband had to find out about the death of our first child, the center of our hopes and dreams, over the phone.
My next call was to my coworker to let her know why I wouldn’t be in the office that day, and to ask if she could tell my boss what happened. I will be forever grateful that she took that burden from me.
They let me sit there waiting for Cliff, who had to wait for his coworker to get to work before he could get a ride. They brought me water and tissues, and a nice receptionist came back to comfort me and tell me her own story of her son who was stillborn over 20 years ago due to a cord accident. The whole time, I prayed for it to be a dream, a terrible nightmare. Eventually they asked me to move to a different room to wait, and I was happy to get out of that one, which felt to me like ground zero. Soon after, Cliff arrived. He walked into the room where I was sitting in a chair and he went down to his knees, held me, and we cried together. I asked him if it was a dream, or if it was real. He confirmed that it was real, though we still couldn’t believe it. When we felt ready, we left the room and a nurse led us out a back exit so we did not have to go through the waiting room.
It was almost 10am. Cliff managed to drive us home safely. When we got inside, I immediately moved all of baby’s things into the nursery. Our beautiful stroller, which we had been proudly displaying in the living room, was not something I could look at. Nor was the car seat, or any of the gifts from the baby shower my coworkers held for me the previous weekend.
We decided not to tell my parents until we could tell them both together. That meant we had to pass the hours somehow. After some crying and hugging, we decided that it might be better if we left the house. There were just too many memories and plans. We went to the Japanese gardens, hoping for some peace and serenity but were disappointed to find that construction nearby took away from the quiet atmosphere. Additionally, the babies and toddlers there with their families were too much for us to handle. We decided to go home and attempt to distract ourselves with a silly movie. We rented “Tower Heist,” knowing that it was a movie neither of us would ever want to see again.
When 5:00pm finally came, we prepared to go over to my parents’ house and let them in on our misery. I know they were expecting some news because I had texted Dad earlier in the day to see when he would be home. I am sure that they never expected this. None of us did. They were waiting for us in the living room when we got there. They stood up when they saw us, and asked how things were. I said “not good.” I told them that I had been to the Dr. that morning because I didn’t feel baby move the night before. I said that they did an ultrasound, and that the baby’s heart had stopped beating. Mom immediately began to cry, but unlike the happy tears she cried when we first told her of her new status as a grandmother, these were heavy sobs. We cried together on the couch for a while before I was able to explain everything the Dr. had said. Dad called my brother and told him the sad news. I couldn’t talk to anyone.
The next 48 hours are blurry in my memory. We survived like robots. Eating when food was put in front of us, sleeping when it became dark, and crying until our eyes dried out. We all did research about stillbirth and what to expect and shared notes. We talked about what it might be like and some of the decisions that had to be made. We received flowers from friends and family, and delicious cookies from my brother. Strangely, we looked forward to Thursday morning, when I would have another ultrasound with my Dr. and make a plan.
On Monday, March 26th, 2012 I went to work after a wonderful babymoon weekend in San Antonio with Cliff. I was excited because I was reducing my counseling schedule to two nights a week which meant I would get to go straight home to enjoy a walk with Cliff. During our walk, I didn’t notice baby moving or kicking much. I tried to remember the last time I felt movement but I couldn’t pinpoint it because I had been busy at work that day and baby was usually more active at night anyway. After we ate dinner, I sat in the recliner and relaxed, hoping baby would take advantage of the extra space and say hello to us. I started to get a little worried when after two hours of relaxing and watching tv, I still felt no definite movement. We decided to go to bed and I tried lying on my left side because baby usually got very active at this time when I was in this position. When I felt nothing, I began to get even more worried. Being a first time mom who is also in graduate school (and thus not fully up to date on my pregnancy reading to the week), I wasn’t sure what was normal at this point. Cliff and I considered going to the emergency room, but we convinced ourselves that everything was probably fine and they wouldn’t be able to do anything for us anyway. I decided to go to my Dr.’s office first thing in the morning, just to make sure.
It was a restless night. We woke up on Tuesday morning feeling grey. I convinced Cliff that I would be fine at the Dr. by myself and he should plan to bike home from work as usual. This meant that I would drop him off at work and go straight to my Dr. I texted my boss that I’d be in late because I had to stop at the Dr. on the way. I think Cliff and I both desperately wanted to believe that everything was okay, even if deep down we sensed something was really wrong. On the way to Cliff’s office, we both voiced the thought that if there was a problem, I would call Cliff and he would get a ride to the Dr.’s office from his coworker. We were both in denial.
I arrived at the Dr.’s office just before they opened at 8:30am. There was no one in the waiting room but the front desk was staffed so I walked up and explained to the receptionist that I was 31 weeks pregnant and I hadn’t felt the baby move since Sunday. I knew my Dr. was at one of the office’s other locations that day, but the receptionist said they would get me in with another Dr. I took a seat in the waiting room, and even while I was sitting there, I was trying to convince myself that baby was fine. I felt a couple of twinges and thought to myself “I think I just felt something, I’m so silly for being here.” A few minutes later, a nurse called me back. She took my weight and led me back to the sonogram room where we had first seen baby on the monitor, 22 weeks ago. She put gel on my belly and started up the machine. She let me know she was just taking some measurements and then left the room to get the Dr. I continued to lie there, a terrible feeling building up inside of me. She hadn’t said “Oh, everything looks great” or showed me baby’s heartbeat like I was desperately praying for. I started praying to God and the universe to please make everything okay.
The nurse and the Dr. came back in after a few minutes and she started up the machine again. The Dr. pointed to the screen and said “Here is the chest cavity. Here is where we’d expect to see a heartbeat and it’s just not beating.” My world collapsed. I gasped loudly. I couldn’t breathe. I simply couldn’t believe it. As I started to cry I asked him, “Are you sure, are you sure?” He was.
The Dr. said he didn’t see any signs of bleeding or tearing, and that everything looked as it should. He said that it was probably an accident involving baby’s cord, and that there was nothing I could have done to cause or prevent it. He said sometimes these things just happen. He told me that he would schedule me an appointment with my Dr. on Thursday morning, two days from then, and she would check to see if my body made any progress on its own to deliver baby. He said that I would be induced Thursday afternoon and that the process could take a couple of days. He also told me not to “be a martyr,” to get something for the pain. He said he was very sorry.
I remember calling Cliff and telling him that he needed to get his coworker to drive him to the hospital immediately. I said “We lost the baby.” I hate that I had to make that phone call. I hate that I was in such denial that I didn’t let him come with me to the Dr.’s office that morning. My poor husband had to find out about the death of our first child, the center of our hopes and dreams, over the phone.
My next call was to my coworker to let her know why I wouldn’t be in the office that day, and to ask if she could tell my boss what happened. I will be forever grateful that she took that burden from me.
They let me sit there waiting for Cliff, who had to wait for his coworker to get to work before he could get a ride. They brought me water and tissues, and a nice receptionist came back to comfort me and tell me her own story of her son who was stillborn over 20 years ago due to a cord accident. The whole time, I prayed for it to be a dream, a terrible nightmare. Eventually they asked me to move to a different room to wait, and I was happy to get out of that one, which felt to me like ground zero. Soon after, Cliff arrived. He walked into the room where I was sitting in a chair and he went down to his knees, held me, and we cried together. I asked him if it was a dream, or if it was real. He confirmed that it was real, though we still couldn’t believe it. When we felt ready, we left the room and a nurse led us out a back exit so we did not have to go through the waiting room.
It was almost 10am. Cliff managed to drive us home safely. When we got inside, I immediately moved all of baby’s things into the nursery. Our beautiful stroller, which we had been proudly displaying in the living room, was not something I could look at. Nor was the car seat, or any of the gifts from the baby shower my coworkers held for me the previous weekend.
We decided not to tell my parents until we could tell them both together. That meant we had to pass the hours somehow. After some crying and hugging, we decided that it might be better if we left the house. There were just too many memories and plans. We went to the Japanese gardens, hoping for some peace and serenity but were disappointed to find that construction nearby took away from the quiet atmosphere. Additionally, the babies and toddlers there with their families were too much for us to handle. We decided to go home and attempt to distract ourselves with a silly movie. We rented “Tower Heist,” knowing that it was a movie neither of us would ever want to see again.
When 5:00pm finally came, we prepared to go over to my parents’ house and let them in on our misery. I know they were expecting some news because I had texted Dad earlier in the day to see when he would be home. I am sure that they never expected this. None of us did. They were waiting for us in the living room when we got there. They stood up when they saw us, and asked how things were. I said “not good.” I told them that I had been to the Dr. that morning because I didn’t feel baby move the night before. I said that they did an ultrasound, and that the baby’s heart had stopped beating. Mom immediately began to cry, but unlike the happy tears she cried when we first told her of her new status as a grandmother, these were heavy sobs. We cried together on the couch for a while before I was able to explain everything the Dr. had said. Dad called my brother and told him the sad news. I couldn’t talk to anyone.
The next 48 hours are blurry in my memory. We survived like robots. Eating when food was put in front of us, sleeping when it became dark, and crying until our eyes dried out. We all did research about stillbirth and what to expect and shared notes. We talked about what it might be like and some of the decisions that had to be made. We received flowers from friends and family, and delicious cookies from my brother. Strangely, we looked forward to Thursday morning, when I would have another ultrasound with my Dr. and make a plan.
July 25, 2013
Statistics
I've always been very good at statistics. I aced the course in high school, undergrad, and graduate school. What I didn't fully grasp while learning about probability and significance is this: Statistics mean nothing to the individual.
According to the March of Dimes Foundation, stillbirth occurs in about 1 of 160 pregnancies. Common causes include placental problems, infections, and umbilical cord accidents. About half the time, the cause is unknown. Such is the case with our Patricia. We consented to an autopsy but no cause of death could be found. We lost.
Also according to the March of Dimes Foundation, 1 in 8 babies is born prematurely. Common causes include infection, bleeding, and fetal stress. Anna's birth was actually due to a condition called incompetent cervix, where a woman unknowingly begins dilating and eventually goes into labor. According to the American Pregnancy Association, this condition happens in about 1 out of 100 pregnancies. Risk factors include previous surgery on the cervix, damage during a difficult birth, and a malformed cervix or uterus from a birth defect. None of these risk factors apply to me. We lost.
Though studies on micro-preemie survivor rates differ, we knew the chances were up to 85% that Anna would survive birth at 26 weeks. We won!
Although neonatologists are understandably hesitant to make any kind of predictions about a micro-preemie like Anna, she started out following the normal course for a baby her age. When Anna was 5 days old, our "luck" ran out. Micro-preemies like Anna are at high risk for intraventricular hemorrhaging, or bleeding in the brain. According to a 2003 study published in Pediatrics, the official journal of the American Academy of Pediatrics, approximately 5% of infants have bleeds as severe as Anna's, and only 5% of all bleeds happen as late as hers did. We lost.
The same 2003 study found the mortality rate of infants with severe bleeds to be somewhere around 75%. We won!
A 2008 study published in Pediatrics found that approximately one third of infants with bleeds develop hydrocephalus, or a buildup of fluid in the brain. We lost. Of these infants, 15% require shunts to permanently re-route fluid. We lost.
As Anna grows and develops, we cannot escape statistics. A 2005 study in Pediatrics found that 60% of children in the study with severe bleeds had cerebral palsy, 70% had mental retardation, and 92% required special services. In addition, the Hydrocephalus Association reports that an estimated 50% of shunts fail within two years and 25% become infected and require revisions. With our ability to defy odds, Anna's future is wide open!
To sum up: Statistics mean nothing to the individual. They neither frighten me nor offer me hope. If someone comes at me with statistics, I am likely to laugh or cry, depending on my state of mind. In a way, this is somewhat freeing as it allows me to have fewer expectations. Research is necessary and important and will surely guide our treatment plan, but we will move forward on this journey and focus on Anna as an individual and our family as unique.
According to the March of Dimes Foundation, stillbirth occurs in about 1 of 160 pregnancies. Common causes include placental problems, infections, and umbilical cord accidents. About half the time, the cause is unknown. Such is the case with our Patricia. We consented to an autopsy but no cause of death could be found. We lost.
Also according to the March of Dimes Foundation, 1 in 8 babies is born prematurely. Common causes include infection, bleeding, and fetal stress. Anna's birth was actually due to a condition called incompetent cervix, where a woman unknowingly begins dilating and eventually goes into labor. According to the American Pregnancy Association, this condition happens in about 1 out of 100 pregnancies. Risk factors include previous surgery on the cervix, damage during a difficult birth, and a malformed cervix or uterus from a birth defect. None of these risk factors apply to me. We lost.
Though studies on micro-preemie survivor rates differ, we knew the chances were up to 85% that Anna would survive birth at 26 weeks. We won!
Although neonatologists are understandably hesitant to make any kind of predictions about a micro-preemie like Anna, she started out following the normal course for a baby her age. When Anna was 5 days old, our "luck" ran out. Micro-preemies like Anna are at high risk for intraventricular hemorrhaging, or bleeding in the brain. According to a 2003 study published in Pediatrics, the official journal of the American Academy of Pediatrics, approximately 5% of infants have bleeds as severe as Anna's, and only 5% of all bleeds happen as late as hers did. We lost.
The same 2003 study found the mortality rate of infants with severe bleeds to be somewhere around 75%. We won!
A 2008 study published in Pediatrics found that approximately one third of infants with bleeds develop hydrocephalus, or a buildup of fluid in the brain. We lost. Of these infants, 15% require shunts to permanently re-route fluid. We lost.
As Anna grows and develops, we cannot escape statistics. A 2005 study in Pediatrics found that 60% of children in the study with severe bleeds had cerebral palsy, 70% had mental retardation, and 92% required special services. In addition, the Hydrocephalus Association reports that an estimated 50% of shunts fail within two years and 25% become infected and require revisions. With our ability to defy odds, Anna's future is wide open!
To sum up: Statistics mean nothing to the individual. They neither frighten me nor offer me hope. If someone comes at me with statistics, I am likely to laugh or cry, depending on my state of mind. In a way, this is somewhat freeing as it allows me to have fewer expectations. Research is necessary and important and will surely guide our treatment plan, but we will move forward on this journey and focus on Anna as an individual and our family as unique.
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