In February I discovered that I was pregnant. I'm recently divorced so this was not only a surprise, but it was a scarey surprise. I have had six miscarriages. Two were between my firstborn and my twins and four others after the twins, the last one being 10 years ago. Pregnancy doesn't exactly give me that "glow" that so many talk about. I have morning sickness day and night during the entire time that I'm pregnant, and I was on bedrest with the twins for most of that pregnancy. Because of the many miscarriages in the past, I didn't worry about making an OB appointment right away. I was fairly sure that I would have a miscarriage with this baby as I had the others. I tried not to think too far ahead, and I mentally tried to prepare myself for what I thought would wind up being yet another lost child. By May, however, when I had no spotting, cramping or any signs that I would lose the baby, I began to get excited and made a doctor appointment. Hearing the heartbeat for the first time convinced me even more that the baby would be fine. The kids were getting very excited, and we talked about names, planned the nursery, and did all the things that families do when a new baby is on the way. We especially talked about babysitters. I had been a stay-at-home mom with my other children, but being divorced, I would have to go back to work this time. Joshua didn't want his baby sister to be in daycare, and he didn't want a stranger for her babysitter. He decided he would schedule his classes around her so that he could take care of her while I was at work.
In May we had the first ultrasound. The baby was so active that the technician had a hard time getting all of the measurements and pictures she needed to get. After she finally got everything done that the doctors needed, she was able to tell us that we were having a little girl and that everything looked normal and very good. This convinced me that everything was going to be fine and that the last of September our little girl would join our family. We started buying little girl's clothes and lots and lots of little tiny socks. We bought little socks in every color we could find. They were so tiny that we wondered if they would really fit a child. This baby was so loved by all of us. I was really happy that her brothers and sister were so excited about her.
On Monday, May 22, I left work after two hours because it felt like my pelvic bones were pulling apart. I was in so much pain that I could barely walk. My doctor told me to come on in to be examined. He put on the doppler and we heard a very strong heartbeat. The pains I felt were just a part of normal pregnancy. He said it was ligaments pulling and stretching. I was relieved!!!!......for maybe two minutes. After explaining everything to me and putting my mind at ease, he then told me that he wanted to schedule another ultrasound, this time at the hospital where they had better machines. He was concerned that the first ultrasound showed excessive amniotic fluid, and he wanted to have that checked out. He assured me that it wasn't time to worry, but of couse, I did. When I got home, I got on my computer and looked up polyhydramnios, which is what was written on my ultrasound order (excessive amniotic fluid). The results of my search made me worry even more, but I tried to put that worry in the back of my mind and decided that whatever might be wrong with her, we would be able to deal with it after she was born. On Wednesday, May 24, I wrote in my diary that she was kicking a lot that day. Now I wonder if that was her last day alive. On Memorial Day, May 30, I made a comment to the kids that she hasn't been very active the last couple of days. But I was scheduled to have the ultrasound the next day, so I still didn't worry too much.
On Tuesday, May 31, I went in for the ultrasound. As soon as I saw the baby onscreen, I felt a cold chill all through me. I didn't see a heartbeat. I didn't say anything. I just kept looking from the screen to the technician's face. The baby wasn't moving. I watched the screen for what seemed an eternity. I still couldn't say the words. I couldn't ask her why there didn't seem to be a heartbeat, and i couldn't voice the question, "why isn't my baby moving!?" All I could manage was to tell her that this baby was so much more active the last time than she is this time, when came out sounding very lame. I asked her if there was still excessive fluid. There wasn't. This was the news I prayed for! But I didn't feel the relief that I should have felt. I knew what was wrong.
She put the doppler on me and there was nothing. She tried again. Nothing. I knew what she was doing, and I knew what the results were, but I still couldn't voice the words. I still couldn't ask the question. All I could do was lie there and stare at the screen. And listen to the silence.
I can't remember if I was the one who asked the technician, or if she just told me, but somehow, in some way, I was told that she was not alive. There was no heartbeat, and there was no movement. This was the start of my tears that have yet to cease..
The technician brought in yet another technician, her supervisor, who looked at the screen and listened with the doppler. He confirmed it. My baby had died at 21 weeks. I was 22 weeks pregnant.
The technician called my doctor to tell him the results, and he wanted me to immediately come to the office. I walked into the office and felt very self-conscious, like the nurses and the staff were watching me. I thought to myself, "They know. He told them." I felt like everybody was looking at me with pity. That was hard to deal with. When the nurse finally called me back, instead of directing me to one of the examination rooms, I was led into a room that obviously was used for "talks" or for "conferences" or something other than what I wanted to be there for. There was no examination table. In its place was a round table with four chairs. In the middle of the table was a box of tissues. I sat down, stared at the tissues and waited for my doctor.
When he came in, he looked so sad. He asked me if the technician told me what happened. I said, "She told me she wasn't alive. But she didn't tell me what happened." He said that he didn't know what happened. The ultrasound seemed to show a perfectly formed little girl. He said that in cases like this, it's usually because of the cord being wrapped around her neck, but that wasn't the case with my little girl. He said he would like to run some tests on the baby (an autopsy) and me to try to find out what happened. There was silence for awhile. I looked up at him and thought I saw tears in his eyes. He's a young doctor, and I supposed he hadn't yet had very many deaths in his career. I could tell this was very hard on him. He seemed not to know what to say. I asked him, "What are my options. Do I carry her until I go into labor or what?" He said that I could, or that he could send me to the hospital and induce labor. I asked what did he recommend, and he answered, "Induce." I agreed with that, and asked, "when?" He answered, whenever you want. I said that I wanted it done as soon as possible. It was scheduled for the next day, May 31. He said he would put a pill in my cervix that would bring on labor. He would keep inserting another pill every four hours until I delivered the baby. There was more silence. He didn't seem to know what to say. I certainly didn't, either. I finally asked him if I would be able to hold her after she was born. He nodded yes. And those were, indeed, tears in his eyes.
I was to be at the hospital at 8:00 a.m. and was to go straight to what he called the woman's floor. When I got there, I had to walk past the nursery. I barely glanced at the babies, thinking to myself that this had to be a cruel joke. I didn't trust myself to do more than glance at the babies. I wasn't crying at that moment, and I didn't want to walk to the nurse's desk in tears. I realized I was in Labor and Delivery. Absolultely a cruel joke.
My doctor was tied up with another patient at another hospital, so I didn't get the first pill until 11:00 a.m. Every four hours he came back to insert another pill into my cervix until I finally started having contrations. During most of those 21 hours I held onto the thought that maybe, by some miracle, she would be born alive. My dr. hadn't examined me after the ultrasound. He didn't listen for her heartbeat. Maybe they were wrong. At 21 or 22 weeks, was there a chance that she could survive? The hospital had an excellent NICU. I would just make sure I listened for her cry. At 5:01 a.m. my sweet, tiny, precious baby was born. But she was born into silence. She didn't cry. But I did. I cried hard, and I cried loud. This was the beginning and the end.
There was the bustle of nurses working around me and everything after that is a blur, so I don't remember them cutting the cord or taking her away. I do remember when they brought her back to me, though. They left me alone to say hello and goodbye to my daughter. I did the typical mom thing that we all do when we first see our new child. I took away the blanket so that I could see all of her little body. I counted her tiny fingers and her tiny toes. I looked at her sweet little features. She was absolutely beautiful. She was perfect to me in every way, except that when I put my finger in her little hand, she didn't grasp it like babies do. She had a sweet little round shaped head like her brother, Joshua and sister, Ashley. She had her brother, Caleb's hands, Ashley's nose. She was one of us. She was ours. We named her Mackenzie Elizabeth. She weighed a mere 12 ounces, and she was only 9 inches long. She was so tiny. I held her for hours, just looking at her, taking pictures of her, crying for her, and just being with her. When it came time for the nurse to take her away, I kissed her little head and said goodbye.
I left the hospital with empty arms and a broken heart but was handed a packet just before we drove away. The nurse told me to wait till I got home to open it. Of course, I couldn't wait and opened it as we drove away. Inside, contained all that was left for me to remember her....hospital ID bracelets, certificate of existance with her hand and footprints, a memory book, and the blanket that held her tiny body. With tears streaming down my face, I remembered the feel of her in my arms. But that's all I had... memories. I look forward to holding her in my arms again. Until that time, she's resting in Jesus' arms. What better babysitter could a mother ask for? She was given to us for only a brief time, but in that brief time she left us with a lifetime of love and we all are forever changed. Well meaning people try to tell me that it would've been better or easier if I had just had another miscarriage early in the pregnancy. I guess it could've avoided a lot of pain and heartache, and maybe I wouldn't have this huge void in my heart. But I would have missed out on one of the four best and most precious things that God has ever been given to me. Yes, I have four children.
Sleep well, angel. Mommy loves you.
