Its so hard to write this story, without the tears.  I know my life will never be the same again.  I guess I should start from the beginning.    When I first took the home pregnancy test, I couldn't believe it.  I was pregnant.  I was nervous, because Phil and I had discussed having only two children, and here I was pregnant with baby number three.  So many thoughts hit me at once.  Did I want another baby?  Could we afford another baby on one income, (I'm a stay at home mom)?  But once Phil and I discussed it that night, we knew we would manage, and we were both excited about the new addition to our family.     I made an appointment with an ob doctor for that week.  I went in and my pregnancy was confirmed.  However, I was also told I was a diabetic now.  In my previous two pregnancies, I had developed gestestional diabetes, and it had cleared up after their births.  Now I knew it was here to stay.  I was so afraid that something was wrong with the baby now, because my diabetes was so out of control.  I was sent to a high risk ob that same day to get a check up and to help lower my sugars.  I was told to inject myself with insulin three times a day, and to prick my finger several times a day.  Needless to say my fingers looked like pincushions.  But I didn't care. I would walk on my head  as long as I had a healthy baby.  However I also knew that I would take the baby either way, healthy or not.  I had to wait for several weeks to take all the tests necessary to detemine how the baby was.  We all walked on eggshells, those months.  Finally after all the sonograms, fetal echos, amnio, etc., we were told we were going to have a healthy baby girl.  The tests even showed that our baby was fertile, and would one day be able to have children of her own.     The months passed, my sugars were under control.  The only downside was that they told me I had calculated wrong my due date, that the baby was actually gonna be born around March 18th, rather than February 28th like I had thought.  I didn't question it, but I had my doubts.  But I don't have a medical degree, so I guess  I had to go by what they told me.    I went to an ob once a week, alternating between the high-risk ob to the regular one.  My pregnancy was good other than the diabetes.  I wonder if God was preparing me for what was to come.  During this time I met a few women who had previously suffered a stillborn.  I was amazed at how many.  I cried with a couple of them at the doctor's office.  Always wondering how brave these women were.  At one of my visits with the ob doctor, I wanted to discuss having my tubes tied after the baby's birth.  He told me to really think about it.  I remember telling him  that I knew three was the limit for me.  Looking back I wonder did he know something I didn't know, because he told me you have no guarantees, what if this baby died.  I thought it was strange for him to say that, but I just brushed it off.    On January 27th, I woke up to slight contractions, so I told Phil.  He thought it was best that we go to the emergency room to make sure everything was alright.  At this point, I was almost 33 weeks, and confident that all was gonna be alright.  After all my older daughter, Jessica was 33 weeks gestation, and she was fine.  I went in and it was confirmed that I was having labor pains.   I was also placed in a room with another pregnant woman, who had also suffered a stillborn the preceding year.  I thought at this point that they would give me steriods to help Angela's lungs develop.  But they never did, they decided to give me a drug called, "Breathine" and see if that would stop the labor.  How I wish I could go back, because everything went down hill after that.  They first injected me with the "Breathine."  I felt so awful, I had anxiety, sweats, my heart was pounding.  I kept thinking this is awful, Angela was moving all over the place.  I asked the nurses if it would harm the baby, and they assured me it wouldn't.   Two things it did do was stop my labor pains, and made my sugars out of control again.  After being in the hospital for three days, still on the "Breathine," I told the doctors I wanted to go home.  I was so worried about my other two at home that I was getting so nervous.  I would do a lot better at home and I promised to stay in bed.  I was told to go see the high risk ob the following day.  My ob doctor also told me that the high risk ob would probably tell me to stop taking the "breathine."  I thought that was odd, why would one doctor think it was ok and another not.  Sure enough the next day, she told me to stop taking the "breathine."  She checked the baby and everything looked fine.  I told her that I wasn't feeling the baby as much, but she just assured me that Angela was getting big, so I wouldn't feel her as much.    Who would have thought my life would change forever.  Nearly two weeks later, Angela had died.    I remember waking up on February 9th, not feeling Angela's good morning kick.  I knew it as soon as I woke up that something was wrong.  I had an ob appointment that morning, and decided to take Jessica with me that day.  I remember joking with the nurses about how Angela was sleeping in this morning.  Trying to laugh, but yet knowing that I would find out what my heart already knew, that Angela was dead.  I guess I was in denial.  They couldn't find the baby's heartbeat, several attempts were made, but no one said a word.  I didn't want to ask, because if they said it it would be true.  I was told to go upstairs so I could get a sonogram done.  I went upstairs, had my sonogram done, I did not look at the screen, and was told I needed to talk to the doctor.   I remember him coming in the room and asking me if I would mind if Jessica waited outside.  As she walked out, and closed the door, the tears started coming down my face.  He turned to me and said, "I'm sorry Maria, I believe your baby is dead."  I can still see the words, when I close my eyes, that were on the report, "No Cardiac Motion Detected."  How I cried.  He told me to come back with Phil, later that day so he could induce me.  I ran out grabbed Jessica and cried.  Together we cried all the way home.  I guess my little angel, Angela was watching over me that day, because I can't honestly say if I would be here today, if she wasn't with me that day.    We got home and I made a few calls.  The hardest one was to Phil.  I didn't want to tell him on the phone, since his job is an hour away, but he knows me so well.  I hear him cry out as I tell him I need him and that the baby is gone.   Phil made it home in half the time it would normally take him.  Together we held each other tight and cried.  Knowing that the road ahead was going to be hard and long.  We arrived at the hospital around six that night.  On the elevator ride to the labor and delivery a man told us congratulations.  Phil said, thank you, I just turned away.  What were we suppose to tell him, the truth, that our baby was dead.    We asked the doctor once again to do another sonogram, before he started to induce me.  This time I forced my eyes to watch the still form on the screen.  I knew it was for real then, she was gone.     The nurses were very nice, but we had one problem.  One of the residents came in all smiles and asked me if my labor pains had stopped yet.  She had come in without reading my chart and just assumed that I was in there for premature labor.  Phil told her in not so many nice words, to read my chart before she came in again.   She did come in and apologized afterwards.  I hope she learned her lesson.     They tried so many different drugs to induce me, both internally and in my IV, Angela did not want to be born.  Part of me was happy, I figured as long as Angela was inside of me, she was ok.  I guess denial was still there.   Yet a part of me, wanted to get it over with, I wanted to stop the pain.  But I'm sure many of you know the pain never goes away.      It was now February 12 and Angela was still not born.  I told Phil to go home and check on the kids.  He didn't want to go but I told him the kids needed him too.  He finally left and promised to be back in an hour.  I cried as he walked out the door.  After he left, the doctor came in and told me he was gonna place something internally to induce labor.  It was so painful, a half hour later, I was calling Phil to come to the hospital because I wasn't feeling right.  I was so cold and shaking.  He came so fast.  He was crying when he saw me, he thought I was dying along with our angel.  He called the doctors and they took the medicine out.  At this point my sister Anna and one of my best friends, Sheree had come to the hospital.  I was in full labor at this point.     Angela Sabrina, silently entered this world at 5:51pm, weighing 7lbs. 9ozs. and 20 inches long.  Anna was the first person to hold her.  I watched her back as she tenderly cleaned her up.  I remember crying out. "Anna tell me they made a mistake, tell me Angela's ok."  She never answered me, she just silently cried as she helped the nurse clean her up.  We were all crying now.  At this point, my sister-in-law, Phyllis came.  We all took turns holding her and crying.  I cry now as I write this because I wish I could go back and do so many different things.  But unfortuantely, we can't go back.  I remember how I held her close to me, begging her to breathe for mommy.   Everyone left to give Phil and me some private time together.  We held her close and cried.  We counted her fingers and her toes, she was so perfect, except she wasn't breathing.  Angela looked so much like her sister Jessica and brother Anthony.     Everyone came back into the room at this point.  The nurse took a few polaroids, which I cherish to this day.  How I wish we had brought our own camera or video.  How I wish we were told to bring an outfit for her.  How I wish I could hold her again.  Now all I have left is the blanket the nurse wrapped her up in.  A blanket I refuse to ever wash.  A blanket I still pull out and cry into when no one else is around.    When it was time to let the nurse take Angela we cried so much, we knew we would never get to hold her and kiss her again.  The nurse gently took the baby from Phil's arms, as he cried he never wanted to let her go.  She placed the baby in the bassinet and started to cover her face.  We told her not to cover her face until she went outside. Soon everyone went home.  Phil and I were all alone.  We cried and held each other.  I couldn't wait to leave the hospital.  We hardly slept, knowing that our baby was downstairs in the morgue.  No one told us we could see her  again, no one told us much.  I guess it was a week-end, and people who normally handle this were off.  Don't get me wrong,  the nurses were nice and went out of the way.  But no one told us we should have an autopsy done.  We were simply asked, and at the time I didn't want anyone to hurt her.  I wish if they had asked me again and told us how important it may be,I would have said yes because I have no closure now.  I don't know what caused my angel's death.    I can also speculate and that does me no good.     We left the hospital the following morning.  Phil took me the back way out, he didn't want me to run into another mother coming out with her newborn baby.  After all we were leaving with empty arms.  Life is so unfair.   When I got into the van, my tears fell again.  There was an empty spot in the back where my infant car seat should be.    I couldn't believe that 15 hours ago, I had given birth to an angel.     We made funeral plans and held her wake on February 17, at Sweets Funeral Home in Hyde Park.  They helped us tremendously which I am forever grateful for.    Our church, St. Stantlaus in Pleasant Valley, gave a beautiful mass.  Father Quinn played a beautiful song on his flute for Angela.  No dry eyes were in church that day.  I can still see Phil carrying the small white casket down the aisle.  I cry now, as I cried then.  He shouldn't  have to carry her down in a casket. He should be able to walk her down on her wedding day.  But of course, that will never be.    We laid her to rest at Saint Peter's Cemetary, they too helped us out, by donating a plot in their infant section.  We choose to have her buried there, so she wouldn't be alone.  We had ballons, that we wrote messages on, and played the song, "Angels", by Sarah McLaughlin.  I still get goosebumps, everytime I hear that song.    I know this is a pain that will last forever, it will never go away.  Sometimes I would like to try again and sometimes I'm afraid. What if it happens again?  After all I learned, first hand, nothing in life is guaranteed.  Regardless if we decide to try again, we both know nothing or no one can ever take Angela's place.   She has left a hole in my heart that can never be filled.    Sometimes, my faith in God is in question.  Part of me, wants to believe in God, yet a part of me doesn't.  If there is a God why does he make all these babies die?  Why allow others who are unfit to be parents, give birth to healthy babies, that they kill and throw in garbage bags?  If a baby is meant to die, why not make their babies be born dead, why let those babies suffer?  I ask so many questions, yet there is no answer.  I think even if he did answer me, no answer would be good enough.    I like to think that I wear a "mask" now these days.  I tell people what I know they want to hear.  I can actually smile and answer fine when they ask me how I am doing.  Do they really want to know the truth? That I will never be fine?  That this is a road that I must endure for the rest of my life.  It wasn't suppose to happen this way.  Children are suppose to bury their parents, not the parents burying their child.    I remember having crazy thoughts, a few months after Angela died.  I was watching the Montel show and it was on mothers being reunited with their children.  I cried so much.  I almost called the show.  I wanted to ask them if they could reunite me with Angela, crazy huh.  Or the first Easter that I begged God to rise my angel up from the dead.  I figured he did if for his son, why not bring me my angel back? Crazy, huh.    Some nights, I still cry softly in my bed, when everyone is asleep.  I close my eyes tight and almost see her in her little crib by my bed.  But harsh reality slips in when I open my eyes and she's not there.   No one can ever understand this pain, unless they have been in my shoes.  So please don't say, your young, you can have more. Or that I already was blessed with two beautiful kids.  This may be all true, but those words hurt just like a knife piercing my heart.   That doesn't change the fact that I have lost  a baby who was loved and wanted so much.    I cry for all the tomorrows I will never have.  Angela's first words, first steps,  and first fall.  I will miss her first kiss, her first date, and the grandchildren she will never be able to give me.  I could keep going on forever and ever.    If you have suffered any kind of loss, go to a support group. I go to one called HANDS, on the first Wednesday of each month, held at Vassar Bros Hospital.  Although I don't talk much there, it has helped me so much.   This is a nightmare that you can never wake up from, and I don't wish this on my worst enemy.   My prayers go out to all of you who belong to this club, a club we don't want to belong to, a club where there is no escape from the pain. Maria Scuderi Proud mother of three beautiful children two on earth, Jessica and Anthony, and one in heaven, Angela Sabrina

" Some people only dream of angels, we held one in our arms!"

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