There have been times when I felt that losing my baby before he was born allowed for an easier grieving process. I have no memories with him. There are no scents or sounds that bring back a memory of him. I don't even know what he would look like. So there are times when that seems easier. Until the reality crashes in. I have no memories of him. I have no idea what he looked like. Smelled like. Sounded like. I have only loss, and a dream of what could have been. The world of miscarriage is confusing. I had a due date in May, but that date holds no significance now. Even the day we lost him is confusing. On December 11, 2014 we found out there was no heartbeat. By measurements, the best guess is that he died possibly two weeks earlier. December 12 was when he was born and the date we keep as the day he died, even though we know he had passed earlier. There are days like today it seems unfair to not have specifics. I want to know what happened, and when, and why, and I have to carry on knowing I will not know.
Last September, we got the surprise of our life. After having five children, we opted for surgery to make sure we stayed at "just five kids." Five years AFTER that procedure, I found out I was pregnant. Surprise - vasectomies can fail! It was crazy. We couldn't believe it. I mean, 'seven positive at-home tests, positive blood work, confirming ultrasound' couldn't believe it. We were so excited. We thought we were done with five, but finding out we would have six children was a miracle, and made us realize we really DID want more kids. We told the kids, they were excited. We told our family, they were excited. There was so much joy in the thought of this new baby. This total surprise, work of God, miracle baby. We found out through a new blood test that we were having a boy. We did a gender reveal at Thanksgiving with my whole family. We would have talks with the kids about what to name him. I wanted Andrew. Jerry wanted Titus. The kids joked we should name him something Biblical, like Mephibosheth. The kids would come with us to all of the OB visits, and we would go out to eat at Bob Evans after, because nothing is more exciting than Bob Evans! They were all in the room when we heard the heartbeat at 13 weeks. I remember laying there, watching their faces as we listened to the whooshing. They were all old enough to understand there was a baby inside, which was a new experience for us. They older ones were 5, 3, and 1 when I was pregnant with the twins. It was very cool to have them all there for the appointments.
On December 11, we had our typical late afternoon appointment. They called me back, and I explained to the nurse that we like to have our kids hear the heartbeat. I told her, "We want our kids to hear the heartbeat. Can you please make sure there is a heartbeat first before they come back?" She didn't listen. She called them all in right away. I lay on the table, praying she would find a heartbeat. In hindsight, I think my body knew. I was so concerned she wouldn't find a heartbeat - moreso than usual. So there I was, laying on the table, with my husband and 5 excited faces waiting to hear the heartbeat. And she couldn't find it. She tried and tried. The longer she tried, the harder I had to force the smile at my children, assuring them everything was ok. She still couldn't find a heartbeat. She called in the doctor, because she is better at finding it, she always finds it. The doctor came in. She couldn't find a heartbeat. The doctor said I would go in for an ultrasound. My whole family sat in the waiting area in the hallway, waiting for an opening in the ultrasound room. I remember trying not to cry as an expectant dad came out and sat down next to us with his row of ultrasound pictures, making a phone call to family to tell them everything looked good.
They finally called me into the room, alone. Jerry stayed in the hallway with the kids. She put the ultrasound wand on me, and said, "Oh.... I'm so sorry. There is no heartbeat." I saw my baby, laying still on the screen. I kept thinking, oh my baby... my baby. I started crying, trying not to, but not being able to help it. She said, "I'm so sorry to ask, can you hold your breath while I record for the heartbeat." I remember feeling bad for her. In my total sadness, I thought, how many times has she had to ask a newly grieving mother to be still so she could record the silence. They called Jerry in, and I realized he didn't know yet. I think he knew. But he had to see it all for the first time, too. There was our baby, laying still. The nurses took our children to the staff lounge while we finished the ultrasound.
We met with the doctor in her office. It is a lot to take in, all at once. Nobody truly expects to hear this news. We had a late appointment, and now we had to make decisions. It was a Thursday, almost 5pm by the time we talked with the doctor. She told us our options. I could be induced and deliver. I could have a procedure called a D & E where they put me under and take out the baby. And no rush, but if we wanted it before the weekend, they would have to know in 15 minutes to schedule with the hospital. Without even talking about it, we both chose the D&E. I couldn't bear the thought of laboring, knowing I would give birth to a baby that had already died. In fact, the thought that my baby was inside me already dead for two weeks was more than I could emotionally handle. I felt like my body had betrayed me. Why wouldn't it know? How did I not know? Did I know and I was just ignoring it? We told the doctor we wanted the procedure, and she had the front desk contact the hospital. She handed us the ultrasound picture of our baby. Our last picture. And after giving her condolences again, she said the most important words I have heard regarding this. She stopped, reached across the desk, and said "There is nothing you did to cause this. There is nothing you could have done to stop this."
"There is nothing you did to cause this. There is nothing you could have done to stop this."
I know there is someone out there who needs to hear that as much as I did. Mom guilt is a terrible beast. And when the entire health of a pregnancy is in the mother's hands, it is SO HARD to let go and realize these things happen OUT OF OUR CONTROL. It isn't your fault. It wasn't my fault. Even still I will think, maybe it was that benadryl I took.... maybe I shouldn't have moved the couch.... I wonder if I slept on my right side instead of my left one night. Nothing I did caused this. Nothing I could have done would have stopped this.
After talking with the doctor, we then had to walk into the staff lounge and tell our kids. What a hard thing. There was a lot of crying. Jerry did the talking. Our baby is already with Jesus. We are sad, and it's ok to be sad. We walked out and got in the van to leave. It was dinner time and we had to feed our kids. We couldn't even think, yet life kept going. There was more disappointment as we said we were not going to Bob Evans... we needed to get home.
I texted my sister on the way home. She was the first person I told. How do you tell people? I told her. In a text. We still didn't know the plans from the hospital, but knew it would be the next day. My brother-in-law happened to have the next day off. She was available to watch my kids when we went to the hospital. We got home, ordered pizza, and started making phone calls. My parents, his parents. Once enough people knew, I posted it on Facebook. The whole world knew I was pregnant, and I needed to say I wasn't. It was therapeutic as I sat on my bed, crying. Waves of condolences came in. I would read through all of them, and cry. The prayers and sympathies got us through that first day.
I couldn't sleep that night. We still had no plan from the hospital, but we would get a call in the morning. I was told not to eat or drink after midnight, so of course I was up at midnight. We never settled on a name. Jerry had fallen asleep on the couch, so I lay in bed looking up baby names. I needed to name the baby I wouldn't get to have. After reading through lists and lists of names and their meanings, I messaged Jerry (it seems ridiculous now - I just didn't want to wake him) Matthew John. Matthew means "gift of God (YAHWEH)" and John mean "YAHWEH is gracious". I truly believe that Matthew was a gift from the Lord. And our Lord is very gracious. What a perfect name. Matthew John.
We got the call very early in the morning to be at the hospital in an hour. I called my sister. She came over, and we left. It was the worst feeling, driving to the hospital. We had made this drive so many times before. I gave birth to five babies at Genesys. This time it would end in death. It was a dark and heavy drive in.
I get sick from anesthesia, so I made sure I told everyone I could. The nurse who brought me back, I happened to know. She was able to get my IV on the first try, and immediately gave me meds. I'm not sure what. They were "the good stuff". They brought Jerry back and we waited. And waited. Between the anti-nausea meds and the relaxers, I would doze off for an hour at a time. I would wake up, almost on the hour. There was Jerry, sitting beside me. Then I'd get another dose of something and I would drift off again. I felt so bad that Jerry had to sit there, essentially alone, while I slept in a drug-induced stupor. The doctor who would perform the procedure came in to talk to us. We go to a group practice, so this doctor was different from the one the day before. He talked us through everything. I asked, if at all possible, if they could get a footprint or hand print, knowing it might not happen. He said they would try their best to get us something. We waited and waited. Finally they rolled me back.
After the procedure, the doctor met with Jerry in the waiting room. The procedure went well. He handed him a sheet of paper with tiny footprints. Our one tangible memory from our baby we would never meet.
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| Tiny footprints that left a huge impression |
I am so grateful that my sister could watch my kids. It was a very long time. I have no idea on exacts, but I remember being in the hospital, finding out it was 3pm, and thinking, I have to get home... my sister... They told me what I had to do to be released, and somehow I did them. I remember falling asleep in the bathroom. But I woke up when the nurse asked if I was ok. It was such a medicated blur for me. I don't remember getting to the car. I do remember waking up in the Rite Aid parking lot as Jerry went to fill my prescriptions. I remember stumbling into my house, saying thank you to my sister, and miraculously making it down the stairs to my bed before falling asleep.
The next few days were physical and emotional healing. The procedure was on a Friday. There were certain things that would throw me into a cycle of grieving I couldn't break out of. There was just so much sadness. I have never been so sad. On Sunday, we went to church. I wanted to be able to see my friends while the pain was still raw. I couldn't imagine healing, even for a week, then seeing people for the first time. It was incredibly difficult, but I am glad we went. One friend gave me a prayer journal. That was instrumental in my healing. I am not a journaler, yet I wrote and cried and wrote. One day Naomi said, "Mommy, are you going to cry and write your feelings in your book again today?" Yeah, baby, I am. Another friend said she had something for us. She made a prayer shawl out of the yarn she had gotten for his baby blanket. It was perfect and amazing and so heavy with meaning.
We received many cards and prayers. Gifts and memories. We are grateful for them all. We bought a memory chest for Matthew. It sits in our living room, holding all of our memories of him. It was huge for us to have a place for him and all of our memories.
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| Our Matthew box |
Right after we lost Matthew, I saw an ornament that was an angel holding the 2014 banner. It spoke right to my heart, and I had to have it. It was on our tree, stayed out all year on a shelf, and is back on our tree. Well, since we ordered it through Lenox, they send us catalogs every month, of course. I was flipping through the catalog when my heart stopped a bit. There was the most perfect figurine. An angel holding a newborn. I closed the catalog and sat and cried. Then I would open it, and cry more. I finally ordered it. It arrived, and is as perfect as I had hoped. During my hardest times last year, this prayer repeated in my head and heart: "Jesus, please hold my baby, because I never got to." It would run on repeat. Even today, it brings instant tears. Please hold my baby. So here it is. An angel, holding my baby. It brought so much healing to see it. And now to have it in my house. It is perfect.
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| Jesus, please hold my baby because I never got to... |
I thank you for all of the prayers and support in all of this. Thank you for the support to my husband and family. Husbands, kids, siblings, aunts, uncles, and grandparents all grieve and need support, too.
I often wonder why we went through this. We stopped our family at five kids. God worked a miracle and gave us our sixth. It was very clearly God's plan that this pregnancy happened. I don't know why we lost Matthew. I pray that God would use this for good. If I can be of any use through this, please let it be known. The month before we lost Matthew, I heard the song "Oceans" by Hillsong United after an OB appointment, leaving dinner at Bob Evans. I had such a heaviness in my heart when I heard it. After we lost him, I realized sometimes we are called to walk a path that we would never choose for ourselves. It's in those walks that our faith is strengthened beyond what we could ever imagine. Two parts of the song resonate in my soul every time I hear it now, and I think I'll end with those two parts. My faith has definitely grown by walking out into paths I didn't think I could handle.
"You call me out upon the waters
The great unknown where feet may fail
And there I find you in the mystery
In oceans deep
My faith will stand."
"Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander
And my faith will be made stronger
In the presence of my Savior"
