5.24.14
The previous weekend, there had been a lot of buzz on Facebook about this new movie on Lifetime called "Return To Zero." It is the true life account of a couple who has a stillbirth at 37 or 38 weeks, and the husband is actually the director of the film.
Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep had posted repeatedly about the film because the organization as a whole was excited that there would finally be a semi-documentary about stillbirth widely released on a major network. The lead is played by Minnie Driver, and she ultimately gets nominated for an Emmy award because of the role she portrays (at the time I'm writing this, the Emmy Award Winners haven't been announced, so I suppose she could actually win an Emmy and not just be a nominee).
Part of me really didn't want to watch the film because I was afraid it would hit way too close to home. But the other part of me was morbidly curious (this is even why I started this blog in the first place: I am nosy about details and I figure everyone else is, too).
Early Saturday morning, I settled in to start watching the movie. Read that as I got a box of kleenexes and my trust lapdog was sitting right next to me. Alex had gone to the gym, which was not unusual for him on Saturday mornings. Plus, this is a complete chick flick so I had doubted he would have wanted to watch it with me anyways.
The synopsis of the movie is fairly simple: couple is in love, they get married, they become pregnant with their first (a boy), then the mom has some slight bleeding (blown off by her doctor as one of the very first signs that your body is preparing for labor), and then she goes into the office where they can't find the baby's heart beat. "Your baby's dead" is the phrase the doctor uses, and I absolutely cringed. I am so thankful our doctor and nurses didn't have to use that sentence to get across to us that Kaitlyn was gone.
Throughout the rest of the movie, the couple goes through the ups and downs of grief, one of the low points being that the husband has an affair with a woman from work (I could have watched this movie without that little twist in there, thank you very much), and they eventually conceive their second child, which ends up being a little girl.
Most of the movie is pretty accurate for what we go through as parents when you lose a child, but there were a couple of scenes that I have to write about because I disagreed with them so much.
The first is that the husband buys the wife a little necklace to remember their son by. He says to her that he thought she would like something to remember the birth by, to which she replies, "Who wouldn't want a reminder of the worst day of their life?" This just irritated me really badly. I pray that I was never this rude or callous to anyone that offered up a gift to us to remember Kaitlyn. I still wear several pieces of jewelry that was given to us to remember her, and Alex still wears his gift from Jan (a dog tag with a cross on one side and KSO with her date of birth and weight on it) every day. They aren't reminders of losing her, but that she lived.
The second scene that bothered me was where the mom ventures out to a baby shower for the first time. In one portion of this scene, a lady comes up to the mom and says (boldly... boldly), "God is a light for each of us to follow to find our way to His plan, His plan that is perfect, perfect in every single way." The mom responds with, "So, God's perfect plan for me was to suffer a loss so great, so devastating, that I would lose my faith in God. Is that right? Because that is a mystery."
Ugh. Where do I start. First off, this is a great example of what not to say to a grieving family. Any family, I don't care whether their loss was a parent, a child, or a grandparent. Part of me just wanted to yell, "STOP TALKING" at the TV as I listened to this lady blather on trying to console someone she really had no business talking to (from the interactions, she was a distant friend of a friend).
Secondly, God's perfect plan. That phrase just drives me nuts and has driven me nuts since I watched this movie. I don't believe that God ever intended us to live this way. His perfect plan was to never be separated from us by sin. His perfect plan was to walk freely with us in the garden of Eden and never have us question his goodness or even his existence. God longs to be with us, but we walked away from it, thinking that we knew better. Thinking that we had a better idea of what was best for us. I don't know if we get to be pregnant in heaven, but I can guarantee you that if we do, not a single baby will die or have a disease. That's promised to us by the one who made us.
Lastly (like I said, this scene really irked me), if we take the word "perfect" out of what the mom says back to the Bible thumper (sorry, its true), "God's plan for me was to suffer a loss so great, so devastating, that I would lose my faith in God." Phew. Okay. That is a lot of meat in one sentence. To start, God's plan for everyone on this earth is restoration to Him. So no, His perfect will would not drive a wedge between you and Him.
But it would cause you to draw close to Him. I believe that God allows challenges in our life to draw us close to Him, for us to become so desperately lost in the explanations of this world (these things just happen; you must have done something awful in the past; etc) that the only way we find peace is to dive head-first into His Word and read the things that were written nearly 2,000 years ago but seem like they were written for us yesterday by a friend. I know that God uses these difficult moments to wake us out of our sleepwalk and make us reevaluate our lives and what we consider important. Like my friend Jenn said very early on, "God gives us more than we can handle so that we constantly turn to Him." I couldn't agree more.
The last scene of this movie that I'll write about is the very end where she gives birth to a daughter (spoiler alert?). After the baby arrives and is crying, the mom holds her for less than a minute and then hands her off to a nurse shaking her head.
Holy. Cow. Now I haven't been through this yet, but I can say that my stomach turned at that moment. I know that when this baby gets here, he/she will be so spoiled and probably won't put down for the first three months of his/her life. I can hardly wait to have a squirmy bundle of love in my hands, and it is going to be so hard for me to let anyone else (except Alex) hold him/her. Because I want to. Because I have loved this child since before I knew they were even promised. I loved this child since the instant that Kaitlyn left us. I am ready to feel the weight of a newborn in my arms again, but this time with their own source of heat. I'm ready to see if they have hair, because the heartburn has already started. Most of all, I'm ready to hear a voice that I haven't heard yet: a combination of me and Alex all bundled into one person. I'm ready to hear that giant gasp of air as they prepare to make their presence known.
I'm ready to have sleepless nights as I watch a little chest move up and down with rhythmic breathing. I'm ready for kicks that happen outside my body.
As much as I appreciated the Return to Zero movie for finally documenting something that happens so frequently in our world, I couldn't help by feel drained by it. I felt sorry for the parents. They had no hope, no joy even in the birth of their second baby. There was no happy ending for them. I doubt that they know or understand that their baby is safe in heaven with the One who created him. They don't understand that in just the absence of a breath they could be reunited with him and their creator.
I honestly don't know how people who aren't believers can breathe after losing a child. To not have the hope and promise that we will see our loved ones again, I can't imagine the darkness that would overtake your life. Always the sadness of what could have been, instead of the joy that comes with the divine promise of life with Christ.
Kaitlyn
Saturday, July 26, 2014
Let's make a commercial
5.23.14
One of the many benefits of social media is that you can network people that would normally have no way of meeting each other.
There is a guy that goes to our church that has his own video production company, and one day I was posting about Hope Mommies and Hope boxes and he sent me a request for more information about the ministry. He wanted to do a free commercial for the group, he said, and I had seen him do a video for Amber Rhoads (see her video here) so I was really excited to see what he would do for Hope Mommies.
I hooked Devin up with Erin and we settled on shooting the commercial at our house since Erin would becoming from out of town and our house is relatively central to North Dallas. Erin had asked Elyse and I to help film it, and to prepare a short version of our testimony about Hope Mommies and our daughters.
Another reason we decided to shoot the commercial at our house was because I still had Kaitlyn's nursery set up. I never took anything down because I was extremely hopeful that God would give us a second baby quickly. I had sorted through a few things that were distinctly hers- like the headband that Jenny had picked out for her that was beautifully vintage and a few onesies that people had decorated specifically for her at our baby shower. Other than that, though, the nursery was largely untouched. The diaper cake that a friend had given us was still sitting on the shelf, and the bed was still made and ready for its next (first?) inhabitant.
After work that Friday, we all met at the house and got down to business. It was weird to have Devin and his wife film the nursery, mostly because the door has been kept shut the majority of the time. I didn't follow him in there or ask him to not video certain things, and I have to say that it still makes my heart smile to have some of Kaitlyn's things be so permanently documented.
It took a few weeks, but here is a look at the final commercial:
One of the many benefits of social media is that you can network people that would normally have no way of meeting each other.
There is a guy that goes to our church that has his own video production company, and one day I was posting about Hope Mommies and Hope boxes and he sent me a request for more information about the ministry. He wanted to do a free commercial for the group, he said, and I had seen him do a video for Amber Rhoads (see her video here) so I was really excited to see what he would do for Hope Mommies.
I hooked Devin up with Erin and we settled on shooting the commercial at our house since Erin would becoming from out of town and our house is relatively central to North Dallas. Erin had asked Elyse and I to help film it, and to prepare a short version of our testimony about Hope Mommies and our daughters.
Another reason we decided to shoot the commercial at our house was because I still had Kaitlyn's nursery set up. I never took anything down because I was extremely hopeful that God would give us a second baby quickly. I had sorted through a few things that were distinctly hers- like the headband that Jenny had picked out for her that was beautifully vintage and a few onesies that people had decorated specifically for her at our baby shower. Other than that, though, the nursery was largely untouched. The diaper cake that a friend had given us was still sitting on the shelf, and the bed was still made and ready for its next (first?) inhabitant.
After work that Friday, we all met at the house and got down to business. It was weird to have Devin and his wife film the nursery, mostly because the door has been kept shut the majority of the time. I didn't follow him in there or ask him to not video certain things, and I have to say that it still makes my heart smile to have some of Kaitlyn's things be so permanently documented.
It took a few weeks, but here is a look at the final commercial:
By the way: that background music is also by Amber Rhoads!
Devin also took the time to do short testimony videos for each of us.
Elyse's story:
Erin's story:
**Devin's production company is called Ethos Media, and he obviously does excellent work. Plus he has a big heart for giving back to different companies that are just getting started.
PTSD
5.19.14
The following Monday, I had to drive to Fort Worth to Cook Children's Hospital to cover a case for work. I was really excited about getting to work with a pediatric patient because it was something I had asked about repeatedly at my previous job but had never been able to cover. So I got up pretty early and started the 45 minute drive over to Fort Worth.
Cook Children's Hospital is located just south of downtown Fort Worth, and the building is shaped like a castle. The inside is filled with brightly colored benches and tables, with a very wide open atrium where you can look up at the spires of the castle through a glass ceiling.
My case ended up getting delayed a few hours, so I migrated to different points of interest in the hospital: the Starbucks with all the sleep-deprived parents; the atrium where families quickly came and went, headed to their appointments in other parts of the hospital; and finally, a row of rocking padded chairs outside of a cardiac specialist's office. I sat on the second floor in my newly found abandoned cove (the cardiac office was closed that day), and worked on some work things while I waited for the lab to be ready.
The next thing that happened I can only describe as PTSD (or some form of it). Since I was sitting on the second floor, the open atrium was just on the other side of a railing from where I was sitting. From down below, I heard the cry of a newborn. I'm not sure why I knew it was a newborn, but it was definitely that early-life cry, not the boisterous cry from a baby that has been here a few months.
Immediately, my mind went back to the operating room where we delivered Kaitlyn. I remembered laying on the bed, the blurred image of red streaks in the reflection of the lights, and the blue drape blocking my view of the rest of the room.
I remembered how quiet it was. I remembered watching Alex as he watched them clean Kaitlyn up and attempt to do CPR on her. I remembered that first moment when he was handed her lifeless body carefully wrapped in a swaddling blanket just like any other baby.
I remembered the first time I saw my daughter's face, and how my heart broke. I remembered her sweet face and how the only thing I could do is keep apologizing to her for not saving her; not protecting her from passing away.
"I'm so sorry baby, I'm so sorry," was all I could get out between gasps as the tears ran down the side of my face. I remembered sobbing so hard I felt the rest of my body shake, and then telling myself that I had to breathe and calm down otherwise I was afraid that they would have to put me under general anesthesia in order to close me without excessive bleeding.
I remembered the quiet.
I felt like the entire room stopped when they handed Alex Kaitlyn. I'm pretty sure that Dr B and her assisting doctor stopped sewing so that I could sob. I wasn't aware of what the CRNA was doing less than a foot from my head.
The world stopped when we first saw and held our daughter.
In the last few weeks before Kaitlyn arrived, people would ask me questions about our birth plan and why we chose the hospital we did. I remember that I use to tell people that I wanted a very "boring" birth. What I meant is that I wanted it to be routine. I wanted it to be boring in that it was "just another healthy delivery." We had chosen our hospital because they did over 200 births a month. What I didn't mean is that I wanted it to be quiet. I didn't want the room to stop when her weighty body made its way into my husband's arms. I wanted tears of joy, not tears of unimaginable pain.
So this time, I am telling people (especially when they ask about the gender and which way I prefer) that I just want a loud birth. I want to hear my child take that first deep breath and scream. Scream until we leave the room, I don't care. Let us know how pissed he/she about being taken out of the warm cocoon that had always been the norm.
Just cry.
So that we can cry with you. But ours will be tears of joy and happiness and healing. Tears of how faithful God has been to us. And yes, tears of what might have been with Kaitlyn, your sister, who came into this world silently and never said a word. Tears of how she changed us to be even better parents for you.
So, little one, cry until you fall asleep. You won't bother us at all.
Because when you cry, we know that you're here, and that you're breathing.
The following Monday, I had to drive to Fort Worth to Cook Children's Hospital to cover a case for work. I was really excited about getting to work with a pediatric patient because it was something I had asked about repeatedly at my previous job but had never been able to cover. So I got up pretty early and started the 45 minute drive over to Fort Worth.
Cook Children's Hospital is located just south of downtown Fort Worth, and the building is shaped like a castle. The inside is filled with brightly colored benches and tables, with a very wide open atrium where you can look up at the spires of the castle through a glass ceiling.
My case ended up getting delayed a few hours, so I migrated to different points of interest in the hospital: the Starbucks with all the sleep-deprived parents; the atrium where families quickly came and went, headed to their appointments in other parts of the hospital; and finally, a row of rocking padded chairs outside of a cardiac specialist's office. I sat on the second floor in my newly found abandoned cove (the cardiac office was closed that day), and worked on some work things while I waited for the lab to be ready.
The next thing that happened I can only describe as PTSD (or some form of it). Since I was sitting on the second floor, the open atrium was just on the other side of a railing from where I was sitting. From down below, I heard the cry of a newborn. I'm not sure why I knew it was a newborn, but it was definitely that early-life cry, not the boisterous cry from a baby that has been here a few months.
Immediately, my mind went back to the operating room where we delivered Kaitlyn. I remembered laying on the bed, the blurred image of red streaks in the reflection of the lights, and the blue drape blocking my view of the rest of the room.
I remembered how quiet it was. I remembered watching Alex as he watched them clean Kaitlyn up and attempt to do CPR on her. I remembered that first moment when he was handed her lifeless body carefully wrapped in a swaddling blanket just like any other baby.
I remembered the first time I saw my daughter's face, and how my heart broke. I remembered her sweet face and how the only thing I could do is keep apologizing to her for not saving her; not protecting her from passing away.
"I'm so sorry baby, I'm so sorry," was all I could get out between gasps as the tears ran down the side of my face. I remembered sobbing so hard I felt the rest of my body shake, and then telling myself that I had to breathe and calm down otherwise I was afraid that they would have to put me under general anesthesia in order to close me without excessive bleeding.
I remembered the quiet.
I felt like the entire room stopped when they handed Alex Kaitlyn. I'm pretty sure that Dr B and her assisting doctor stopped sewing so that I could sob. I wasn't aware of what the CRNA was doing less than a foot from my head.
The world stopped when we first saw and held our daughter.
In the last few weeks before Kaitlyn arrived, people would ask me questions about our birth plan and why we chose the hospital we did. I remember that I use to tell people that I wanted a very "boring" birth. What I meant is that I wanted it to be routine. I wanted it to be boring in that it was "just another healthy delivery." We had chosen our hospital because they did over 200 births a month. What I didn't mean is that I wanted it to be quiet. I didn't want the room to stop when her weighty body made its way into my husband's arms. I wanted tears of joy, not tears of unimaginable pain.
So this time, I am telling people (especially when they ask about the gender and which way I prefer) that I just want a loud birth. I want to hear my child take that first deep breath and scream. Scream until we leave the room, I don't care. Let us know how pissed he/she about being taken out of the warm cocoon that had always been the norm.
Just cry.
So that we can cry with you. But ours will be tears of joy and happiness and healing. Tears of how faithful God has been to us. And yes, tears of what might have been with Kaitlyn, your sister, who came into this world silently and never said a word. Tears of how she changed us to be even better parents for you.
So, little one, cry until you fall asleep. You won't bother us at all.
Because when you cry, we know that you're here, and that you're breathing.
Monday, July 21, 2014
Illegal
5.12.14
On Monday, I was at one of the hospitals (I won't tell you which one) and sitting there, in the middle of the hallway, was a sonogram/ultrasound machine.
Just sitting there.
Complete with the probe that I had seen used a thousand times on different cardiac tests.
The probe that could also be used on my stomach to take a look at the baby I was growing.
I was a little hesitant because part of me worried that I would see something was wrong (like no heart beat), but in the end I gave into the temptation and took a peek with the machine at the little bit growing away in my stomach.
I hadn't been able to feel anything as far as movement (which was not unusual at this point), but there on the screen little bit was kicking away and doing flips left and right. I stood and stared kind of blankly as the little one changed positions about four or five times, and reassured myself that even though I couldn't feel anything little one was growing along just fine.
Later, I confessed to Alex that I had peeked at little one that day and he got upset with me because he didn't like that I was doing something outside of the doctor's office. He didn't want me doing anything with this baby that might cause him/her harm, and I told him that I wouldn't look anymore, but that I just needed the reassurance that morning.
On Monday, I was at one of the hospitals (I won't tell you which one) and sitting there, in the middle of the hallway, was a sonogram/ultrasound machine.
Just sitting there.
Complete with the probe that I had seen used a thousand times on different cardiac tests.
The probe that could also be used on my stomach to take a look at the baby I was growing.
I was a little hesitant because part of me worried that I would see something was wrong (like no heart beat), but in the end I gave into the temptation and took a peek with the machine at the little bit growing away in my stomach.
I hadn't been able to feel anything as far as movement (which was not unusual at this point), but there on the screen little bit was kicking away and doing flips left and right. I stood and stared kind of blankly as the little one changed positions about four or five times, and reassured myself that even though I couldn't feel anything little one was growing along just fine.
Later, I confessed to Alex that I had peeked at little one that day and he got upset with me because he didn't like that I was doing something outside of the doctor's office. He didn't want me doing anything with this baby that might cause him/her harm, and I told him that I wouldn't look anymore, but that I just needed the reassurance that morning.
Mother's Day
5.11.14
Mother's day.
Last year was suppose to be my last mother's day without being a mother. I was suppose to be a "real" mom this year, complete with the cute baby on my hip in the cute outfits.
Nobody knows what to say to you when you lose a child, and even more so when these milestones roll around. I got one card from a family member for the "soon-to-be" mom. I know, it's one of those really great intentioned things that just feels wrong when you receive it. I didn't know what to say when I opened the card. I just kind of put it back in the envelope and left it on the desk.
I struggled so badly when we first lost Kaitlyn with the term "mom." I couldn't identify with that description of myself. I wouldn't allow myself to be called a mom because I didn't have a child here. I never changed a dirty diaper or soothed a teething child.
But I am a mom. Even without the little one growing inside me, I am a mom. I grew a child, I nurtured her every day. I felt her movements and knew the idiosyncrasies of her personality. I could tell you that I knew from very early on that she was going to change the world, but I didn't know how. I could never picture her as a doctor or a lawyer or anything distinctive, but I knew there was something different about her.
I knew that she was going to be tall. I knew that she was going to have a full head of hair because of all the heart burn she gave me starting almost as quickly as my morning sickness stopped. I knew that she was stubborn, but that she loved to remind me of her presence by rubbing that sweet hard head up against my rib cage. I knew that she was more of a roller than a kicker: I didn't have near the number of kicks with Kaitlyn as I do with this baby, but I would feel these huge rolls and my stomach would shift as she got into a new position.
I didn't know how I wanted to spend mother's day. I didn't want to be ignored, but I also didn't want to make a big deal out of it. After all, Kaitlyn's life wasn't written for her to be here on mother's day. So instead, I spent the day writing. I wrote about my daughter and all of the things she had meant to me. I wrote about our second baby and how this pregnancy has been in comparison to Kaitlyn's.
I just remembered my daughter. I took the time I needed, which was pretty much all Sunday afternoon, and remembered all of the things that made me a mom. And I was extremely glad that it was just me and Alex. We just took the day hour by hour, and talked about our sweet girl and all the hope we had for the next baby.
Mother's day.
Last year was suppose to be my last mother's day without being a mother. I was suppose to be a "real" mom this year, complete with the cute baby on my hip in the cute outfits.
Nobody knows what to say to you when you lose a child, and even more so when these milestones roll around. I got one card from a family member for the "soon-to-be" mom. I know, it's one of those really great intentioned things that just feels wrong when you receive it. I didn't know what to say when I opened the card. I just kind of put it back in the envelope and left it on the desk.
I struggled so badly when we first lost Kaitlyn with the term "mom." I couldn't identify with that description of myself. I wouldn't allow myself to be called a mom because I didn't have a child here. I never changed a dirty diaper or soothed a teething child.
But I am a mom. Even without the little one growing inside me, I am a mom. I grew a child, I nurtured her every day. I felt her movements and knew the idiosyncrasies of her personality. I could tell you that I knew from very early on that she was going to change the world, but I didn't know how. I could never picture her as a doctor or a lawyer or anything distinctive, but I knew there was something different about her.
I knew that she was going to be tall. I knew that she was going to have a full head of hair because of all the heart burn she gave me starting almost as quickly as my morning sickness stopped. I knew that she was stubborn, but that she loved to remind me of her presence by rubbing that sweet hard head up against my rib cage. I knew that she was more of a roller than a kicker: I didn't have near the number of kicks with Kaitlyn as I do with this baby, but I would feel these huge rolls and my stomach would shift as she got into a new position.
I didn't know how I wanted to spend mother's day. I didn't want to be ignored, but I also didn't want to make a big deal out of it. After all, Kaitlyn's life wasn't written for her to be here on mother's day. So instead, I spent the day writing. I wrote about my daughter and all of the things she had meant to me. I wrote about our second baby and how this pregnancy has been in comparison to Kaitlyn's.
I just remembered my daughter. I took the time I needed, which was pretty much all Sunday afternoon, and remembered all of the things that made me a mom. And I was extremely glad that it was just me and Alex. We just took the day hour by hour, and talked about our sweet girl and all the hope we had for the next baby.
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
The Gender
5.9.14
Alex had asked that he know the gender of baby #2 and be able to surprise me with it that week. I told him that was okay, but he was on a time limit of 48 hours (because it is a very strange feeling to have people other than yourself know the gender of the baby you're carrying). Well, he didn't exactly last that long.
We were sitting on the couch when he let it slip. I can't even remember exactly what we were talking about, but the next thing I know he says, "Well when (he/she) gets here, we'll have to do..."
My head jerked up from whatever I was reading and I said, "Did you just say (he/she)?!"
He gave a huge sigh and disappeared into the garage. A few minutes later, he came back with the envelope that Dr. Z had sealed with our baby gender picture inside. I opened it, and there on the post it covering the sonogram picture confirmed what he had just said.
To be honest, I didn't care either way. I just want a screaming child in that operating room. With Kaitlyn, I use to tell everyone that I wanted a very "boring birth" with "nothing exciting." Strange how those words came true in a very morbid way. There wasn't any excitement with her. There was quiet. Silence as she was lifted from my stomach and carried over to the warming table. No screaming, no gasps of air as she found her way into the world.
Silence.
So this time, I want excitement. I want this kiddo to take a full breath of air and scream until everyone's ears bleed. Because that means that he/she is alive. It means that I will get to feel his/her chest move as those screams come out of his/her mouth. It means that I will get to sleep with one hand on his/her back and feel the rhythmic movement of breath and sleep.
I'm ready. Past ready.
After we gushed for a few minutes over the confirmation of our baby's gender, we talked about if we were going to tell people. For starters, if you haven't figured this out by now, I am a numbers girl and I like data and statistics. We were told when we first went into Dr. Z's office that there was only an 85% chance that the gender they predicted that day would be the correct gender. Now for me, that means that 15% is a fairly big chance of them being wrong. To Alex, it might as well have been 99% accurate. Plus, he said that Dr. Z was very confident when she mouthed to him across me which way the baby was showing. But even at much later stages of pregnancy sonograms have been wrong. In fact, my cousin was first told that she was having a girl and the day before her gender reveal she went back in for a confirmation sonogram and they switched it to a boy. And along came Sir William.
Another concern I had with telling people so early is that people are going to want to bring us gifts. It all comes from a very nice and caring place, but I just don't want any gifts. Seeing all the things that people had bought for Kaitlyn that would never be used really hurt after we lost her. It was almost like a wedding that never gets to the altar: do I have to send these gifts back? People were still sending gifts all the way up to our delivery date, so I was still writing thank you notes for gifts at the same time I was writing acknowledgement cards for flowers and plants from the memorial service. I didn't want to have to do that again. Plus, the majority of the stuff we registered for with Kaitlyn was gender neutral anyways.
So I told Alex I thought we should wait until we had another sonogram to confirm the gender. He wasn't super happy, but he understood and respected where I was coming from.
For now, Alex and I (and the sonographer and Dr. Z) are the only people in this world that know our baby's gender.
Alex had asked that he know the gender of baby #2 and be able to surprise me with it that week. I told him that was okay, but he was on a time limit of 48 hours (because it is a very strange feeling to have people other than yourself know the gender of the baby you're carrying). Well, he didn't exactly last that long.
We were sitting on the couch when he let it slip. I can't even remember exactly what we were talking about, but the next thing I know he says, "Well when (he/she) gets here, we'll have to do..."
My head jerked up from whatever I was reading and I said, "Did you just say (he/she)?!"
He gave a huge sigh and disappeared into the garage. A few minutes later, he came back with the envelope that Dr. Z had sealed with our baby gender picture inside. I opened it, and there on the post it covering the sonogram picture confirmed what he had just said.
To be honest, I didn't care either way. I just want a screaming child in that operating room. With Kaitlyn, I use to tell everyone that I wanted a very "boring birth" with "nothing exciting." Strange how those words came true in a very morbid way. There wasn't any excitement with her. There was quiet. Silence as she was lifted from my stomach and carried over to the warming table. No screaming, no gasps of air as she found her way into the world.
Silence.
So this time, I want excitement. I want this kiddo to take a full breath of air and scream until everyone's ears bleed. Because that means that he/she is alive. It means that I will get to feel his/her chest move as those screams come out of his/her mouth. It means that I will get to sleep with one hand on his/her back and feel the rhythmic movement of breath and sleep.
I'm ready. Past ready.
After we gushed for a few minutes over the confirmation of our baby's gender, we talked about if we were going to tell people. For starters, if you haven't figured this out by now, I am a numbers girl and I like data and statistics. We were told when we first went into Dr. Z's office that there was only an 85% chance that the gender they predicted that day would be the correct gender. Now for me, that means that 15% is a fairly big chance of them being wrong. To Alex, it might as well have been 99% accurate. Plus, he said that Dr. Z was very confident when she mouthed to him across me which way the baby was showing. But even at much later stages of pregnancy sonograms have been wrong. In fact, my cousin was first told that she was having a girl and the day before her gender reveal she went back in for a confirmation sonogram and they switched it to a boy. And along came Sir William.
Another concern I had with telling people so early is that people are going to want to bring us gifts. It all comes from a very nice and caring place, but I just don't want any gifts. Seeing all the things that people had bought for Kaitlyn that would never be used really hurt after we lost her. It was almost like a wedding that never gets to the altar: do I have to send these gifts back? People were still sending gifts all the way up to our delivery date, so I was still writing thank you notes for gifts at the same time I was writing acknowledgement cards for flowers and plants from the memorial service. I didn't want to have to do that again. Plus, the majority of the stuff we registered for with Kaitlyn was gender neutral anyways.
So I told Alex I thought we should wait until we had another sonogram to confirm the gender. He wasn't super happy, but he understood and respected where I was coming from.
For now, Alex and I (and the sonographer and Dr. Z) are the only people in this world that know our baby's gender.
Saturday, July 12, 2014
Grief Verses
5.8.14
Since I had learned about Tate, I felt helpless to do something for Allison. So I took it upon myself to send her a verse every morning just to have something positive for her to look at. One of my friends on facebook was doing this when we lost Kaitlyn (not because we lost her, but it "just happened" to work out that way), and it really helped me refocus and keep my mind and heart straight.
Here are the verses I sent to her:
Monday, May 5:
"I'm worn out from groaning. Every night, I drench my bed with tears. I soak my couch all the way through. My vision fails because of my grief; it's weak because of all my distress. Get away from me, you evil doers, because the Lord has heard me crying! The Lord has listened to my request. The Lord accepts my prayer." Psalms 6:6-9 Common English Bible (CEB)
Tuesday:
"I'm poured out like water. All my bones have fallen apart. My heart is like wax; it melts inside me. My strength is dried up like a piece of broken pottery. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth; you've set me down in the dirt of death. Dogs surround me; a pack of evil people circle me like a lion- oh, my poor hands and feet! I can count all my bones! Meanwhile, they just stare at me, watching me.
But you, Lord! Don't be far away! You are my strength! Come quick and help me! Deliver me from the sword." Psalms 22: 14-17, 19, 20 CEB
Wednesday:
"In the same way, you have sorrow now; but I will see you again, and you will be overjoyed. No one takes away your joy." John 16:22 CEB
Thursday (the day of Tate's funeral):
"Be merciful to me, Lord, for I am in distress; my eyes grow weak with sorrow, my sould and body with grief. My life is consumed by anguish and my years by groaning; my strength fails because of my affliction, and my bones grow weak.
I am forgotten as though I were dead; I have become like broken pottery.
But I trust in you, Lord; I say 'You are my God'"
Psalm 31:9-10, 12, 14 NIV
Friday:
"Those who sow with tears will reap with songs of joy. Those who go out weeping, carrying seed to sow, will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with them." Psalm 126:5-6 NIV
Saturday:
"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest." Matthew 11:28 NIV
Sunday (Mother's Day):
"You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book. My enemies will retreat when I call to you for help. This I know: God is on my side! I praise God for what He has promised; I trust in God, so why should I be afraid? What can mere mortals do to me?" Psalms 56:8-11 New Living Translation (NLT)
Monday:
"The Lord will guide you continually, giving you water when you are dry and restoring your strength. You will be like a well-watered garden, like an ever-flowing spring." Isaiah 58:11
Tuesday:
"Rejoice in our confident hope. Be patient in trouble, and keep on praying." Romans 12:12
After those verses, I eased off on sending Allison messages. I just remember I reached a point in my own grief that I just wanted people to get out of my space and let Alex and I be alone. It helped when it was only the two of us because Kaitlyn was such a part of him, so being with him in a way helped me grieve Kaitlyn better. It's still so strange how well you can know someone without them ever taking a breath and telling you things.
Since I had learned about Tate, I felt helpless to do something for Allison. So I took it upon myself to send her a verse every morning just to have something positive for her to look at. One of my friends on facebook was doing this when we lost Kaitlyn (not because we lost her, but it "just happened" to work out that way), and it really helped me refocus and keep my mind and heart straight.
Here are the verses I sent to her:
Monday, May 5:
"I'm worn out from groaning. Every night, I drench my bed with tears. I soak my couch all the way through. My vision fails because of my grief; it's weak because of all my distress. Get away from me, you evil doers, because the Lord has heard me crying! The Lord has listened to my request. The Lord accepts my prayer." Psalms 6:6-9 Common English Bible (CEB)
Tuesday:
"I'm poured out like water. All my bones have fallen apart. My heart is like wax; it melts inside me. My strength is dried up like a piece of broken pottery. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth; you've set me down in the dirt of death. Dogs surround me; a pack of evil people circle me like a lion- oh, my poor hands and feet! I can count all my bones! Meanwhile, they just stare at me, watching me.
But you, Lord! Don't be far away! You are my strength! Come quick and help me! Deliver me from the sword." Psalms 22: 14-17, 19, 20 CEB
Wednesday:
"In the same way, you have sorrow now; but I will see you again, and you will be overjoyed. No one takes away your joy." John 16:22 CEB
Thursday (the day of Tate's funeral):
"Be merciful to me, Lord, for I am in distress; my eyes grow weak with sorrow, my sould and body with grief. My life is consumed by anguish and my years by groaning; my strength fails because of my affliction, and my bones grow weak.
I am forgotten as though I were dead; I have become like broken pottery.
But I trust in you, Lord; I say 'You are my God'"
Psalm 31:9-10, 12, 14 NIV
Friday:
"Those who sow with tears will reap with songs of joy. Those who go out weeping, carrying seed to sow, will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with them." Psalm 126:5-6 NIV
Saturday:
"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest." Matthew 11:28 NIV
Sunday (Mother's Day):
"You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book. My enemies will retreat when I call to you for help. This I know: God is on my side! I praise God for what He has promised; I trust in God, so why should I be afraid? What can mere mortals do to me?" Psalms 56:8-11 New Living Translation (NLT)
Monday:
"The Lord will guide you continually, giving you water when you are dry and restoring your strength. You will be like a well-watered garden, like an ever-flowing spring." Isaiah 58:11
Tuesday:
"Rejoice in our confident hope. Be patient in trouble, and keep on praying." Romans 12:12
After those verses, I eased off on sending Allison messages. I just remember I reached a point in my own grief that I just wanted people to get out of my space and let Alex and I be alone. It helped when it was only the two of us because Kaitlyn was such a part of him, so being with him in a way helped me grieve Kaitlyn better. It's still so strange how well you can know someone without them ever taking a breath and telling you things.
Tate's Funeral (and 10,000 Reasons...)
5.8.14
On Thursday, Tate's funeral was held at the McKinney campus of Hope Fellowship. Allison had posted that day that Tate's favorite colors were blue and orange, and she requested that everyone wear those colors to his funeral instead of black. I had to work that day, but was able to get off in time to go to the funeral.
I wore bright blue scrubs to his funeral because I figured Allison wouldn't care one bit.
To be honest, I probably hadn't thought it through. I was about to go to a 4 year old's funeral. By myself. At a branch of our church. The auditoriums were eerily similar.
I think it finally hit me when I was walking up to the doorways and saw all the limos and the hearse. I stiffened my shoulders and reminded myself that I was here for Allison. Funerals are for the living, not the dead. In I walked to a sea of black, with some splashes of blues and oranges.
On the way in the door were several pictures of Tate and his sister, and that was about all it took. I quietly found a seat in the back and dug in my purse for my handy travel kleenex pouch. On the screens by the front were pictures of Tate, smiling down with twinkling eyes that look just like his moms.
And there, at the front of the room was the small white casket that held Tate. I heard later that there were toy trucks sprinkled around it with the flowers and pictures the family had brought. It was so small. The last time I had seen a casket that small was at Sheila's funeral 20+ years ago. Oh, I hurt so badly for my friend.
Eventually, the family came in from the waiting room to take their place for the service. At the lead was Allison and her husband, and she looked amazing for what she had been through. I know that I had tears streaming down my face with Kaitlyn. But Allison was strong, she held her head high as they found their seats in the first few rows of the auditorium.
I think two of the live bands from our church had joined together to sing the worship music for Tate. We opened with a few songs I couldn't remember, and then they did a video montage of pictures of sweet Tate. It was a picture of him as a baby that made me cry the hardest because on the picture was written the verse that probably every Hope Mom will ever use for their subsequent children:
On Thursday, Tate's funeral was held at the McKinney campus of Hope Fellowship. Allison had posted that day that Tate's favorite colors were blue and orange, and she requested that everyone wear those colors to his funeral instead of black. I had to work that day, but was able to get off in time to go to the funeral.
I wore bright blue scrubs to his funeral because I figured Allison wouldn't care one bit.
To be honest, I probably hadn't thought it through. I was about to go to a 4 year old's funeral. By myself. At a branch of our church. The auditoriums were eerily similar.
I think it finally hit me when I was walking up to the doorways and saw all the limos and the hearse. I stiffened my shoulders and reminded myself that I was here for Allison. Funerals are for the living, not the dead. In I walked to a sea of black, with some splashes of blues and oranges.
On the way in the door were several pictures of Tate and his sister, and that was about all it took. I quietly found a seat in the back and dug in my purse for my handy travel kleenex pouch. On the screens by the front were pictures of Tate, smiling down with twinkling eyes that look just like his moms.
And there, at the front of the room was the small white casket that held Tate. I heard later that there were toy trucks sprinkled around it with the flowers and pictures the family had brought. It was so small. The last time I had seen a casket that small was at Sheila's funeral 20+ years ago. Oh, I hurt so badly for my friend.
Eventually, the family came in from the waiting room to take their place for the service. At the lead was Allison and her husband, and she looked amazing for what she had been through. I know that I had tears streaming down my face with Kaitlyn. But Allison was strong, she held her head high as they found their seats in the first few rows of the auditorium.
I think two of the live bands from our church had joined together to sing the worship music for Tate. We opened with a few songs I couldn't remember, and then they did a video montage of pictures of sweet Tate. It was a picture of him as a baby that made me cry the hardest because on the picture was written the verse that probably every Hope Mom will ever use for their subsequent children:
"For this child I prayed..." 1 Samuel 1:27
Watching the pictures of that sweet little boy growing up and smiling happily at his parents behind the camera was hard. One of the songs they played during the slideshow is called "Praise you in this storm" by Casting Crowns:
I was sure by now
God You would have reached down
And wiped our tears away
Stepped in and saved the day
But once again, I say "Amen", and it's still raining
God You would have reached down
And wiped our tears away
Stepped in and saved the day
But once again, I say "Amen", and it's still raining
As the thunder rolls
I barely hear Your whisper through the rain
"I'm with you"
And as Your mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise the God who gives
And takes away
I barely hear Your whisper through the rain
"I'm with you"
And as Your mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise the God who gives
And takes away
[Chorus:]
And I'll praise You in this storm
And I will lift my hands
For You are who You are
No matter where I am
And every tear I've cried
You hold in Your hand
You never left my side
And though my heart is torn
I will praise You in this storm
And I'll praise You in this storm
And I will lift my hands
For You are who You are
No matter where I am
And every tear I've cried
You hold in Your hand
You never left my side
And though my heart is torn
I will praise You in this storm
I remember when
I stumbled in the wind
You heard my cry to you
And you raised me up again
My strength is almost gone
How can I carry on
If I can't find You
I stumbled in the wind
You heard my cry to you
And you raised me up again
My strength is almost gone
How can I carry on
If I can't find You
But as the thunder rolls
I barely hear You whisper through the rain
"I'm with you"
And as Your mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise the God who gives
And takes away
I barely hear You whisper through the rain
"I'm with you"
And as Your mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise the God who gives
And takes away
[Chorus]
I lift my eyes unto the hills
Where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord
The Maker of Heaven and Earth
Where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord
The Maker of Heaven and Earth
This was actually one of the songs that Alex had recommended when Allison had asked me about songs that helped us get through Kaitlyn (her loss of Tanner had been so long ago, I'm sure she needed a new set of songs to help her grieve Tate separately). I have no idea if she got it from Alex or if someone else recommended it, but I was glad to hear it played at Tate's service.
The last song we sang was a live version of Matt Redman's 10,000 reasons. We'd sung this song a hundred times at church before, but like all music this song will now forever remind me of Tate and his precious family.
"10,000 Reasons (Bless The Lord)"
As the band began to play the song, one by one and then in a wave everyone in the auditorium stood up to sing and remember. Then, even from my seat in the far back, I saw a pair of hands lifted in glory and surrender.
It took me a few seconds to realize that it was Allison's husband.
Even now, the image of Tate's dad lifting his hands as he surrenders his second and last son to the Lord makes me cry. The absolute rawness of that moment, and that this man was burying not only his son, but his second son. It takes my breath away.
But just like his wife, he took the moment of complete and utter despair and turned it over to God. I know that this wasn't his purpose in that physical surrender of lifting his hands, but every person in that auditorium was given a gift that day. They were shown how to grieve, and grieve well. To grieve with the grace that Allison and her husband did... It is still hard for me to even put into words.
"10,000 Reasons (Bless The Lord)"
[Chorus]
Bless the Lord, O my soul
O my soul
Worship His holy name
Sing like never before
O my soul
I'll worship Your holy name
The sun comes up, it's a new day dawning
It's time to sing Your song again
Whatever may pass, and whatever lies before me
Let me be singing when the evening comes
[Chorus]
Bless the Lord, O my soul
O my soul
Worship His holy name
Sing like never before
O my soul
I'll worship Your holy name
You're rich in love, and You're slow to anger
Your name is great, and Your heart is kind
For all Your goodness I will keep on singing
Ten thousand reasons for my heart to find
[Chorus]
Bless the Lord, O my soul
O my soul
Worship His holy name
Sing like never before
O my soul
I'll worship Your holy name
And on that day when my strength is failing
The end draws near and my time has come
Still my soul will sing Your praise unending
Ten thousand years and then forevermore
[Chorus x2]
Bless the Lord, O my soul
O my soul
Worship His holy name
Sing like never before
O my soul
I'll worship Your holy name
Jesus, I'll worship Your holy name
Lord, I'll worship Your holy name
Sing like never before
O my soul
I'll worship Your holy name
Jesus, I'll worship Your holy name
I'll worship Your holy name
Bless the Lord, O my soul
O my soul
Worship His holy name
Sing like never before
O my soul
I'll worship Your holy name
The sun comes up, it's a new day dawning
It's time to sing Your song again
Whatever may pass, and whatever lies before me
Let me be singing when the evening comes
[Chorus]
Bless the Lord, O my soul
O my soul
Worship His holy name
Sing like never before
O my soul
I'll worship Your holy name
You're rich in love, and You're slow to anger
Your name is great, and Your heart is kind
For all Your goodness I will keep on singing
Ten thousand reasons for my heart to find
[Chorus]
Bless the Lord, O my soul
O my soul
Worship His holy name
Sing like never before
O my soul
I'll worship Your holy name
And on that day when my strength is failing
The end draws near and my time has come
Still my soul will sing Your praise unending
Ten thousand years and then forevermore
[Chorus x2]
Bless the Lord, O my soul
O my soul
Worship His holy name
Sing like never before
O my soul
I'll worship Your holy name
Jesus, I'll worship Your holy name
Lord, I'll worship Your holy name
Sing like never before
O my soul
I'll worship Your holy name
Jesus, I'll worship Your holy name
I'll worship Your holy name
It took me a few seconds to realize that it was Allison's husband.
Even now, the image of Tate's dad lifting his hands as he surrenders his second and last son to the Lord makes me cry. The absolute rawness of that moment, and that this man was burying not only his son, but his second son. It takes my breath away.
But just like his wife, he took the moment of complete and utter despair and turned it over to God. I know that this wasn't his purpose in that physical surrender of lifting his hands, but every person in that auditorium was given a gift that day. They were shown how to grieve, and grieve well. To grieve with the grace that Allison and her husband did... It is still hard for me to even put into words.
Tuesday, July 8, 2014
Two in one week
5.7.14
We had decided to go to a high-risk OB this time around, also known as a Maternal-Fetal Specialist. Even though they never found anything wrong with me or with Kaitlyn to explain why her heart stopped, we figured it couldn't hurt to go ahead and double check everything with a specialist.
We decided to go to the same specialist that Kate, Elyse, and my friend Elizabeth had all been too. They all raved about how caring she is and how at ease they made her feel. Kate had been through the loss of Piper when she saw this doctor, Elyse had lost Emma Kate, and Elizabeth was an older mom and decided to take extra precautions just in case.
The office was just down from the house, and we had an early afternoon appointment to meet with Dr. Z. Alex actually beat me to the office and was sitting in the waiting room when I got there (he was a smidge excited, I think). We had been told by Dr. L and the girls that had seen Dr. Z that even though we weren't quite 13 weeks along they could tell the baby's gender, so I had a feeling that's what had Alex all excited about this particular appointment.
We filled out the initial paperwork (I hate doing this- even at dentist appointments because it always asks about your previous surgical history. Now I will always have to write c-section times however many kiddos we have here, plus one for Kaitlyn), and then waited patiently to get called back.
The appointment started just like any other: weight, blood pressure, a quick review of my history complete with the sympathies of the nurse (she was super nice), and then off to a large dark room where the ultrasound machine sat waiting. There was a small curtain that could be pulled closed by the door that would allow you to change without exposing yourself to the hallway, and after the nurse got done talking to us and giving us the prep of what all they would be able to tell us, she closed the curtain and then the door.
I think I will always get nervous before a sonogram. It just brings back too many memories and images of waiting for the sonogram with Dr. L that morning with Kaitlyn. I always stare at the little black screen as the sonographer is putting the gel on the probe, just to be sure I don't miss any of the images of the little one growing inside me.
The sonographer came in and asked how we were doing. I admitted to her that I was nervous, and she assured me that it was okay, and that they understood because they had quite a few patients that had been through what we had been through. She readied the probe and pointed out that on the wall directly in front of us there was a flat-screen TV that had been rigged to show all of the images from the ultrasound machine on a bigger format. That was pretty cool.
The first image was of our little one, with distinctive legs and arms now, wiggling around. I couldn't feel any of it, but started giggling a little because he/she was moving around so much. The sonographer started pausing the images to take measurements, and turned on the doppler function for a split second to check the flow of the umbilical cord. Everything was normal. Everything looked good. Our little baby was growing like a weed.
When all the boring images were done, the sonographer put down her tools. I asked her if she was able to tell the gender, but she told me that the way they tell the gender at this early stage is really more of a guess and the guesses are only about 85% accurate, and that she wasn't trained enough to even be able to take a guess. So we waited a little while longer for Dr. Z to come in.
Dr. Z came in the room a few minutes later, with her long blonde hair pulled back in a pony tail and her bright blue eyes shining brightly. I happily told her all of the great referrals that had lead us to her, and she was very excited that we had so many "friends" in common. She had looked at all the initial sonogram readings and said everything looked right on track, but then she put more gel on the probe and began to look again.
It was about mid-session on this look at the little one that I saw a few that just made me start laughing hysterically.
We had decided to go to a high-risk OB this time around, also known as a Maternal-Fetal Specialist. Even though they never found anything wrong with me or with Kaitlyn to explain why her heart stopped, we figured it couldn't hurt to go ahead and double check everything with a specialist.
We decided to go to the same specialist that Kate, Elyse, and my friend Elizabeth had all been too. They all raved about how caring she is and how at ease they made her feel. Kate had been through the loss of Piper when she saw this doctor, Elyse had lost Emma Kate, and Elizabeth was an older mom and decided to take extra precautions just in case.
The office was just down from the house, and we had an early afternoon appointment to meet with Dr. Z. Alex actually beat me to the office and was sitting in the waiting room when I got there (he was a smidge excited, I think). We had been told by Dr. L and the girls that had seen Dr. Z that even though we weren't quite 13 weeks along they could tell the baby's gender, so I had a feeling that's what had Alex all excited about this particular appointment.
We filled out the initial paperwork (I hate doing this- even at dentist appointments because it always asks about your previous surgical history. Now I will always have to write c-section times however many kiddos we have here, plus one for Kaitlyn), and then waited patiently to get called back.
The appointment started just like any other: weight, blood pressure, a quick review of my history complete with the sympathies of the nurse (she was super nice), and then off to a large dark room where the ultrasound machine sat waiting. There was a small curtain that could be pulled closed by the door that would allow you to change without exposing yourself to the hallway, and after the nurse got done talking to us and giving us the prep of what all they would be able to tell us, she closed the curtain and then the door.
I think I will always get nervous before a sonogram. It just brings back too many memories and images of waiting for the sonogram with Dr. L that morning with Kaitlyn. I always stare at the little black screen as the sonographer is putting the gel on the probe, just to be sure I don't miss any of the images of the little one growing inside me.
The sonographer came in and asked how we were doing. I admitted to her that I was nervous, and she assured me that it was okay, and that they understood because they had quite a few patients that had been through what we had been through. She readied the probe and pointed out that on the wall directly in front of us there was a flat-screen TV that had been rigged to show all of the images from the ultrasound machine on a bigger format. That was pretty cool.
The first image was of our little one, with distinctive legs and arms now, wiggling around. I couldn't feel any of it, but started giggling a little because he/she was moving around so much. The sonographer started pausing the images to take measurements, and turned on the doppler function for a split second to check the flow of the umbilical cord. Everything was normal. Everything looked good. Our little baby was growing like a weed.
When all the boring images were done, the sonographer put down her tools. I asked her if she was able to tell the gender, but she told me that the way they tell the gender at this early stage is really more of a guess and the guesses are only about 85% accurate, and that she wasn't trained enough to even be able to take a guess. So we waited a little while longer for Dr. Z to come in.
Dr. Z came in the room a few minutes later, with her long blonde hair pulled back in a pony tail and her bright blue eyes shining brightly. I happily told her all of the great referrals that had lead us to her, and she was very excited that we had so many "friends" in common. She had looked at all the initial sonogram readings and said everything looked right on track, but then she put more gel on the probe and began to look again.
It was about mid-session on this look at the little one that I saw a few that just made me start laughing hysterically.
Those legs.
It was Munoz #2 (who may now be referred to as Pumpkin) and the way pumpkin's legs were crossed at the ankles. It was exactly, exactly the way that Kaitlyn use to sit all the time. It made me laugh, and I pointed it out to Alex. "Think these two are siblings?!" I kept giggling.
We make long legged babies.
I think it was the first time that I truly connected with this baby, and yes, I do get the irony that the connection is because of Kaitlyn. I saw pieces of my sweet baby girl in this baby's personality already, and we weren't even far enough along to be able to feel any of pumpkin's movements.
Finally, Dr. Z asked if we would like to know the gender. Alex had really wanted to know, and I just really didn't care that much. I would be happy to have a screaming baby come out of me. That's all I want. I don't care if it's a boy or a girl, I just want a healthy, LOUD baby. So since Alex was so excited to know, he pestered me to let him know the gender and he could do some kind of surprise for me to tell me the gender later that week (I gave him 3 days to figure out a plan because I didn't like the idea of him knowing for too long without me).
So, I turned my head and stared at the wall while Alex watched her decide what the gender was, and then she tucked the "answer" away in an envelope for him to use when he decided to tell me their guess on what this baby is. We finished up the appointment with some blood samples left on a paper that would determine the probability of us having a chromosomal defect (such as Downs Syndrome or Trisomy 18), and then we headed out to the car.
Tuesday, July 1, 2014
Our next OB Appointment
5.5.14
That afternoon, after I went to work and tried to keep it together, we had our next OB appointment. I was 12 weeks and 5 days along, so this appointment didn't include a sonogram (ugh).
After signing in and doing the obligatory weigh-in complete with blood pressure check, Alex and I went and waited in the room for Dr. L.
As she came in, she got the little hand-held doppler ready to listen for a heartbeat through my belly. I laid back on the table with Alex sitting at the foot of the bed and waited.
Dr. L gooped up the probe and started searching. I can honestly say it was the longest pause that I had been through in a very long time. Everything was quiet and I was staring at the ceiling willing that heartbeat to be heard loud and clear.
Silence.
Moving the probe around and around, still not hearing the heartbeat.
After about a minute I had to start willing myself to breathe. Everything is fine, everything is okay, probably just another stubborn child, I told myself.
Finally, after about two agonizing minutes (if you think that's not long, sit in absolute silence and purposefully listen for a noise for that long), we finally heard it.
Woosh woosh woosh woosh woosh woosh woosh woosh.
I let out a huge sigh and said, "There it is. There's my baby."
Dr. L said, "Yup!"
"Can you leave it there for just a second?" I asked- just as soon as the sound had disappeared.
"Well I'm trying, but do you hear all those little thumps? That's your baby moving around. This is a very active baby! That's why it took me a minute to find the heartbeat. I heard the movements and knew everything was fine, but I knew you needed to hear the heartbeat before I said that." Dr. L said kind of giggling as she said this one is active.
She helped me sit up on the bed and we talked about how everything was going. I had an appointment with the high-risk OB the following Wednesday, so I updated her on that. She was excited that we would get to know the gender (supposedly) and that we were taking extra precautions this time.
Once she left the room, I stayed perched on the bed for a second longer and looked sideways at Alex.
"Do you see why I wasn't worried about Kaitlyn when we were in pre-op? She was the same way. Stubborn as hell and didn't want to let anyone check in on her..." I sighed as I hopped off the table.
He slowly nodded his head, but I could tell he had been as anxious as I was in the delay in finding the heartbeat.
That afternoon, after I went to work and tried to keep it together, we had our next OB appointment. I was 12 weeks and 5 days along, so this appointment didn't include a sonogram (ugh).
After signing in and doing the obligatory weigh-in complete with blood pressure check, Alex and I went and waited in the room for Dr. L.
As she came in, she got the little hand-held doppler ready to listen for a heartbeat through my belly. I laid back on the table with Alex sitting at the foot of the bed and waited.
Dr. L gooped up the probe and started searching. I can honestly say it was the longest pause that I had been through in a very long time. Everything was quiet and I was staring at the ceiling willing that heartbeat to be heard loud and clear.
Silence.
Moving the probe around and around, still not hearing the heartbeat.
After about a minute I had to start willing myself to breathe. Everything is fine, everything is okay, probably just another stubborn child, I told myself.
Finally, after about two agonizing minutes (if you think that's not long, sit in absolute silence and purposefully listen for a noise for that long), we finally heard it.
Woosh woosh woosh woosh woosh woosh woosh woosh.
I let out a huge sigh and said, "There it is. There's my baby."
Dr. L said, "Yup!"
"Can you leave it there for just a second?" I asked- just as soon as the sound had disappeared.
"Well I'm trying, but do you hear all those little thumps? That's your baby moving around. This is a very active baby! That's why it took me a minute to find the heartbeat. I heard the movements and knew everything was fine, but I knew you needed to hear the heartbeat before I said that." Dr. L said kind of giggling as she said this one is active.
She helped me sit up on the bed and we talked about how everything was going. I had an appointment with the high-risk OB the following Wednesday, so I updated her on that. She was excited that we would get to know the gender (supposedly) and that we were taking extra precautions this time.
Once she left the room, I stayed perched on the bed for a second longer and looked sideways at Alex.
"Do you see why I wasn't worried about Kaitlyn when we were in pre-op? She was the same way. Stubborn as hell and didn't want to let anyone check in on her..." I sighed as I hopped off the table.
He slowly nodded his head, but I could tell he had been as anxious as I was in the delay in finding the heartbeat.
Feeling Helpless
5.5.14
After a night of restless sleep where I thought about Allison and her family, I woke up feeling groggy and tired. I finally understood a part of what everyone else had experienced when we lost Kaitlyn. There's this feeling of helplessness and not knowing what (if anything) to do to help. I wanted to run to Allison's house and wrap my arms around her, but like I said we weren't best friends or anything and I certainly didn't want to invade her grief.
I decided I would send her a text with a verse on it, because after all in that moment of complete darkness sometimes the only light we have comes from Jesus.
Allison wrote back and thanked me, but also begged for prayers. She said she was lost, and that she could not explain the grief. She felt hopeless.
Even having Kaitlyn taken suddenly, I didn't know what to say to Allison. There is such a line of "things that are okay" and "did that really just come out of your mouth" in the middle of grief, and I was hyper sensitive to that since we had some people say some pretty outrageous things to us in those first weeks. So instead, I just kept pointing her back to Jesus. Because I don't have the answer. Because nothing I can say will ever make her feel better. Nothing I can do will ever ease the pain of losing her son.
But I also wanted to do more, so I reached out to two people that I knew would have some wisdom in this matter.
The first was my Aunt Sondra, the mother of my cousin Sheila that passed away when she was two and I was eight.
Me: Hey Aunt Sondra- I have a friend that lost her first baby just like we lost Kaitlyn and yesterday she found her 5 year old accidentally hung himself on his bunk bed. They have one more little girl who is about 2-3, and I was wondering if you remember anyone giving Holly [my cousin, who was about 3 when her sister died] anything that helped her when Sheila died. I know she somewhat already knows about death because they talk about their first baby openly, but this is so different because they were play buddies. I'm taking the mom some stuff, but she told me she is already struggling with how to be a good parent to her remaining child. It's just awful.
I would have called you, but I have been crying yesterday since I heard and I am trying not to start up again. Allison is the mom and she is just amazing. I can't imagine her pain.
Aunt Sondra: Oh my gosh Ames! That's terrible!! No, I iddn't have anything; we were always open, honest, did a lot of praying and a lot of listening/talking with her [Holly]. Looking back I think we failed her by not getting counseling for her and us! I would advise finding a good Christian counselor for that precious child and her whole family. I will be praying for them.
Me: Thank you, I love you very much! Thanks for being open and available for me to talk to
Aunt Sondra: Anytime- you could have called; we could have cried together!
My family is amazing. I loved that my aunt sympathized so much with Allison and that she was open to sharing her regrets about her grief with Sheila. But I also felt like I wanted more... I needed to do something. So I would try one more place.
I texted my friend Jan who had been such a friend to me and had given me my favorite gift for remembering Kaitlyn: my silver bracelet that has her name engraved on the inside.
Me: Hi sweet friend- I need to pick your brain and heart for a minute> one of my friends who lost her first born like we lost Kaitlyn found her 5 year old yesterday accidentally hung in his bunkbed and he passed away. I am at a loss how to best love on her- burying her second child, I can't imagine. They have one more child who is 2.5, and I was wondering if you have any thougths on a gift that would just provide some comfort for them. The bracelets you gave mom and I were so special to me (I still wear mine every day), but I don't know if that's appropriate.
Jan: OMG!! I am overwhelmed with sadness for these people! How well do you know them? Question being what I am thinking is a little expenseive.
Me: I couldn't consider myself a close friend, but we check in with each other fairly frequently. Tell me your thought, I could get a few people to chip in.
Jan: Oh great! Are they Christians?
Me: Yes ma'am! They got ot my church
Jan: And do you want to have the bracelet all to yourself?
Me: I love it too much to be that selfish! Do you think she would like a bracelet like ours?
Jan: I love it and wear mine because I NEED the reminder. Ok then get that bracelet for the recent death and tell her to get it engraved with both their names.
Would you like me to visit them?
Me: I definitely love to hook you up when the smoke clears- right now they have a lot of family in town. I think she would really appreciate talking to another mom who lost after having their child here for a while.
Jan: Ok, so very very sad!
Me: Agreed. You will absolutely love her, but she told me this morning she feels like she has absolutely nothing left.
Jan: Yes, after everyone is gone and she sits alone...
Me: Yes ma'am. That's what I told her. I will take her dinner one night in a couple of weeks and either listen or talk about things that don't matter- whatever she needs.
After a night of restless sleep where I thought about Allison and her family, I woke up feeling groggy and tired. I finally understood a part of what everyone else had experienced when we lost Kaitlyn. There's this feeling of helplessness and not knowing what (if anything) to do to help. I wanted to run to Allison's house and wrap my arms around her, but like I said we weren't best friends or anything and I certainly didn't want to invade her grief.
I decided I would send her a text with a verse on it, because after all in that moment of complete darkness sometimes the only light we have comes from Jesus.
"I'm worn out from groaning. Every night I drench my bed
with tears; I soak my couch all the way through. My vision
fails because of my grief; it's weak because of all my distress.
Get away from me, all you evildoers, because the Lord has heard me crying!
The Lord has listened to my request.
The Lord accepts my prayer."
Psalms 6:6-9 Common English Bible
Allison wrote back and thanked me, but also begged for prayers. She said she was lost, and that she could not explain the grief. She felt hopeless.
Even having Kaitlyn taken suddenly, I didn't know what to say to Allison. There is such a line of "things that are okay" and "did that really just come out of your mouth" in the middle of grief, and I was hyper sensitive to that since we had some people say some pretty outrageous things to us in those first weeks. So instead, I just kept pointing her back to Jesus. Because I don't have the answer. Because nothing I can say will ever make her feel better. Nothing I can do will ever ease the pain of losing her son.
But I also wanted to do more, so I reached out to two people that I knew would have some wisdom in this matter.
The first was my Aunt Sondra, the mother of my cousin Sheila that passed away when she was two and I was eight.
Me: Hey Aunt Sondra- I have a friend that lost her first baby just like we lost Kaitlyn and yesterday she found her 5 year old accidentally hung himself on his bunk bed. They have one more little girl who is about 2-3, and I was wondering if you remember anyone giving Holly [my cousin, who was about 3 when her sister died] anything that helped her when Sheila died. I know she somewhat already knows about death because they talk about their first baby openly, but this is so different because they were play buddies. I'm taking the mom some stuff, but she told me she is already struggling with how to be a good parent to her remaining child. It's just awful.
I would have called you, but I have been crying yesterday since I heard and I am trying not to start up again. Allison is the mom and she is just amazing. I can't imagine her pain.
Aunt Sondra: Oh my gosh Ames! That's terrible!! No, I iddn't have anything; we were always open, honest, did a lot of praying and a lot of listening/talking with her [Holly]. Looking back I think we failed her by not getting counseling for her and us! I would advise finding a good Christian counselor for that precious child and her whole family. I will be praying for them.
Me: Thank you, I love you very much! Thanks for being open and available for me to talk to
Aunt Sondra: Anytime- you could have called; we could have cried together!
My family is amazing. I loved that my aunt sympathized so much with Allison and that she was open to sharing her regrets about her grief with Sheila. But I also felt like I wanted more... I needed to do something. So I would try one more place.
I texted my friend Jan who had been such a friend to me and had given me my favorite gift for remembering Kaitlyn: my silver bracelet that has her name engraved on the inside.
Me: Hi sweet friend- I need to pick your brain and heart for a minute> one of my friends who lost her first born like we lost Kaitlyn found her 5 year old yesterday accidentally hung in his bunkbed and he passed away. I am at a loss how to best love on her- burying her second child, I can't imagine. They have one more child who is 2.5, and I was wondering if you have any thougths on a gift that would just provide some comfort for them. The bracelets you gave mom and I were so special to me (I still wear mine every day), but I don't know if that's appropriate.
Jan: OMG!! I am overwhelmed with sadness for these people! How well do you know them? Question being what I am thinking is a little expenseive.
Me: I couldn't consider myself a close friend, but we check in with each other fairly frequently. Tell me your thought, I could get a few people to chip in.
Jan: Oh great! Are they Christians?
Me: Yes ma'am! They got ot my church
Jan: And do you want to have the bracelet all to yourself?
Me: I love it too much to be that selfish! Do you think she would like a bracelet like ours?
Jan: I love it and wear mine because I NEED the reminder. Ok then get that bracelet for the recent death and tell her to get it engraved with both their names.
Would you like me to visit them?
Me: I definitely love to hook you up when the smoke clears- right now they have a lot of family in town. I think she would really appreciate talking to another mom who lost after having their child here for a while.
Jan: Ok, so very very sad!
Me: Agreed. You will absolutely love her, but she told me this morning she feels like she has absolutely nothing left.
Jan: Yes, after everyone is gone and she sits alone...
Me: Yes ma'am. That's what I told her. I will take her dinner one night in a couple of weeks and either listen or talk about things that don't matter- whatever she needs.
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