Holley
(15 week miscarriage)
My third pregnancy felt extra special from the beginning. Graham and I agreed that in our hearts we really wanted another child in our family. We also knew that if we talked and planned very much, our logical side would get the best of us and we would stay a family of 4. Our family with 2 girls (age 10 and 5) was going great: Both kids in school, healthy and happy, me working at the school and doing my birth work and the house finally coming together (we have been rebuilding for years). Our family was in a good place. Where would we even put a baby? (We are out of bedrooms).
So, we quietly decided not to discuss it, we just let nature take its course. Two months later, my period was a day late. Monday, January 26, 2015 Graham woke me up and said, “Come take a pregnancy test before I go to work.” As I am there looking at the results, 5 year old Caprie comes into the bathroom. And, the whole family found out together. “Yes, we are going to have a little brother or sister. Now, hurry up, we need to get ready for school.”
When Luci, Caprie and I arrived at school, it all came out. The first teacher Caprie saw, she ran up to her and said, “My mom has a baby in her belly. We are going to have a baby.” My co-worker looked at me and said, “Really?! How far along are you? How are you feeling?” I explained that I just found out that morning, it hadn’t even sunk in yet. By the end of the day, everyone in the school knew and I was being congratulated by all. After work, I called my sisters and parents and went public on facebook.
Everyone that I told was thrilled for us and our hearts overflowed with joy. I hope I never forget the overjoyed response from my dad upon hearing the news that he will be a PawPaw for the 12th time. He yelled, “Yeaaaaaa-Whooooo” and laughed a big deep, throw your head back, belly laugh. It was like the cartoon prospector that has finally struck gold in the wild west. He loved babies and he was overjoyed at having another one in his life.
So, we quietly decided not to discuss it, we just let nature take its course. Two months later, my period was a day late. Monday, January 26, 2015 Graham woke me up and said, “Come take a pregnancy test before I go to work.” As I am there looking at the results, 5 year old Caprie comes into the bathroom. And, the whole family found out together. “Yes, we are going to have a little brother or sister. Now, hurry up, we need to get ready for school.”
When Luci, Caprie and I arrived at school, it all came out. The first teacher Caprie saw, she ran up to her and said, “My mom has a baby in her belly. We are going to have a baby.” My co-worker looked at me and said, “Really?! How far along are you? How are you feeling?” I explained that I just found out that morning, it hadn’t even sunk in yet. By the end of the day, everyone in the school knew and I was being congratulated by all. After work, I called my sisters and parents and went public on facebook.
Everyone that I told was thrilled for us and our hearts overflowed with joy. I hope I never forget the overjoyed response from my dad upon hearing the news that he will be a PawPaw for the 12th time. He yelled, “Yeaaaaaa-Whooooo” and laughed a big deep, throw your head back, belly laugh. It was like the cartoon prospector that has finally struck gold in the wild west. He loved babies and he was overjoyed at having another one in his life.
Both of my previous pregnancies had been healthy and I expected the no difference this time around. The first trimester, things progressed the same as my previous pregnancies. I was terribly grumpy and irrational for weeks. Food tasted so much better than usual and I was HUNGRY. I was exhausted beyond belief, often falling asleep sitting on the couch in the evenings. I felt like I was behind on everything and out of touch with all the people that meant the most to me. But, my sleepiness and moodiness subsided right around 11 weeks. Going into spring, I was feeling great.
We had big plans for the month of April. Luci and Caprie would have spring break and, with my feeling better, I planned to really enjoy our time together. We also had some long awaited work planned for our house. A few interior doors installed and we would finally get the kitchen completed. All the materials were ordered and carpenters scheduled. My Dad, the ultimate carpenter and overseer of all home projects would be on hand to make sure everything was done perfectly. And, at the end of the month we were headed to Orlando for our first trip to Disney and Universal Studios. We wanted to go before the baby arrived and thought that the middle of pregnancy would be the perfect time.
On March 25th, I experienced, for the first time, a sadness that tore me apart. I worked at the school, as usual, and then took Luci for an appointment at the optometrist. Turns out, she needed glasses and picked out a pair she was thrilled about. We headed home in good spirits for a typical evening. Not long after arriving home, my sister, Angela called me. There is no way to prepare someone for what she was about to say, so she just said it, “Dad is dead.” It just didn’t register, so I replied, “What?!” and she had to repeat herself. My step-mom (who has been a mother to me since 6th grade) found him on the floor of the bathroom when she arrived home from work. He had apparently died in the morning because he had not yet gotten dressed for the day. Angela also told me that he was in a position that suggested he had fallen and not moved (his head was twisted where it hit the wall as he fell). Angela told me all of this and asked that I call my sister. She would call my other sister. I did call Vanessa, but I don’t remember doing it. I am not sure if I did it right away or later. For quite some time, I was on the floor in the hallway, the spot that I had been standing when I got this gut-wrenching news. The only recognizable thought I had was that I needed to let my children know that I was ok, the baby in my belly was ok and their daddy was ok. And, I needed to get them out of the house. It took such a great effort to even think of the names of people that lived close to me and could possibly come get the girls. I could not drive them anywhere, as I could not even stand up.
We had big plans for the month of April. Luci and Caprie would have spring break and, with my feeling better, I planned to really enjoy our time together. We also had some long awaited work planned for our house. A few interior doors installed and we would finally get the kitchen completed. All the materials were ordered and carpenters scheduled. My Dad, the ultimate carpenter and overseer of all home projects would be on hand to make sure everything was done perfectly. And, at the end of the month we were headed to Orlando for our first trip to Disney and Universal Studios. We wanted to go before the baby arrived and thought that the middle of pregnancy would be the perfect time.
On March 25th, I experienced, for the first time, a sadness that tore me apart. I worked at the school, as usual, and then took Luci for an appointment at the optometrist. Turns out, she needed glasses and picked out a pair she was thrilled about. We headed home in good spirits for a typical evening. Not long after arriving home, my sister, Angela called me. There is no way to prepare someone for what she was about to say, so she just said it, “Dad is dead.” It just didn’t register, so I replied, “What?!” and she had to repeat herself. My step-mom (who has been a mother to me since 6th grade) found him on the floor of the bathroom when she arrived home from work. He had apparently died in the morning because he had not yet gotten dressed for the day. Angela also told me that he was in a position that suggested he had fallen and not moved (his head was twisted where it hit the wall as he fell). Angela told me all of this and asked that I call my sister. She would call my other sister. I did call Vanessa, but I don’t remember doing it. I am not sure if I did it right away or later. For quite some time, I was on the floor in the hallway, the spot that I had been standing when I got this gut-wrenching news. The only recognizable thought I had was that I needed to let my children know that I was ok, the baby in my belly was ok and their daddy was ok. And, I needed to get them out of the house. It took such a great effort to even think of the names of people that lived close to me and could possibly come get the girls. I could not drive them anywhere, as I could not even stand up.
Later, after a dear friend picked up the girls and Graham arrived home, we made our way to my parent’s home. My dad had slowly built the small tree house, nestled in the woods, on the Biloxi River over the past 10 years. As I stepped out of my car and placed my foot on the ground, it felt like I had stepped into a pool of honey. Each step forward was a tremendous amount of work. My mind was in a complete fog. I didn’t know what I intended to do or say or if I would even be able to put together words, I just knew I needed to move my feet forward along the winding path. As I looked down, I saw the marks left in the sand where the gurney had wheeled away my dead father. I paused, that thought pushing against me. Then, I gathered my strength and continued forward.
As that day turned to night and to the next day and to the next week, I cried without pause. I carried a towel with me to dry my eyes and nose, my bed was full of dirty tissues and towels. Through exhaustion and aching sadness, I said goodbye at the funeral home, made arrangements, attended the visitation and one week later his memorial party at his house. The earth continued to rotate and the sun would rise and set again and again.
I had new feelings about my pregnancy. The baby became more important. S/he became the symbol of new life. My family members all held onto the thought of a new baby that would arrive and bring happiness to us all. I was just starting to wear maternity clothes, will a small protruding belly. I wondered what it would be like to have a baby without having my Dad around. He loved babies so much. How would it be possible for a baby to exist in our family without him? I was grateful that I was pregnant because I wondered if I would have had the courage to get pregnant without my father in the world. My baby was an important part of my grief journey. Another part of my grief was a loss of trust in the order of things. I suddenly wondered if my baby was even ok. I hadn’t yet heard the heartbeat and it became urgent that I did. I scheduled an appointment with my midwife as quickly as possible. We briefly heard a heartbeat on March 31st.
As that day turned to night and to the next day and to the next week, I cried without pause. I carried a towel with me to dry my eyes and nose, my bed was full of dirty tissues and towels. Through exhaustion and aching sadness, I said goodbye at the funeral home, made arrangements, attended the visitation and one week later his memorial party at his house. The earth continued to rotate and the sun would rise and set again and again.
I had new feelings about my pregnancy. The baby became more important. S/he became the symbol of new life. My family members all held onto the thought of a new baby that would arrive and bring happiness to us all. I was just starting to wear maternity clothes, will a small protruding belly. I wondered what it would be like to have a baby without having my Dad around. He loved babies so much. How would it be possible for a baby to exist in our family without him? I was grateful that I was pregnant because I wondered if I would have had the courage to get pregnant without my father in the world. My baby was an important part of my grief journey. Another part of my grief was a loss of trust in the order of things. I suddenly wondered if my baby was even ok. I hadn’t yet heard the heartbeat and it became urgent that I did. I scheduled an appointment with my midwife as quickly as possible. We briefly heard a heartbeat on March 31st.
Wednesday, April 8: I was having a particularly emotional day, thinking about my dad. It was spring break, so my kids were not in school. They were with their Aunt, because I had a meeting with a pregnant client. It was my first meeting since the passing of my dad. During the day, when I went to the bathroom and wiped, I had a very slight peach discharge and just a slight crampy feeling in my lower back. After my client meeting, I went to the beach. I sat on the short wall thinking about my dad. Thinking about how he sat on that same beach watching me play as a child and how he played with his grandkids on that beach. I had told myself that I had only been concerned about the pink discharge because my life was in such upheaval with the loss of my dad. That a little spotting is no cause for alarm. I sent a message to my midwife, mostly for some encouragement. She wrote back with instructions for extra vitamins and to stay in bed. When I got home and went to the bathroom, I had a mucus discharge. I drank a beer in hopes of relaxing my uterus and stopping the cramps. It didn’t work. When my midwife advised that I cancel my plans and get someone to help take care of the kids for the next week, I realized it could be serious and I got a little scared. But, the thought of a miscarriage had not even crossed my mind. I tossed and turned with an overall sick feeling throughout the night. I did not have a fever, but I just did not feel good. But, I could not differentiate between a true physical sickness or stress or the same feelings of depression I had been having since my dad died. I just did not know my body the way I normally did. I did not trust myself to even describe how I was feeling physically.
Thursday, April 9: Although my midwife had planned to come see me in the morning, I decided to contact an OB and get an ultrasound. I thought that if my midwife did hear the heartbeat with the Doppler, I would want a more comprehensive exam with the ultrasound anyway. And, if she did not find a heartbeat, I would want an ultrasound in hopes that the Doppler just wasn’t accurate. I contacted the three OBs that I knew personally and none could get me in (or did not have an ultrasound at their office that day.) I decided to just go to the ER and get an ultrasound (my 2 daughters with me). At the hospital, I still did not have a fever. A nurse (who had worked in Labor & Delivery) did a cervical exam and said that my cervix was maybe 1cm. I felt like this was good news. (Now, I look back and realize she had most of her experience checking women in labor and was not skilled enough to differentiate what a cervix should feel like at 15 weeks). The ER doctor sent me down the hall for an ultrasound. I was extremely nervous as I was wheeled into the dimly lit room. My girls were asking me questions about the ultrasound machine and what was happening. The ultrasound technician advised me that she could not tell me anything, the doctor would have to do that. I had had only one other ultrasound in my life, so I was not good at interpreting what was on the screen, but I did see my baby. And, as the tech moved the probe across my tummy, she commented that the baby was really wiggly and just would not be still for the measurements. I quietly wept with relief that my baby was ok. They took us back to our room to wait for the final consult with the doctor and for a Rhogam shot (just in case there had been any internal bleeding). As we waited in the room, I felt completely exhausted and I developed an intense headache. Again, I didn’t know if it was a physical problem, stress from a day at the ER or depression from previous events. The girls were getting stir crazy and we hadn’t been seen in a while, so we headed down to the cafeteria to get some lunch. As we walked down, I felt weak and tired. And, then, none of the food looked appealing to me (which was not normal for me). I got a bag of crackers and we headed back to our room. At the time, none of this registered as odd. I just attributed it to a being at the hospital longer than I wanted to be. I got the Rhogam shot and they sent us on our way. It was afternoon by the time we got home and I just wanted to get in bed. I knew that I needed to eat, but I didn’t want to. A smoothie was the only thing that sounded somewhat palatable. I sent a message to a friend asking her to bring me one. I also sent a message out to all my close friends and family letting them know what was going on, knowing that I would be needing help. In that message, I described my feeling as if I was in early labor and had the flu.
At 5pm, I took Tylenol for my headache which had not subsided and shortly afterwards vomited. I took my temperature and it was 103.1
At 6:45pm, I felt a small gush of fluid. I went to the bathroom and the fluid continued to come intermittently. It wasn’t a lot, and I was certain it was amniotic fluid. It was clear and did not smell bad. Instead of thinking the worst, I continued to think that everything would be ok. Perhaps I had a leak in my amniotic sack and it would seal or maybe I had had a twin pregnancy and one baby had not developed and I was losing that sac. Every possibility to keep hope alive was where I focused my thoughts.
Cramps (which I now accepted were contractions) continued throughout the night. And, I felt horrible. I alternated between sweating and freezing, I was taking Tylenol to control my fever, my skin felt sensitive and my body ached everywhere.
At 5pm, I took Tylenol for my headache which had not subsided and shortly afterwards vomited. I took my temperature and it was 103.1
At 6:45pm, I felt a small gush of fluid. I went to the bathroom and the fluid continued to come intermittently. It wasn’t a lot, and I was certain it was amniotic fluid. It was clear and did not smell bad. Instead of thinking the worst, I continued to think that everything would be ok. Perhaps I had a leak in my amniotic sack and it would seal or maybe I had had a twin pregnancy and one baby had not developed and I was losing that sac. Every possibility to keep hope alive was where I focused my thoughts.
Cramps (which I now accepted were contractions) continued throughout the night. And, I felt horrible. I alternated between sweating and freezing, I was taking Tylenol to control my fever, my skin felt sensitive and my body ached everywhere.
Friday, April 10: My sister came to my house to take my kids for the day. And, a generous friend brought me breakfast and cleaned my house. It was also a busy day because we had scheduled some workers to come to our house to install some doors. I didn’t care about any of this activity. I was in bed and had no desire to move. I felt horrible in every way: physically, mentally and spiritually. My midwife came to see me. She
could not find a heartbeat with the Doppler. She also did a pelvic exam
and said that my cervix was forward and soft. I cried. It was then, that I felt pretty certain that our baby had died. I
still held on to the slight possibility that the Doppler just could not
find the heartbeat or that a miracle would bring our baby back. (My
midwife also checked my urine and found no sign of infection despite how
sick I felt). I could not bear to tell Graham over the phone. So, I asked him to please come home from work early. I needed him at home. I stayed in bed crying all afternoon.
When Graham got home, I was still in bed. I told him the news. Like me, he wanted to hold onto the hope that there was a mistake. We agreed to just snuggle on the couch and enjoy this time together while the girls spent the night with their aunt. We both knew (but could not admit) that the days ahead would be very difficult.
That night, I slept off and on. I continued to have sweaty and freezing spells. I used a heating pad and took hot baths to help ease the cramps in my lower back.
Saturday, April 11: 15 weeks pregnant today. Saturday, I was fatigued at a level I had never experienced in my life. Graham and I went to my midwife’s office for another attempt with the Doppler. Even with a thorough effort to locate a heartbeat, none could be found. My little bits of hope were dwindling away and reality was becoming clear. Over the previous 2 days, I had felt like I was in early labor, had uncomfortable flu like symptoms, experienced a huge range of intense emotions and hadn’t seen much of my children. By Saturday afternoon, I was really feeling drained and wanted to see my girls. I knew they would bring me into the present and remind me of all the good things in my life. I called and asked that they be returned home.
At some point, the contractions started wrapping around to my lower stomach. I had never felt contractions like that, but I recognized them from what other women have described to me.
When I heard my two boisterous, happy girls come through the front door, my spirits lifted. I told myself that everything would be ok and happen exactly the way it was supposed to. I gave up control. Shortly after my children arrived home, I got them settled into my bed so we could all watch a movie together. Just as we got started, I felt the strongest contraction I had felt and I knew that I needed to get in a private place. I quickly got to the bathroom. As a sat on the toilet, I felt something descend into my birth canal. I looked down and saw two perfect little feet dangling down between my legs. Each foot couldn’t have been any bigger than a peanut, but I still immediately saw all 10 perfect toes with 10 perfect toenails. Two things went through my mind immediately. I needed to alert my husband what was going on without alarming him or my children. Like me, they had been through a lot already. Secondly, I didn’t want my baby to fall in the toilet. I grabbed for a pad to hold under me and in the calmest voice I could muster, I called for my husband to call the midwife and bring me my phone. Quickly, I messaged for a family member to come get the girls (unbeknownst to me, my husband was doing the same thing). I carefully got off the toilet, spread out a chux pad and squatted. The baby moved down further, but her head was still inside my birth canal. Unlike, the birth of a full term baby, there was just no pressure behind my pushing. She felt so fragile. I wanted to be careful not to damage her body in my effort to deliver her head. I called my midwife who was already getting in the car to come to my house. I explained to her what was happening and then I had the courage to deliver the baby. I put my finger into my vagina on the back side of her head and held my perineum back so that she could slide out onto the maxi pad. I laid her body on the floor so that I could get in a more comfortable position, sitting on the toilet. She was born at 4pm.
As I sat there, I was in a strange mental state. I did not feel much of anything in those moments, except love. I was falling in love with my baby. Just as I fell in love with my other 2 when they were born. I was calm and taking in every bit of her tiny body. I tried to memorize her eyes, nose and open mouth, her ears, her arms, hands, fingers and tiny fingernails. I could see all of her ribs leading down to her round belly and the smallest umbilical cord (that had broken off from the placenta). I saw that she was a girl.
After I heard that the girls had been picked up, I asked Graham if he wanted to come in and see her. I told him he didn’t have to if he didn’t want to, it was up to him. He said he really would rather not and that was fine with me. He was just outside the bathroom door as I was inside. I don’t know how he was feeling in that moment or all that we said to each other. I told him that the baby was a girl and I would like to name her Holley. He said that sounded perfect to him.
I was paying attention to my bleeding (to be aware if it was too heavy) and knew that I had yet to deliver the placenta. When my midwife arrived, she assessed my health and all was fine. We measured Holley and she was 6 inches from head to toe. I decided to wrap her in the white sleeper that Graham had picked out and bought for her a couple weeks before. We wrapped her up and placed her in a small box. (My midwife took her to her home to keep in the freezer until I was well enough for a burial). Then, got me settled in to my bed with a chux pad under me. We were watching my bleeding, aware of contractions and feeling my uterus (to make sure it was firm). I expected the placenta to come soon. I pushed with contractions, pulling my knees up and making the best effort I could. I wanted to deliver the placenta so I could be done with this and begin healing. The placenta did not come. After a couple of hours, my midwife gave me some instructions and left. She advised me to continue to gently massage my uterus occasionally, take my temp at regular intervals, and keep her updated.
I slept off and on with mild contractions and continued to have a fever throughout the night.
Sunday, April 12: By morning, my fever subsided and did not return. Whatever virus or infection my body was fighting finally lost. And, my appetite returned. Because I had not delivered the placenta, I was vigilant to stay aware of bleeding and infection. My bleeding had decreased dramatically and I had no sign of infection. I felt weak and tired and still had the constant ache in my lower back. I spent the day in bed: crying, sleeping and eating.
Monday, April 13: The previous week, I had made an appointment with an OB for today, and I decided to go ahead to the appointment and get his thoughts on how to proceed. The OB was one that I respect and he respects me, so I felt he would treat me with kindness and let me know his recommendations while still appreciating the fact that I may not follow them. I asked Graham to stay home from work and go to the appointment with me. It was my first time out of the house in a few days and I felt like I was floating. It was raining and had been for days. I wondered if I brought the rain with my sadness. I told the front desk at the OBs office and then the nurse why I was there. I had to hear their condolences and it was awkward and painful. I was wishing that Graham could speak for me, but I knew he could not. I had to be brave. We went into the ultrasound room and tears streamed down my cheeks as the technician silently moved the probe across my soft tummy.
I told the OB all that had happened. He listened attentively, asked some questions and gave his recommendations. He was not too terribly worried about infection because I was very aware and would know when an infection started and take antibiotics to get rid of it. He gave me a prescription for antibiotics to take if I saw any sign of infection (or go ahead and start as a preventative measure, which I did not). He said his main concern was bleeding that could start at any time, but particularly when the placenta did leave my body. He gave me a prescription for Methylergon. If I started bleeding too heavily, I would take that immediately. I filled the prescription, just in case. His preferred course of action was to schedule a D&C right away. I knew he would want to do this and had already researched it. D&C comes with risks and current recommendations were that watching and waiting was just as safe as taking action. I told him I did not want a D&C. He was respectful and said that he knew that I would not go that route. He gave me his pager number and cell phone and told me to call him directly if there were any problems. He assured me that he thought the miscarriage would complete without any complications, but he was there for me if any problems were to arise.
The OB did a pelvic exam that was the most painful experience of my life. I don’t know what he did and I didn’t care to ask. But, it did feel like he was pulling my uterus out of my body. Perhaps he was trying to get the placenta out. Normally, I would have complained and asked him to stop, but I truly didn’t care. After that, I was tired and hungry and ready to get out of there.
I continued to feel uncomfortable with cramping all day and into the evening. I was tired of the constant ache that would get worse at times. It was just wearing me down. I could understand why women would get a D&C. To just be done with it. I just wanted the whole process to come to an end. I was tired of feeling bad. I had been using a heated rice sock and hot showers to ease the pain. Spending all my time in bed.
During the early morning hours, I started having contractions strong enough to wake me up. I remember thinking that I just couldn’t do it much longer. I was miserable. I got up to go to the bathroom and delivered the placenta. I don’t have words to explain my feelings at that point. I was tired in an all-encompassing way. I could not think enough to be relieved. I put the placenta in a jar of water. There was no gush of blood. Just bleeding like a period. I went to bed.
Tuesday, April 14 – Thursday, April 17: My midwife and I decided to meet for lunch. I was ready to get out of the house after days in bed. She checked my blood pressure and it was low. She could tell I was weak and looked pale. She advised me to get some Florodix iron supplement. Over the next few days my cramps continued as a slight ache in my back, but much less than previously. My bleeding continued to decrease, first like a period, then slight pink. Eventually it was just a clear snotty discharge. Perhaps bits of the amniotic sac still working its way out. I continued taking my temperature periodically. I believe that my cramps stopped on the 17th. I continued to have clear fluid or slimy discharge off and on for days after that.
May23: It was on this day that my body seemed to be back to it’s non pregnant state. No cramping, no spotting. This is also the day that I got a tattoo for my 3 children and one for myself.
When Graham got home, I was still in bed. I told him the news. Like me, he wanted to hold onto the hope that there was a mistake. We agreed to just snuggle on the couch and enjoy this time together while the girls spent the night with their aunt. We both knew (but could not admit) that the days ahead would be very difficult.
That night, I slept off and on. I continued to have sweaty and freezing spells. I used a heating pad and took hot baths to help ease the cramps in my lower back.
Saturday, April 11: 15 weeks pregnant today. Saturday, I was fatigued at a level I had never experienced in my life. Graham and I went to my midwife’s office for another attempt with the Doppler. Even with a thorough effort to locate a heartbeat, none could be found. My little bits of hope were dwindling away and reality was becoming clear. Over the previous 2 days, I had felt like I was in early labor, had uncomfortable flu like symptoms, experienced a huge range of intense emotions and hadn’t seen much of my children. By Saturday afternoon, I was really feeling drained and wanted to see my girls. I knew they would bring me into the present and remind me of all the good things in my life. I called and asked that they be returned home.
At some point, the contractions started wrapping around to my lower stomach. I had never felt contractions like that, but I recognized them from what other women have described to me.
When I heard my two boisterous, happy girls come through the front door, my spirits lifted. I told myself that everything would be ok and happen exactly the way it was supposed to. I gave up control. Shortly after my children arrived home, I got them settled into my bed so we could all watch a movie together. Just as we got started, I felt the strongest contraction I had felt and I knew that I needed to get in a private place. I quickly got to the bathroom. As a sat on the toilet, I felt something descend into my birth canal. I looked down and saw two perfect little feet dangling down between my legs. Each foot couldn’t have been any bigger than a peanut, but I still immediately saw all 10 perfect toes with 10 perfect toenails. Two things went through my mind immediately. I needed to alert my husband what was going on without alarming him or my children. Like me, they had been through a lot already. Secondly, I didn’t want my baby to fall in the toilet. I grabbed for a pad to hold under me and in the calmest voice I could muster, I called for my husband to call the midwife and bring me my phone. Quickly, I messaged for a family member to come get the girls (unbeknownst to me, my husband was doing the same thing). I carefully got off the toilet, spread out a chux pad and squatted. The baby moved down further, but her head was still inside my birth canal. Unlike, the birth of a full term baby, there was just no pressure behind my pushing. She felt so fragile. I wanted to be careful not to damage her body in my effort to deliver her head. I called my midwife who was already getting in the car to come to my house. I explained to her what was happening and then I had the courage to deliver the baby. I put my finger into my vagina on the back side of her head and held my perineum back so that she could slide out onto the maxi pad. I laid her body on the floor so that I could get in a more comfortable position, sitting on the toilet. She was born at 4pm.
As I sat there, I was in a strange mental state. I did not feel much of anything in those moments, except love. I was falling in love with my baby. Just as I fell in love with my other 2 when they were born. I was calm and taking in every bit of her tiny body. I tried to memorize her eyes, nose and open mouth, her ears, her arms, hands, fingers and tiny fingernails. I could see all of her ribs leading down to her round belly and the smallest umbilical cord (that had broken off from the placenta). I saw that she was a girl.
After I heard that the girls had been picked up, I asked Graham if he wanted to come in and see her. I told him he didn’t have to if he didn’t want to, it was up to him. He said he really would rather not and that was fine with me. He was just outside the bathroom door as I was inside. I don’t know how he was feeling in that moment or all that we said to each other. I told him that the baby was a girl and I would like to name her Holley. He said that sounded perfect to him.
I was paying attention to my bleeding (to be aware if it was too heavy) and knew that I had yet to deliver the placenta. When my midwife arrived, she assessed my health and all was fine. We measured Holley and she was 6 inches from head to toe. I decided to wrap her in the white sleeper that Graham had picked out and bought for her a couple weeks before. We wrapped her up and placed her in a small box. (My midwife took her to her home to keep in the freezer until I was well enough for a burial). Then, got me settled in to my bed with a chux pad under me. We were watching my bleeding, aware of contractions and feeling my uterus (to make sure it was firm). I expected the placenta to come soon. I pushed with contractions, pulling my knees up and making the best effort I could. I wanted to deliver the placenta so I could be done with this and begin healing. The placenta did not come. After a couple of hours, my midwife gave me some instructions and left. She advised me to continue to gently massage my uterus occasionally, take my temp at regular intervals, and keep her updated.
I slept off and on with mild contractions and continued to have a fever throughout the night.
Sunday, April 12: By morning, my fever subsided and did not return. Whatever virus or infection my body was fighting finally lost. And, my appetite returned. Because I had not delivered the placenta, I was vigilant to stay aware of bleeding and infection. My bleeding had decreased dramatically and I had no sign of infection. I felt weak and tired and still had the constant ache in my lower back. I spent the day in bed: crying, sleeping and eating.
Monday, April 13: The previous week, I had made an appointment with an OB for today, and I decided to go ahead to the appointment and get his thoughts on how to proceed. The OB was one that I respect and he respects me, so I felt he would treat me with kindness and let me know his recommendations while still appreciating the fact that I may not follow them. I asked Graham to stay home from work and go to the appointment with me. It was my first time out of the house in a few days and I felt like I was floating. It was raining and had been for days. I wondered if I brought the rain with my sadness. I told the front desk at the OBs office and then the nurse why I was there. I had to hear their condolences and it was awkward and painful. I was wishing that Graham could speak for me, but I knew he could not. I had to be brave. We went into the ultrasound room and tears streamed down my cheeks as the technician silently moved the probe across my soft tummy.
I told the OB all that had happened. He listened attentively, asked some questions and gave his recommendations. He was not too terribly worried about infection because I was very aware and would know when an infection started and take antibiotics to get rid of it. He gave me a prescription for antibiotics to take if I saw any sign of infection (or go ahead and start as a preventative measure, which I did not). He said his main concern was bleeding that could start at any time, but particularly when the placenta did leave my body. He gave me a prescription for Methylergon. If I started bleeding too heavily, I would take that immediately. I filled the prescription, just in case. His preferred course of action was to schedule a D&C right away. I knew he would want to do this and had already researched it. D&C comes with risks and current recommendations were that watching and waiting was just as safe as taking action. I told him I did not want a D&C. He was respectful and said that he knew that I would not go that route. He gave me his pager number and cell phone and told me to call him directly if there were any problems. He assured me that he thought the miscarriage would complete without any complications, but he was there for me if any problems were to arise.
The OB did a pelvic exam that was the most painful experience of my life. I don’t know what he did and I didn’t care to ask. But, it did feel like he was pulling my uterus out of my body. Perhaps he was trying to get the placenta out. Normally, I would have complained and asked him to stop, but I truly didn’t care. After that, I was tired and hungry and ready to get out of there.
I continued to feel uncomfortable with cramping all day and into the evening. I was tired of the constant ache that would get worse at times. It was just wearing me down. I could understand why women would get a D&C. To just be done with it. I just wanted the whole process to come to an end. I was tired of feeling bad. I had been using a heated rice sock and hot showers to ease the pain. Spending all my time in bed.
During the early morning hours, I started having contractions strong enough to wake me up. I remember thinking that I just couldn’t do it much longer. I was miserable. I got up to go to the bathroom and delivered the placenta. I don’t have words to explain my feelings at that point. I was tired in an all-encompassing way. I could not think enough to be relieved. I put the placenta in a jar of water. There was no gush of blood. Just bleeding like a period. I went to bed.
Tuesday, April 14 – Thursday, April 17: My midwife and I decided to meet for lunch. I was ready to get out of the house after days in bed. She checked my blood pressure and it was low. She could tell I was weak and looked pale. She advised me to get some Florodix iron supplement. Over the next few days my cramps continued as a slight ache in my back, but much less than previously. My bleeding continued to decrease, first like a period, then slight pink. Eventually it was just a clear snotty discharge. Perhaps bits of the amniotic sac still working its way out. I continued taking my temperature periodically. I believe that my cramps stopped on the 17th. I continued to have clear fluid or slimy discharge off and on for days after that.
May23: It was on this day that my body seemed to be back to it’s non pregnant state. No cramping, no spotting. This is also the day that I got a tattoo for my 3 children and one for myself.
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May 3: We buried Holley on my parent’s property. We planted a Spirea (wedding bouquet bush) on her grave and placed some small rocks in the shape of a heart. I have admired the Spirea bush for years, often times thinking I would plant one at my house, but I never had. It looks like a boring plant all year long until spring and then for a short time, it is filled with the tiniest, most delicate pure white flowers. When I decided to choose a plant to honor Holley, Spirea came to mind immediately. The flowers are so small and it blooms so briefly, it is the perfect representation of my baby.
Wondering Why: I have spent quite a bit of time contemplating why my baby died. She looked perfect. I know just enough about pregnancy and fetal development to make speculations. My midwife and OB know a lot more than me. Yet, they know very little. Research scientists may know a bit more, but still know very little. Birth is referred to as a miracle because that is the only way we can attempt to understand it. How does a child grow inside our bodies and then transition to the outside world. Science has not even begun to grasp how it all unfolds. And, no one understands when or why it doesn’t work out. The March of Dimes is working so hard to end pre-term birth, but they have no suggestions on how to prevent it. All they can do is tell you the signs to watch for. And, then if you have these warning signs, there is nothing you can do except wait and see what happens. Aware of this, I still keep trying to understand what happened to baby Holley and I. Was it one thing or a few compounding factors? Was there anything I could have done differently? Would it happen again, if I get pregnant?
They say stress does not cause miscarriage. Women give birth to healthy babies in all kinds of crazy environments. But we do know that stress causes a depressed immune system. There is no doubt that my body was weak following the death of my dad. The fever, chills and body aches in the days leading up to the miscarriage make me wonder if I had a virus or bacterial infection. If I did, maybe my body couldn’t sustain both me and the baby because of stress. What about my diet? I hadn’t been eating as well as should have. Did that also weaken my immune system? At my appointment with the OB, he said that he did not think the miscarriage was a result of a chromosomal abnormality. He thought that, had it been, I would have lost the baby much earlier. He said he thought it was some sort of infection and would not happen again. It could even have been from something I ate. I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse.
Another factor is the placenta. My placenta did not look normal to me. When I saw it, I wasn’t sure if that was because it has been in my body unused for a few days or it was a true abnormality. It was thick. The “rough” side was very rough and had cracks in it. On the “smooth” side, the skin seemed to have contracted, pulling up around the edges. And, it was more of a pear shape than round and the small part of the pear was a completely different consistency. When I showed my midwife, she said it looked to her that it could be a circumvallate placenta. This condition comes with increased risk of intrauterine fetal death and placental abruption (among other things). So, why did my placenta look like this? Was it because I had been taking a medication during a few early days of my pregnancy? Was it because I wasn’t eating enough dark leafy greens or too many French fries? Or maybe it was because over the years I have been exposed to to many chemicals that impact the reproductive system? Certainly circumvallate placenta only raises risk slightly, so what made the difference with me?
The two explanations above seem to be the more logical, but every one once in a while, the insanity that comes with grief makes me wonder: Did our baby die because my dad died? Or, Did our baby die to teach me about pain? Or, Did our baby die because I am would not be a good enough mother?
Wondering Why: I have spent quite a bit of time contemplating why my baby died. She looked perfect. I know just enough about pregnancy and fetal development to make speculations. My midwife and OB know a lot more than me. Yet, they know very little. Research scientists may know a bit more, but still know very little. Birth is referred to as a miracle because that is the only way we can attempt to understand it. How does a child grow inside our bodies and then transition to the outside world. Science has not even begun to grasp how it all unfolds. And, no one understands when or why it doesn’t work out. The March of Dimes is working so hard to end pre-term birth, but they have no suggestions on how to prevent it. All they can do is tell you the signs to watch for. And, then if you have these warning signs, there is nothing you can do except wait and see what happens. Aware of this, I still keep trying to understand what happened to baby Holley and I. Was it one thing or a few compounding factors? Was there anything I could have done differently? Would it happen again, if I get pregnant?
They say stress does not cause miscarriage. Women give birth to healthy babies in all kinds of crazy environments. But we do know that stress causes a depressed immune system. There is no doubt that my body was weak following the death of my dad. The fever, chills and body aches in the days leading up to the miscarriage make me wonder if I had a virus or bacterial infection. If I did, maybe my body couldn’t sustain both me and the baby because of stress. What about my diet? I hadn’t been eating as well as should have. Did that also weaken my immune system? At my appointment with the OB, he said that he did not think the miscarriage was a result of a chromosomal abnormality. He thought that, had it been, I would have lost the baby much earlier. He said he thought it was some sort of infection and would not happen again. It could even have been from something I ate. I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse.
Another factor is the placenta. My placenta did not look normal to me. When I saw it, I wasn’t sure if that was because it has been in my body unused for a few days or it was a true abnormality. It was thick. The “rough” side was very rough and had cracks in it. On the “smooth” side, the skin seemed to have contracted, pulling up around the edges. And, it was more of a pear shape than round and the small part of the pear was a completely different consistency. When I showed my midwife, she said it looked to her that it could be a circumvallate placenta. This condition comes with increased risk of intrauterine fetal death and placental abruption (among other things). So, why did my placenta look like this? Was it because I had been taking a medication during a few early days of my pregnancy? Was it because I wasn’t eating enough dark leafy greens or too many French fries? Or maybe it was because over the years I have been exposed to to many chemicals that impact the reproductive system? Certainly circumvallate placenta only raises risk slightly, so what made the difference with me?
The two explanations above seem to be the more logical, but every one once in a while, the insanity that comes with grief makes me wonder: Did our baby die because my dad died? Or, Did our baby die to teach me about pain? Or, Did our baby die because I am would not be a good enough mother?
My Grief: (I don’t know if I should use past tense or presence tense when discussing my feelings. They change day to day. So, excuse the mis-matched tense in my writing). So many of my friends and family have had miscarriages, lost children, lost parents, lost loved ones. All have felt grief in some way or another. Yet, I didn’t know a thing about it. My mom died when I was 5. My great-grandmother, who was a mother to me, died when I was an adult. And just last fall, I held my own grandmothers hand as she passed away. None of those experiences prepared me for this grief. I had no idea. The death of my dad and the baby have combined emotionally into a season of loss. The grief combined making it hard to separate my thoughts. To attribute feelings to any certain thing. I felt like a shell of my former self. I am sure I looked the same on the outside to everyone, but my mind and heart felt empty.
I have lost my passion, confidence, trust, energy, enthusiasm, curiosity and joy.
I just did not care about things that previously had been important to me. As time has passed, I started doing things, but at first it felt like an act. I didn’t actually have a desire to do things, I just did them out of routine. I knew what I was supposed to be doing, so I did it. But, there was no internal motivation.
I didn’t trust the world. Everything was topsy turvy and I didn’t trust that anything would ever be right. For example, we bought new appliance and I was certain that there would be problems. I insisted that we test the cooktop before cutting the hole in the countertop for it. Of course, it worked. The combination of not thinking anything would work out and not caring, I felt I was shrugging my shoulders every time I was asked a question. I have said, “I don’t know” a lot.
All of this happened at the same time that we were remodeling our house. We had to continue the work due to bank restrictions. Yet, I had a new anxiety about change. I didn’t want anything to change. Yet, it felt like everything had changed. Again, the world was upside down and I just wanted to try and keep things as still and unchanged as possible. There is comfort in the familiar. There is comfort in routine.
I also lost all of my confidence. I felt certain that I could not be a mother, wife, sister, daughter or friend. And, the thought of actually helping or working with new mothers seemed impossible. I wondered if I would ever work again or perhaps a career change was in my future. Would I want to get pregnant again? How will I manage the worry that I am doing something “wrong” during pregnancy? I wonder what I will be like when the fog has lifted (as everyone says it will).
My energy level was non-existent. Each day I had more energy than the day before. Slowly, I was able to get up and do things during the day. Then, I went back to work at the school. Often falling asleep and feeling fatigued by the afternoon. I made mistakes, lost important papers. I felt like I didn’t have much brain power.
As I am writing this, it has been 5 weeks since the miscarriage and 7 weeks since my dad died. Not much time has passed. But it feels like months and months have passed. The days were so slow and painful, time barely moved forward for days and days. Some days are easier and some days are harder. Over the last few days, I have started seeing myself working with mothers again and thinking about when I want to teach another childbirth class. When will I take another doula client? Maybe I will be able to have a happy healthy pregnancy?
If you have any comments or would like to speak with me about loss, feel free to contact me.
bianca@betterbeginningsms.com or 228.233.0686.
I have photos of 15 week baby Holley and our placenta. If you would like to see them, click here.
bianca@betterbeginningsms.com or 228.233.0686.
I have photos of 15 week baby Holley and our placenta. If you would like to see them, click here.