Day 12: The Day Before Goodbye

Again, I am sharing a post I wrote two years ago, on the first anniversary of this difficult day:

March 12th - The day of waiting and induction

Today, last year, was another hard day. It was the day between the knowledge of death and the day of birth. We started off this day very weary and emotionally broken. I had not slept. We had to be at my doctor's office to meet with my OB early, around 9:00am if I remember right. (Times are the only trouble I have in my memory of these days. I recall the events perfectly, but minutes and hours melt together and I couldn't tell you what time many things occurred.)

It was very painful to sit in my doctor's office, waiting. The place where I had just been only three days before for a routine visit was now a place of torment. Pregnant women everywhere, while my baby lay dead inside of my womb. Of course, the office would have to be busy today. Finally, I was called back and Daniel and I followed the nurse to a room where we sat and waited for the doctor.

She was very kind to us and was visibly broken for us. She said she went through my chart over and over again to see if there was something she had missed but could not figure out why our baby had died. I could tell this was something that bothered her, that she felt she had failed us as a doctor. I didn't feel this was her fault though. According to ultrasound techs (at a separate facility) Avery was doing just fine.

We decided to go through with inducing and the nurse's assistant got on the phone with the labor and delivery department at the hospital just around the corner to set up a time. The first available delivery suite wouldn't be ready for me until 6:30 that evening. A long day of waiting. Waiting for the most bittersweet moments a person could possibly experience. The birth of a dead child.

We went back to my parents' house since they live no more than five minutes from the hospital. We took our places on the couch where we had sat all the day before and just cried and shared our thoughts. I broke down over and over again, thinking of all the things I had lost. First smiles, first laughs, first crawls, first steps, first words... So many things that some take for granted as just being typical life. Family frequently called my dad to see how we were doing. I couldn't bear to talk to anyone.

Then my dad was on the phone with his friend, who owns a funeral home. He would be the one to come and pick Avery up from the hospital. He wanted to know what our preferences were for the funeral. We had to pick what color her casket would be. (We chose white.) And then, he needed to know her name for the obituary.

At this point, we hadn't chosen a definite name for our little girl. Only two weeks before, at our last ultrasound, we were given an '80-90% chance' that she was a girl. Up until this point, we'd been considering Sawyer for her, but hadn't made it definite since I was afraid others would think it was too boyish. So when thinking about our sweet little girl, Sawyer just didn't fit anymore. I thought through my mental list of favorite names, back to the one we loved originally. I started to cry when I thought of it. "I want to name her Avery," I told Daniel. He immediately agreed. We decided to give her my name as her middle name, as a way to have a piece of me with her. Avery Nicole. We had just named our baby.

The day went on. So much crying. So much agony. Awaiting what was to come that evening. I hadn't eaten in almost two days. The thought of doing so made me so incredibly sad, thinking about how Avery used to share my food with me and now she no longer would. Regardless, I forced myself to eat half of a bagel, figuring I may need some energy for that night. Who knows how much pushing and labor I may have to go through. My attempt failed, however, because I threw it up almost immediately.

Suddenly, it was somehow time for us to go to the hospital. My parents drove us there and my brothers and Daniel's family would be meeting us a bit later. I had my mom check in for me and tell the front desk why I was there, but even she could barely get through the words. My amazing nurse, Daniele, appeared and called me to her side to show me to my room. She put her arm so lovingly around me and I just leaned against her and started sobbing once again. She knew exactly what I was going through. Not too many years ago, she had a baby girl who died shortly after birth. It felt nice to have someone there who understood this pain.

In my room, I had to change into a gown. I went into the bathroom and just started crying all over again. I had always dreamed of coming to one of these rooms to have my own baby, instead of just being here to visit everyone else's. Finally, I was here to deliver my baby, but it was all wrong. So wrong. She would not be coming home with us like everyone else's has. This was not the happy moment it was supposed to be, the excitement of bringing a crying chubby pink baby into the world, our eyes about to meet for the first time. No one would bring 'It's A Girl!' balloons or stuffed animals. No one was celebrating her life... just mourning her death before she was even here. When I think back on these horrific moments, I feel so insulted by some of the women who complain at the end of their pregnancy, who are upset that their baby hasn't come when they wanted them to, acting like it's a huge cross to bear. I understand that one could become impatient since it's uncomfortable to be that large and that pregnant, but there's a difference between being uncomfortable and being ungrateful. And also the people who sympathize with the ingrates and act as if the woman is enduring something terrible by having to wait longer. Really? If you are going to be pushing out a living child that you get to take home and watch grow up, then you deserve no pity. Go through labor to deliver a dead baby and leave the hospital empty-handed and then see how 'miserable' you feel. End of rant.

Once in bed, I'd been given the medication to begin inducing labor, which was administered in a very uncomfortable and violating manner (that I will not speak of) every three hours. It was probably about 7pm at this time. Daniele stayed with me even after her shift ended. She told us the story of her baby girl and even brought some humor into the room. I actually smiled. I felt guilty at first, but realized how amazing it felt to be distracted enough to show positive emotions. Another nurse, who'd lost a son due to preterm labor, came in. She had been one of the nurses who had tried to find Avery's heartbeat the day before. She brought in a crocheted blanket and matching hat for Avery to wear when she was born. I remember thinking that the hat looked so tiny and there was no way she was going to be that small, not according to her gestational age. I would find out later that that same hat would be much too big and we'd end up with an even smaller one.

Soon, my brothers, and Daniel's parents and siblings had arrived, followed by my aunt and uncle. Everyone just sat around, some trying to lighten the mood. I could hear a brand new baby just on the other side of the wall, crying. Every time I heard that little one, tears poured down my face. I knew my little one would never cry. She would come silently into this world, just as silently as she left it.

Every hour I had to get up to use the restroom. Every time I'd drag my IV pole inside and shut the door, all the emotions would flood in all over again. Maybe it was being alone that did it. But I would look at myself in the mirror, hold my belly and just hate and dread everything. I got extremely upset when I began bleeding. Pregnant women aren't supposed to bleed. But technically I wasn't pregnant anymore. This medication was taking my baby away from me. She wasn't supposed to be gone. Each time I exited the bathroom, my eyes fell upon the the little, wheeled hospital bed that the babies are supposed to sleep in. Seeing that pierced my heart every time. I knew my baby would not be using that. In fact, it would only be used to wheel her out of the room for the last time. Thankfully, I couldn't see it from my bed.

Hours passed and I could feel my contractions. They got more and more painful as the time went on. I wanted to brave them without any pain medication for as long as possible. I was allowed to have an epidural if I chose, but I knew I didn't want that. Not this time. I'd save that for a bigger baby, I thought. I remember thinking that I wanted to feel the pain. I wanted to hurt for Avery. I had no idea if she suffered but if she had at all, then I wanted to suffer some too. I waited almost seven hours before I finally asked for pain medication. I waited until they hurt bad enough to make me cry. I could no longer be distracted from why I was here.

By this time it was 1:30am. My nurse gave me some pain medicine and sleeping pills so I could finally get some rest. It had been a while since I'd slept. All of my family, except Daniel and my mom left for the night. I felt so tired but even with the drugs, my mind kept working. I wondered when Avery would finally come and what she would look like. I was so afraid of how much it would hurt to see her and so quickly say goodbye. Trading a lifetime with her for just a few hours. Eventually, I fell asleep, but it was definitely not peaceful.

 

Day 11: Falling From Cloud 9

Today, three years ago, is the day we found out we'd lost Avery. The day of the ultrasound that showed her still, lifeless little body. The day we found out I'd have to deliver her. There really isn't anything else that I can write for today that I haven't written before. I decided to just repost what I blogged on Avery's blog on this day two years ago, on the very first anniversary. It may be of special interest to newer readers who may not know the whole story. But first, I would like to share a photo from today when we took Jude to visit his big sister.

Originally posted on The Avery Diaries on March 11, 2010:

March 11th - The hardest day

Today, a year ago, our whole world came crashing down. Last night, a year ago, I had the strangest feeling that something was wrong. Heart palpitations all evening. Worry. Out of nowhere, really. Then, it all escalated into tears and a small panic attack. I believe in my heart that that's when our sweet girl was leaving us for Heaven. My body and my heart knew. But my mind wouldn't until the following day.

It was Thursday, March 11, 2010... I had called my mom and told her my concerns. She thought it would be best to go to labor and delivery at the hospital just for peace of mind. After all, we did have a date later to see Dear John at the movies together. So Daniel and I went. I felt kind of silly, assuming I didn't know what I was talking about since this was my first baby. But I needed to hear that Avery was fine and I didn't care if they thought I was paranoid.

After an agonizing wait, which was probably not half as long as it felt, they called us back and hooked me up to a fetal monitor. Well, they tried to. They couldn't pick up a heartbeat and decided to go with a regular fetal doppler. Three different nurses tried their hand at it. None of them said anything but I could see it in their faces that this was not good. Plus I knew Avery. In the doctor's office, her heartbeat was always found so quickly. Still, I refused to entertain the thought that she was gone. I couldn't handle that.

They sent me over to ultrasound and I got on the table, actually feeling a little excited to see our baby on the screen. A part of me was still hoping that the doppler issue was a fluke and that the ultrasound would show us a healthy beautiful girl. But she was so still. She looked so cloudy, faded. Two different techs looked for a heartbeat. I could see the flatline across the screen as they typed 'NO FHT.' No fetal heart tone. They weren't allowed to tell me Avery was gone, but I knew it. The techs left Daniel and I alone for a moment and I turned to him and finally beginning to cry, I said, "I'm going to have to deliver her." His eyes welled up, "No," he answered, still not wanting to believe it.
The tech returned and told me to go to the restroom. I remember it so perfectly. I felt like I was in a dream. I closed the bathroom door behind me and looked at myself in the mirror. I whispered, "This is the worst day of my life." Then I added, "My baby is dead." That's when I started crying more. To say it, to admit it... I knew it was true.

 

They took us back to OB and had us wait in an empty delivery suite. I looked around the room, knowing I wouldn't be coming to one of these rooms with joy. I would come back here to say goodbye. In a few moments, a nurse, Daniele, entered the room. Her face said everything. I was already crying. She came right up to me, knelt down in front of me and just pulled me to her. That is when I lost it, sobbing and sobbing. And that's when she finally said it. She told me 'the baby is gone.' I really don't think I've ever cried that hard before or since. It was truly the most devastating and painful moment of my life.

Daniele and another nurse, Vicki, told us our options. We could stay and I could be induced to deliver right then. Or I could go home, meet with my doctor in the morning and decide when to come back. It was all too much, too soon. We decided to come back the following day. I couldn't part with our sweet girl just yet. The nurses left the room for a moment and Daniel called the pizza place he delivered for at that time to tell them he wouldn't make it in that night. I started crying all over again when I heard him tell his boss, "I just found out my baby died." It hurt me so much to hear him say that. I hated that he was hurting so much. But Avery is something we share together.

One of my biggest memories from that day is when I called my mom. I dreaded her answering because I knew I was about to shatter her world too. "Mom... she's dead," was all I could manage to say through my tears. "No, don't tell me that," she answered, immediately crying. I don't remember much else from our conversation, but I know I told her they couldn't find a heartbeat and the ultrasound confirmed she was gone. I'm sure I told her we decided to come back 'tomorrow' to induce and deliver. My father was appalled that I had to deliver a dead baby. But that was the reality of it.

After we left the hospital, we went straight to my parents' house. My parents and two of my brothers met us at the door. I broke down all over again when I saw them and they each hugged me. It all just felt so awful. More than awful. There is no word for it.
We spent the rest of the day and evening sitting in the living room. I cried all day and night, wishing I could be consoled. I just kept thinking about how my sweet little baby was dead inside of me. I hated it so much. I felt so much dread and sadness. I was afraid of what the next day would bring. So much pain. So much devastation.

I'll never forget how my dad wanted to try anything he could to help me. He ran out and got me a liter of Mountain Dew, my favorite drink of all time, and Doritos and a Butterfinger, which are a couple other favorites. I couldn't bear to eat, but I did allow myself to have the soda. I stayed away from caffeine through my pregnancy so it was nice to have it. Little good my caffeine avoidance had done.

That night, when Daniel and I finally got home, we got into bed. We cried for a while, holding each other so miserably. It was pretty late. Daniel is blessed to be able to fall asleep easily no matter what. I, on the other hand, was awake all night. I cried and cried. I pictured how the next day would go and what it might be like to see our baby. How would she look? Would it be disturbing? Would she look normal? Would she look beautiful and perfect? So many questions and worry. But most of all I was just afraid of how much it would hurt my heart to go through that. The labor to deliver a child is worth it, but to deliver a baby who is not coming home with you is a like a kick in the face.

Of all the days surrounding Avery's death and birth, this day was the hardest. Finding out that the baby I had waited my whole life to have was gone, was really and truly the very worst thing that I have ever been through. Sometimes I still cannot believe that this happened to us and that our sweet little girl is not here. Today is hard for me, reliving the day and remembering exactly how I felt to know our baby died. I will never forget that.

Thank you for reading. These days are so sacred to me.

Seizure

Yesterday was one of the scariest days of my life. There are a few horrifying days in my memory and this is definitely at the top of the list.

Yesterday, Jude had a seizure.

Jude has been completely healthy since he's been born, despite his nine week early entrance into the world. Yesterday, he showed no signs of sickness, no indication that anything was wrong.
Jude and I went with my parents, my grandma, and my aunt to the cemetery to visit my grandpa.

It was warm, but nothing alarming. Jude played on the ground for a few minutes, Then I picked him up and took him to stand under an umbrella to take a break from the sunshine.

Just a moment later, he arched backwards in my arms. At first, I thought he was being silly, leaning back. But when I turned to him, he was making a weird sound. The second, I realized something was wrong, my dad took him from my arms and said he was having a seizure. My mom and I immediately went into hysterics as we followed behind my dad, who was rushing Jude to the car. He yelled for us to call 911. I pulled out my phone and dialed it with shaking hands... the first time I've ever called it in my life. I couldn't believe I was saying "my son is having a seizure."

There was a couple who was helping us, as we brought Jude to the air conditioning in my parents' car. He was shaking and his eyes were rolling back. He was drooling. It looked like my little boy was gone. I couldn't believe what was happening. I was so afraid he was going to die. I pleaded with God in my head as the couple gave us pointers. They told us to drive to the entrance of the cemetery so the ambulance could find us better. I took Jude in my arms, surprised that he felt like dead weight. The woman was telling me how to do CPR in case he stopped breathing. As soon as she mentioned that, I tuned out and started freaking out all over again, not hearing a word she was saying. I couldn't wait to get him to the ambulance. I did not want to be responsible for resuscitating my own baby. I didn't trust myself to do it properly. I didn't want to experience that with him.

Thankfully, the ambulance pulled up to us on the side of the road and I got out of the car, my mentally absent child in my arms, as I cried and shook. His breathing was returning to normal, but he didn't seem at all like himself. A paramedic took him from me and I turned to my dad and asked him if it was possible that Jude could now be mentally handicapped from it. He told me no. I figured my parents knew about seizures, since my younger brother has epilepsy and has had about four seizures in his 22 years of life.

I climbed into the ambulance and my parents followed behind. By this time, Jude was crying and getting upset with the paramedic's prodding. He was looking around at the lights on the ceiling and I felt so relieved. I held his hand and talked to him, so afraid that something terrible inside him had caused his little body to seize. There's no way I could lose him. I'd never survive that.

We finally got to the hospital, and by this time, Jude seemed pretty normal, just very upset and tired. Daniel arrived just minutes later. His temperature was 102.7 and was probably much higher before (somehow, the paramedic had no thermometer). They took some blood from Jude, a urine sample via catheter, and a swab from his nose. They were checking for the flu, and RSV, and also checking his blood count. They did an x-ray of his lungs to check for fluid. He had an IV so his arm was taped down to a little board. He was hooked up to a monitor with leads all over his body. He had a little blood pressure cuff on his arm. It sort of felt like the NICU all over again, with my wired baby.

After putting on a saline drip mixed with a medication for infection and giving him Motrin, the nurses finally left him alone. As the medicine kicked in and he started to feel some relief, Jude fell asleep on my chest. I stroked his hair and cried in the unusual silence, remembering all of the horrific emotions I felt in the last hour, believing I may lose my most precious blessing. The fleeting, quick thoughts that had crossed my mind in those frightening unsure moments... Wondering if the last photo I'd ever take of Jude would be him at my grandpa's grave. Wondering if I'd ever see him smile again. I didn't dare imagine a funeral, but the quick thought crossed my mind with a sickening pain.

Thankfully, it wasn't long before the doctor explained to us what happened to our baby. Jude had a febrile seizure. They can commonly occur in children from 6 months old to 7 years old. They can be triggered by a sudden high fever. Upon checking, the doctor found that Jude had an ear infection and that must have been what caused the fever. What a way to discover your first ear infection! He hadn't even been showing any signs of it! The assumption was that Jude was starting to get a fever in the car while he napped on the way to the cemetery. As we were visiting my grandpa, his fever rose, the outside heat propelling his temperature faster, causing a seizure. Febrile seizures do not cause any damage and aren't neurological. They are not necessarily reoccurring. Jude may never have another one. I pray to God he doesn't!

Jude spent about five hours in the ER yesterday. It felt like forever. Even after learning he was going to be okay, it was still easy for the day's emotions to bring us to tears as any given moment. We're relieved that he's fine, but we'll never forget those fearful thoughts and the horrific notion that we were going to lose our baby. It was so difficult to watch Jude go through all of that pain. I know he didn't understand why people he didn't know kept hurting him. The lab messed up one of his blood tests and they had to poke him two more times to get more blood from him. We had to help hold him down as he screamed and fought to break free. It was awful.

So when Jude finally smiled again, it made my heart sing. Tears filled my eyes and I felt so happy to see that my little boy was coming back and that his spirit was still joyful even after all of the torture. He even managed to bounce around and laugh and babble, just like he always does. He was so happy. It was the greatest sight I could ever imagine.

It was so wonderful to bring Jude home. By then, he was completely himself. He crawled around and played. You would never know he had a seizure just seven hours before. Jude's now on medication for his ear infection and rotating between Motrin and Tylenol to make sure he doesn't get another high fever. So far, he's been great, just slightly fussy at times, probably when his ear is hurting him. He goes to his doctor tomorrow for a follow up.

I am so beyond grateful that Jude is alright. I would much rather that the seizure never happened, but I'm so thankful that God protected him and that he recovered quickly. I'm so glad that it wasn't triggered by something serious or life affecting. I already cherished and loved my little boy to a ridiculous degree, but somehow, my love has grown even more. He is amazing and strong and I'm so proud of him.

“Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.” - Elizabeth Stone

Capture Your Grief : Day 28 // Memory

It's been so difficult for me to choose one significant memory that stands out above the rest... the one I want to single out and share. So many moments come to mind immediately. The ultrasound where the tech wouldn't say what we already knew. Calling my mom to tell her Avery was gone... The list is endless.

I think though that the tenderest moment, one that I cannot and do not want to forget, is when Daniel and I were left completely alone with Avery in the hospital room. We were saying our final goodbye to her and spending our last moments ever with our daughter on this earth.

Daniel sat down with me on the bed and took Avery into his hands. We looked at her together, huddled close, tears streaming down our faces. I remember looking up at Daniel, miserably, and saying, "Daniel, what happened to our little girl?" It was almost pleading, begging him to give me answers I couldn't find, but knew full well he couldn't either.

I picked up the camera and took more photos of her, capturing her ink stained feet one more time. As I snapped more photos, I realized how much she was physically deteriorating. It felt unfair to keep taking her picture, as if I was compromising her dignity. I set the camera down and Daniel and I both agreed it was time for her to go. For us to give her up and say goodbye. It was the hardest thing we've ever had to decide together. Something we never thought we'd discuss... Not what color to paint the living room, or what to make for dinner... We had to decide that it was time to say goodbye to our daughter, after just seven hours with her. To give her to a nurse to take away so the funeral director could pick her up and take her to the funeral home to prepare her for her casket. How could we endure that? I still can't fathom it, though I've been living it for two and a half years.

It was God orchestrated that our pastor happened to arrive then to pray with us. He'd been away on a trip to Tennessee and just happened to get back in time, before Avery was taken away. Everyone came back into the room as Pastor John (one of my old high school teachers, my old youth pastor, the pastor who married Daniel and me) prayed over us. I do not remember what he prayed; all I could do was stare at my little girl, desperately trying to memorize every inch of her, the curves of her face and the feel of her skin. I ached to remember her always. Every precious detail.

Daniel made the horrific call to the front desk, requesting that the nurse come take our baby. It was awful. I don't know how I actually managed to hand Avery over to nurse. How I let her little body leave my hands for the last time. As the tears flow now, recalling it, I know they poured then.

After the nurse took Avery, she turned around to place her into the bassinet. I waited for her to move so I could take one last glance at my little girl before she was gone forever. But to my horror, when the nurse moved to the back of the rolling bassinet, I saw Avery was covered with a blanket... just like a dead body under a sheet.

I felt angry and upset that my last chance to see her was taken away. In these moments, this was not a dead body, a stillborn baby... This was my daughter, my precious baby, my little girl. She looked like her Daddy. And in this last second, I was angry on top of my grief. If that nurse could have just waited until she wheeled the bassinet across the room and behind the curtain before she covered her... It probably never occurred to her what a big deal that was. I'm sure she was just doing her job, shielding all of the normal happy moms that might be out in the hallway from seeing my dead baby. But she ruined my last moment. Maybe it shouldn't matter, but to me it does. She was the only nurse who took care of me during Avery's birth that had never experienced a loss. And she was the only one who did insensitive things... more than once.

Despite the nurse's inability to meet our needs, our last moments with Avery were so tender and precious. I felt so much love for Daniel, that we were holding each up through this, facing it together. And even though I felt so sick with grief and devastation, such a sense of dread and reluctance, I still felt so much love for that little girl. I still do.

Capture Your Grief : Day 20 // Organization

Through my journey to build a family, a few special organizations and charities have become close to my heart.

Oddly enough, about two years before Avery was even born, I came across NILMDTS online and sat and cried at the computer as I looked at the gorgeous photos of these beautiful lost babies. I was amazed that such a thing existed and knew in my heart, as I pained for those parents, that that would be the very worst thing that could ever happen to me. I never dreamed it would actually happen to me. If my life was a movie or a book, I guess stumbling upon their website would have been foreshadowing. What was even more odd, I did not remember that NILMDTS existed when it came time to be the grieving mother. Unfortunately, my hospital did not offer it as an option. I'm not sure if they didn't know about it or if it was somehow up to me to ask for the arrangements. Every time I remember, I am saddened that I was not able to receive their kind services and have professional, beautiful photos of my little girl. It was up to us to capture her details, instead of just spending time with her. Daniel and I traded off with the camera the entire seven hours. We don't even have a family photo together. I regret that very much.

Because of Jude, I support March of Dimes. Preemies are so delicate and start out with so many obstacles to overcome. MOD helps get them there. I don't know if Jude was directly benefited from MOD. I can only assume that the NICU he stayed in receives help from them. Either way, it's a wonderful thing, to march for babies, to save the babies. :)




Molly Bears is a beautiful organization. They make weighted teddy bears for bereaved families. When I got my Avery Bear, it touched my heart so much to feel her weight in my hands once again. It was a special moment and I cherish my beautiful bear so much. I love the work they do, and the love they put into each bear. It's crazy how comforting these bears are!

Capture Your Grief : Day 12 // Scents

It's so odd how a certain scent can take you back to a certain time or moment. There are a few scents that spark the memory of Avery. When I was pregnant with her, we had one of those reed diffusers in our kitchen. I think it was some sort of pomegranate scent. I still have the used reeds in a plastic bag in her memory box because smelling them reminds me of being pregnant with her.

Of course, the smell of the hospital reminded me of the day she was born. That cold sterile smell, I guess. I spent a lot of time in the hospital in the last year with Jude and my blood clots so I'm not sure if that smell would still remind me of Avery or if I'd think of the NICU or being hospitalized... or maybe I'd even think of visiting my grandpa before he died last month. Who knows.

Avery had a certain scent to her as we held her. I can't describe it. Sometimes I will be out and about and I'll catch that scent for just a second. I have no idea where it comes from, but sometimes I just find it and I stop dead in my tracks. Then it's gone. The only thing that even remotely still smells like her is her little blanket she was wrapped in. I hope as it continues to fade, I never forget the way she smelled as I cuddled her close to my cheek.

Capture Your Grief : Day 10 // Symbol

There is one special symbol that has always reminded me of Avery. That is the butterfly. I have come to find that it's a very popular symbol among the babyloss community. It signifies transformation and flight. Delicate beauty. While these things apply to Avery, they're not the initial reason that butterflies are significant to me when it comes to my daughter.

This light green piece of paper with a pretty black butterfly printed on it was taped to the door of my hospital room while I was in labor with Avery. They do that to signify a loss so all the nurses taking care of that patient are awake of the situation before they even walk into the room. I appreciated that there was never a need for a nurse to pop in all cheery and excited and for me to explain the horrific reality to her. They all just knew to enter the room with extra tenderness. Nurses that weren't even assigned to my room would come in and share their grief with me, telling me of when the same thing happened to them. It helped so much to know that I wasn't alone so early on. I guess this butterfly invited those women to share their hearts with me and show me it was possible to heal one day.

I'm not even sure how or why I thought to have Daniel grab the butterfly off the door before we left the hospital. For all I know, it could have been Daniel's idea. I had barely known it was there. But for some reason, it seemed significant. And I was still grasping for any shred of evidence that the day happened. That my daughter came into the world. Since I couldn't take her with me, I guess I needed every possible souvenir or memento I could find.

When it came time to choose the design on Avery's stone, all we knew was that we wanted butterflies. There was a definite lack of choices for children's stones, so if I'd had more time or more of a selection, I would have chosen something different overall. But I do not regret the butterflies. They are still something that always make me think of my girl.

Happy Birthday, sweet Jude

It's July 31st. I can't believe it.

A whole year has gone by, yet I feel like Jude just came into the world. Right now, last year, I was in the hospital once again, staying overnight for observation after another bout of high blood pressure. My doctor had me admitted, mostly for my own peace of mind, since she knew how fearful I was for Jude's safety.

Before discharging me the morning of the 31st, my doctor ordered an ultrasound, just to be extra thorough. Within minutes, I was told Jude would be coming in an hour because the pressure in the cord was very high and causing him too much stress. It was such a shock at first. At first I felt relieved, like I'd finally be able to breathe for the first time in eight months, knowing that, sadly, he'd be safer outside of my body. But then I was overcome with so much reluctance, holding my belly for the last time and feeling Jude's last kicks while I waited for them to take me away for the emergency c-section. I couldn't shake the notion that my pregnancy was being ripped away from me prematurely, once again.

I was put under for the c-section because I had been on blood thinners. It was too dangerous for a spinal; I could have bled out. So being put under was the only option, which also meant Daniel wasn't allowed in for Jude's birth. I still hate these situations. That neither Daniel nor I were there to see our sweet boy come into the world. Daniel only saw Jude for a few seconds before they whisked him away to the NICU, where he stayed for the next 32 days.

Jude Wesley was born at 12:37pm, at 31 weeks gestation, weighing 3 pounds 1.1 ounces, and was 15.5 inches long. I was told he was very content for such a premature baby. He was born so stressed, but calmed so much after. My body was doing to him exactly what it did to Avery. The placenta was once again failing. My doctor later said Jude probably wouldn't have made it another day. I am so grateful, so thankful that I knew to go to the hospital the previous evening. That I had the intuition that something wasn't right. I thank God for the wisdom of my doctor, who did exactly what was needed before it was too late.

Our families all met Jude within a couple hours after his birth. I was still recuperating from the bleeding issue I had during my surgery. I didn't get to see my little boy at all the day he was born. It's so strange to think about that. He was here but I wasn't with him. Definitely not the typical birth experience. Neither of mine have been, that's for sure. I wish I knew what it was like to carry a baby to term, to go into labor, to give birth to a living baby that I immediately get to hold, and to take that baby home just a day or so later. I'll never know. But I do know the joy of my sweet Jude... and that's definitely enough.

I am so honored to be Jude's mom. He is an amazing baby, such an incredible little person. I can already see his personality and his little heart. He is precious and sweet. He is silly. He is so strong, the first thing he ever was, here in this world, fighting to live. My tiny son is my hero. He is truly a miracle. Truly.

And today, Jude turns 1. It's bittersweet for us. We love our little boy and he just gets bigger and bigger everyday. We miss the tinier days. They get further away with each moment that passes. We embrace these new moments and we love and savor them, but we know we can never go back. We can never share these same sweet stages with any other children. These were the sacred times we lost with our only daughter, and these are the times we cling to with our son. Despite that, today is a victory. Jude is here. He's healthy and alive. He gets to grow up. I just wish he wouldn't do it so quickly!

Jude, Daddy and I are so proud of you. You fill our lives with so much joy. Each day is beautiful just being with you... watching you learn and play, seeing your smile and hearing your laughter. I love you more than life. Happy 1st birthday, sweet sweet boy.

“... and she loved a boy very, very much-- even more than she loved herself.”
― Shel Silverstein, The Giving Tree

Flashback: July 24-25, 2011

Yesterday, last year, I hit the 30 week mark in my pregnancy with Jude. And that was the day my perfect pregnancy went downhill. Everything had been amazing and been going so well. It was a completely different pregnancy than Avery's. 'Night and day,' as my doctor put it.

But early in the morning on July 24th, I had a terrible pain in my upper abdomen, prompting me to go to Labor & Delivery. It turned out that my blood pressure was spiking and the enzymes in my liver were elevated. No longer the perfect, healthy pregnancy I thought I was having. I believed we'd fixed everything that went wrong with Avery and that it would be different this time. But we were all wrong.

I was admitted to the hospital that morning. They monitored Jude and my blood pressure. It was going up and down way too much to put me on medication. To be safe, I received a round of steroid injections to help mature Jude's lungs if things were to worsen. That was the best thing they could have done for me. I really believe that's what helped Jude do so well when he was born just a week later.

Today, last year, I was discharged from the hospital. They did an ultrasound on our sweet boy to make sure he was doing alright. He passed his NST and looked great. But I was to monitor my blood pressure at home and make sure it didn't stay elevated for long periods of time.

I remember spending the next several days so nervous. My dreams of a normal pregnancy were once again shattered, but I still had high hopes that it would be several weeks before we had to face any pregnancy-ending situations. I didn't know I'd be admitted to L&D once again in just five more days.

NICU visit {7.13.12}

It had been ten months and twelve days since we stepped out of the NICU for the very last time. That last long trip down that endless hall of labor and delivery. Bringing Jude out with us into the light of day for the very first time. And we've meant to go back but time slips away in such an unreal manner lately. I feel like I'm living my life in fast forward. It just goes much too quickly.

On July 13th, Daniel and I finally brought Jude back to the hospital where I had both him and Avery. I wanted to visit my favorite nurse, Daniele, who has always played such a special role in both of my birth stories. She is the one who sat down with Daniel and I and told us that Avery was gone (even though we already knew). She was the one who got me settled in my room to induce to deliver Avery. She shared with us, the story of the sweet baby she lost and we bonded over that. I saw that there could be a light at the end of such a devastating blow. If Daniele was still standing, then I knew one day I would get back on my feet as well. She and I kept in touch over the next year. Then, when I was having issues during my pregnancy with Jude, Daniele was there again. She was the one who told me he would be born early... that he'd be coming "in about an hour." She helped prep me for my emergency c-section. She was there when Jude was born and she was the one who took the first photos of him. Daniele took me to see my sweet boy for the first time. She was there in the coming weeks, when we'd come visit our baby. Daniele made sure to come visit me when I ended up in the hospital with pulmonary embolisms. She took care of me so much. There to comfort me and make me laugh, even in the darkest of times. She is amazing and I am so grateful to know her.

And then it was off to the NICU. It was so odd to walk down that hall again, like we had countless times last summer. The smell, the slight chill in the air, the sounds. All so incredibly familiar. It suddenly didn't feel like it had been so long since we'd last roamed these halls daily, praying for that phase of our lives to end. For this place to no longer be a reluctant second home.

It was so strange, yet so oddly normal picking up that phone and requesting to be let into the NICU. Daniele had told them we were coming to visit, so they let us right in. I can't even describe how it felt to see that long room again, stretched out before us. The soft light, the calm quiet mixed with the sounds of fragile life, the isolettes, the beeping and chiming monitors. It almost felt like we never left. It almost felt like home. So familiar and normal. Yet distant and vague.

The nurses couldn't believe their eyes when they saw Jude. They all made such a fuss over him; how much he's grown and how healthy he looks. He's like a different baby. It was nice to hear that we did such a great job with him, even though all we've done is love him and take care of him.

Sonal, one of our favorite nurses, was there. She was the one who cut Jude's cord when he was born. She took care of him a lot when he was there in the NICU, and we liked her very much.

It was great to see her and a few of the other nurses, and to tell them how Jude is doing, what he likes, and all the amazing things he can do. ;) He's come such a long way. I love how they still cared about him, even after all this time. Nicole, one of the nurses, ran into their break room and grabbed the thank you card and photos I had sent around Christmas time and showed us that they'd been hanging on their bulletin board. It made me so happy to know that he's so special to them, that they never forgot.

The most amazing thing was to visit Jude's little area of the NICU. The back left corner, right by the supply shelf. That's where he spent most of his first 4.5 weeks. To bring him back to that spot, as he is now, as we are now, all this time later. To watch him touch the thick plastic of the isolette from the outside... such a strange feeling. Victorious, maybe.

I still can't believe we have walked this journey. It's astounding to look back at where we've come from and where Jude began. I am eternally grateful that our fragile, tiny baby has grown into this strong, smart, and incredible little boy. 

Jude, the NICU graduate

Thursday, September 1st was a beautiful day. It was the day that Jude finally got discharged from the NICU. This post is dedicated to the monumental day that Jude came home to us.

I couldn't believe we were heading into the NICU for the last time. We'd come and gone so many times for the last four weeks, it seemed strange to think life wouldn't always be that way. It was so sudden that Jude was ready to come home, kind of like a surprise that snuck up on us.

It was around 2:00 pm that day, coming in and seeing Jude all dressed up in his special 'going home' outfit. I never thought I'd ever be able to purchase the oh-so-tiny preemie outfits I always used to see at the store. We would laugh because they were so tiny and so cute, and we couldn't imagine a baby so small. But now we have one. And his little brown and gray striped cardigan and brown pants with a monkey face on the butt looked just as precious on him as I'd imagined. It was all the more amazing to be handed my son because, for the first time, he had no wires or tubes attached to him. He was just a normal baby, finally.

I signed all of Jude's discharge papers while we waited for the hospital photographer to come and take some pictures of Jude before we left. As I signed them and his nurse explained things to me, I couldn't believe this day had finally arrived.

The photographer finally came in and Jude was not a happy camper. He cried for almost the entire shoot. We figured out at the end that it was because he was cold. Aw, poor baby. He wasn't used to being unswaddled like that. But even still, his photos were adorable. And $67 later, we were ready to leave.

It was so amazing to strap Jude into his car seat (which he was so tiny in) and say our goodbyes to the nurses who had taken such good care of our boy. To walk out the door of the NICU with Jude instead of saying bye to him and leaving him behind. It was Heaven...

Just four weeks and four days prior, we had left the hospital empty-handed for the second time. The second time definitely did not compare to the first, but it was still hard for us after everything we had been through. When Avery died, I despised walking down the OB hall and walking out the door without my baby. It was so devastating and horrible. So much agony. Leaving without her, knowing she was gone forever. Having a baby and leaving with nothing. It's almost insulting. This time, was finally different. On this day, September the 1st, we got to walk down that hall on cloud nine... and we got to exit those doors with our precious baby in tow.

It felt surreal to bring Jude outside, his first time seeing the light of day in all his 32 days, and putting him in our little family SUV. Finally, a car seat in our Santa Fe. I sat in the back seat with him on the five minute ride home, just staring at Jude in disbelief that this NICU journey was actually over.

In all the weeks Jude was in the hospital, all I could picture was the day we'd bring him home. I played out the moment in my mind, us walking through the front door of our little house with him. The moment he'd cross the threshold. Finally home. It was just as great as I'd imagined.

It took us so long to get here, in so many ways. 

Welcome home, sweet boy.

Jude's NICU journey

Jude was in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) for a total of four weeks and four days. The first month of his life was spent in a hospital, instead of his home. Several of his firsts were shared by nurses instead of us. It was a long and difficult journey, but one that we'll never forget. It had it's hard moments and it's sweet moments. We made so many precious memories with our preemie son there... ones we wouldn't trade for anything. So here it is, Jude's first month of life, in photos:

Jude on his first day, July 31st, after he got settled in the NICU. He only needed oxygen (just 35%) for about a day.

Day 2: All settled into the isolette and no longer on oxygen.

Look how skinny he is. His hiccups looked so violent. :(

The tube down his throat was to drain any excess fluids in his belly. At this point, he was getting nutrients via IV. I hated this tube because he would repeatedly gag on it and it was scary.

The famous monitor. It was so easy to obsess over Jude's stats and worry if they were too high or too low. The top number is his heart rate, the middle his oxygen saturation, and the bottom his respirations.

Just a few days old, Jude was treated with light therapy for jaundice.

The next day, he had a new, better light for his therapy.

Jude's temperature had to be taken every 3 hours to see if he was learning to regulate his body temp.

A feeding tube was put into his nose, taking place of the one down his throat. This is when his tube feedings began. I was then able to pump so he could have breast milk. The velcro on his head is for the little light therapy shades.

Daniel doing kangaroo care with Jude. It's skin to skin contact, with the baby down your shirt, just like a kangaroo. We loved doing this.

Feeling Jude's warmth and closeness was so special.

Our little boy all stretched out in his isolette.

Holding him was always the best thing, though all the wires made it difficult.

Jude graduated to real diapers, in preemie size.

So beautiful. Look how big a small round band-aid looks on his hand.

One of my favorites.

Jude was finally allowed to get dressed! What a surprise to come in and see that day!

Jude wearing one of his own outfits for the first time, and I got to dress him.

So small even in a preemie size.

I just love his little legs in this photo.

One of his first times using a pacifier. We couldn't get over how big this preemie sized one was compared to his face!

Jude's cord stump fell off!

Feeding him his first ever bottle.

Learning to eat by mouth was one of his biggest goals so he could go home. He was a very sloppy eater.

Tube feedings in between his bottle feedings.

Jude in his new bed for the first time!

So tiny in Daddy's arms.

One of my favorites. Starting to get some chubbiness on those cheeks!

Since his first week, Jude smiles in his sleep like crazy.

We love his silly faces.

His nurse one night changed his feeding tube while we were there so we could see him without it for the first time since he was a couple days old.

Working on his eating!

Finally, his tube is out for good and all feedings are by mouth! (8.29)

On 8.28, I was admitted to the hospital with blood clots in my lungs. I was finally able to visit Jude on my second night. It was an awful experience, nearly ruining the joy of Jude's pending discharge. :/

Jude's last photo as a patient of the NICU. (8.30)

And here he is... all dressed and ready to go home! (9.1)

Jude's stay was long and emotional. It's so hard to leave your baby somewhere for strangers to take care of. To not bring them home and cuddle them like you want to. To not be the one in charge of your baby... Some nights, we would leave the NICU really late and I would just cry kissing him goodnight. I ached for the long nights of feedings and having him in our home to care for and love on at last.

Though those four weeks were difficult for us, we are very blessed. Jude did well and only improved the entire time. We didn't have a lot of reasons to worry. So many NICU experiences are not this way. Sometimes it's a back and forth journey where the baby is worse some days. Jude never did that. He only thrived and got better. We were also blessed that his stay was shorter than it could have been. We were originally told 4-6 weeks and he was only there for four weeks and four days. He was released a whole month before his due date. Home before he was even supposed to be born. My heart goes out to the families whose babies had to fight for their lives and struggle, and especially the ones who didn't get to come home. As hard as this was for us, we know it could have been so much worse.

This was an experience we'll never forget along with wonderful nurses we'll never forget. Thank You, God, for bringing Jude home safely. That's everything we prayed for.