Abortion Miscarriage Stillbirth: A Mother's Story

Here I chronicle as best as I can, from beginning to end, my personal experiences, thoughts, rememberings of one pregnancy that did not end in life but which opened the door to another.

Due to the content of this article, you may not be able to get through it all in one go, especially if you've lost a child pre or post natal. For this reason, you may want to bookmark this article so that you can come back to it. Please pass this on to anyone you think these words on this subject may help.

This is my story

I had gotten pregnant for the fifth time in July of 2002. It was technically my fifth pregnancy, my first was ectopic.

I can't say I was thrilled about being pregnant again, however I knew from a very young age that I wanted to have four children. That was my magic number.

My youngest son was not quite yet one when I found out. In this regard, having a fourth child at that particular moment in life seemed quite a difficult thing to go through. My body was not yet back to normal. I wondered how I would make it through potty training and diaper changing, and lifting and lugging and all the things a mother of three little ones already has to go through, let alone add a fourth to the batch. But, if this was what fate brought to me, then I would have no choice but to accept.

Old Jewish saying: "God never gives you more than you can handle".

No, I'm not Jewish, and my definition of God is not considered conventional. But it's a good axiom to follow.

My first two months brought with them two periods (something that is actually not so uncommon). And yes, this included PMS, at least it felt like it. But I knew I was pregnant and tested positive at home and at the obstetrician's office.

I found myself cranky from the get-go of this pregnancy. Opinionated and domineering. Particular and picky. I felt wise beyond my years. I was right all the time because I was right. Everything had a place and was in that place. I was perfunctory. I was not amused. I was blunt. I told it like it was and I didn't take any crap from anyone.

I was more efficient than I ever was before.

This was all because "I KNEW" what was to come. Deep down inside I knew. I knew it all. I hoped not. But I knew, and the weeks went by. It was all my way of coping with the mistrust of my gut, of organizing the outside so that the chaos on the inside could be subdued.

One of the things I've always had, was a good strong gut feeling about things.

Another of the things I've always had was doubt.

Many of us are this way.

I spent my life looking for all kinds of answers, from little things that may not really matter in the end, to big things like the universe, the end of time, and the purpose of life. It was never enough to look at one side of things, I had to look at many; and so I would end up understanding as fully as one possibly could, without the gratification of an answer to my many questions. And if I asked you what time it was, chances are I would double check your answer myself. I've always been big on double checking (less so now in my tired days).

It all boiled down to knowledge vs trust of that knowledge, and if I wasn't 100% certain, then I couldn't say for sure and I certainly couldn't listen to my gut feelings now then, could I.

It was with this lack of trust that I went into this whole situation. I took a million and one pregnancy tests, just to be sure, even though I knew I was which is why I took them in the first place. I wasn't sure if I was still producing enough milk (I was breastfeeding at the time), so when my littlest one got frustrated at feeding time, I freaked out and supplemented with formula. And while I was a cranky know it all, I still doubted and needed constant affirmation on a great many things.

My doctor assured me all was well and did all the precautionary tests et cetera, et cetera.

My husband was in love with the idea. He was in love with the baby. He was in love period. In fact, I don't think he was ever before so unafraid.

He was certain.

He had a relationship with it already.

He spoke to it.

He sang to it.

He felt.

He whispered.

He was excited.

He was confident.

He Knew All.

All was right with the world.

All was right with the baby.

All was right.

I was constantly bombarded by my fears. I remember them well. I never got ants in my pants so much before about going to the doctor's office. I wanted to know everything about how I was doing. How the baby was doing. Was the heartbeat okay? What size was it. Was I gaining properly? What did the pee stick say about my vitals?

Even before the heartbeat could be heard with an at home baby heart monitor, I pulled mine out. When in doubt, buy another. I did. Just to make sure. Just to be safe. I had to hear, I had to know... everything.

Everyone, and I do mean everyone, seemed to think I was paranoid. That all my fears were part of the hormones of pregnancy talking. I was the crazy pregnant lady. Everything was going to be just fine.

About 17 weeks into my pregnancy, I had gotten a funny feeling at my inner thighs, quivery sort of, as though I wouldn't last on my feet much longer. I stood still, a bit immobalized. There was a couch right in front of me. I could have easily lay down. I think the only thing that stopped me from doing so was that I was on my way to something. To pick up my oldest from school? Something, I now don't remember what it was. However, I do believe it was my saving grace.

I thought about this for a while in a daydream state. Then I had this sensation like I really wanted to lay down on my back with my legs spread wide apart, and I wanted to bear down.  It would be so easy, feel like such a relief.

I couldn't move from my spot. What did that mean? How crazy was that feeling? Why?

I felt guilty more than anything. I thought I was having some sort of mental breakdown thinking such thoughts. It felt like the first time I got virtigo in Ireland while at the top of the Blarney Castle. It was like being on the ledge of a tall building and that possibility that you will somehow or other uncontrollably throw yourself over, like it's going to happen dispite any sanity you can muster at the time.

I had to walk away. Busy myself lest I give in to the feeling. Grab my keys and go where I needed to go. What if I did that, and miscarried because of it. It would be my fault. i would have caused the death of my own child. I was insane. I truly felt so.

No one knew about this incident. I told no one.

At the 17 week ultrasound, we found out that the baby was going to be a girl. I had decided on a name; she would be Suri. I had told my husband, but he didn't decide whether he liked it or not. No matter, that was her name. Suri.

I lay for quite some time each night in bed, driving my husband crazy, trying to hear Suri's heartbeat, the same heartbeat that I could hear at the doctor's office. The beats I'd hear were few and far between and I was never quite positive that a baby's heartbeat, or a baby's anything, was what I was listening to.

Darn do-it-yourself baby heartbeat monitors! It had worked fine with all my other pregnancies, so the fact that it wasn't with this one, added to my obsession and insanity. I promised I would give it a rest. No more heartbeat listening sessions for a few weeks.

...Did you honestly think I could make it two weeks let alone two days? No, it didn't happen. Something was wrong, I could tell. I had to check. I could be wrong.

"But you just heard the heartbeat two days ago."

"I know, but I don't think it's there."

"Just because you can't hear it, doesn't mean it's not there."

"What if it does?"

"Oh, you're being paranoid."

"No I'm not, listen! It all sounds different."

"You're fine, but if it makes you feel better we can call the doctor in the morning and get an appointment."

I kept going back to the moment I felt like I needed to bear down. We had heard the heartbeat since then, but sometimes these things take a while, don't they? And the heartbeats were a bit slower, nothing the doctor was concerned with at all. 

Could it have been a premonition? I could barely sleep all night, and probably wouldn't have if it weren't for being so exhausted that I had no choice.

The doctor got me in that very next day.

He couldn't hear the heartbeat either.

We went into the ultrasound room.

There was no heartbeat in that room either.

There was no movement.

I was right.

I was right.

I was right.

We were let out the side door (so as to have our privacy and not upset the waiting room mothers to be).  We were to go directly to St. Anthony's Hospital, to get a better ultrasound; they had the new machines.

Our three little ones played with a nurse and watched videos while we went in.

There was nothing.

Nothing there.

No life.

No heartbeat.

No movement.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

I was right.

How could I be right?

I knew all along.

Knew all along.

I knew.

The tears were uncontrollable. I swallowed them down, hard, till they knotted up my throat, my chest, my mouth, my soul.

Back to the doctor's office to see what to do.

He said he wanted to give my body time to expell naturally. This would be the best route if I were wanting to get pregnant again. I was at almost 18 weeks. We would give it till I was 20 weeks. That way it could be considered a birth, not an abortion or miscarriage. I nodded. I didn't understand, but I nodded.

I don't remember much of the next two weeks. At least not chronologically. I don't remember much of what anyone else was going through or other people's reactions to me, so I can speak for no one else. I asked everyone I could if they had ever gone through a miscarriage and what their experiences were. Some spoke more than others, no one's situation the same as mine, so I got no real answers, but I felt that at the very least the sharing was important. Unfortunately, for the most part, it was a subject that was not a relief for most to talk about.

I was NOT depressed. I went about life as usual while waiting for something to happen. I didn't cry much at all. I remember still laughing. I remember smiling. I remember holding it together. I remember thinking there was a reason. I remember knowing that life must go on.

I remember wondering why. I remember wondering how. I remember glimpses of life as if going through a photo album. I remember talking on the phone. I remember letting the kids know everything I knew. I remember making sure they knew that things like this just happen, that it's part of nature, and gave them as many examples as I could.

I felt separate from everyone else. I didn't give out hugs and kept my body to myself, careful not to get too close in physical proximity to anyone. I didn't have a disease. I couldn't spread this to anyone. But I was walking death. I carried it within me. I couldn't change that. I didn't want them to have to feel it, not even in their subconscious, so I always stood back.

I remember feeling sadness that no one listened to me, that no one took me seriously. Wondering if any of it could have been helped had I gone with my gut and if those around me believed, took the time out to question their own thoughts on the matter.

It was MY body. It was MINE. Not theirs. What right? What right did any of them have. My own husband chalking me down to a hormonal fool and now crying about it.

For those of you who have trouble viewing the video above. Please click on the following link that will take you to the one I have posted. It is an interview with Tori Amos speaking openly about her miscarriages. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N1tr8LLl6qM&eurl=http%253A%252F%252Fhubpages.com%252Fhubtool%252Fedit%252F485200&feature=player_embedded Link is set to open in a new window.

At 20 weeks and still nothing. No expelling of any kind. Not much to speak of in the way of contractions either. My body had given me the chance three weeks ago. Why it held on so tightly right now I'll probably never know. Meant to be is the only thing I can think of.

I was addmitted into St. Joseph's. My own room. My own IV. My own expert nurses. My own doses of Pitocin to ripen my cervix and induce contractions. My own self. My husband wasn't there and I don't remember why. I don't think he wanted to or he would have found a way. I don't know that he could have handled it anyway.

I do remember thinking I wouldn't want to see her. I was afraid. Afraid of what I would see. Afraid if what I wouldn't. Afraid of emotions. Afraid of crying. Afraid of letting go. Afraid of accepting.

The nurses had been through this before with many mothers. They assured me I would want to see her, that it would be a once in a lifetime chance. That it was okay if I didn't, but that I would want to. They would let me know if they thought it was better that I didn't. I was undecided. Undecided to the very end.

It was finally time to push. I'd been through it before. I knew what to do. It wasn't as painful at all. There wasn't that pressure that is normally felt with a 40 week baby. I pushed and I pushed and I pushed. And then plop. Plop. A plop. As though excreting a large clot during ones menstral cycle. Smooth and easy. I remember saying "Is that it? She's out?" "Yup," they said, "That's it."

It felt surreal pushing out a dead baby. My apologies for saying so, but it did. There was irony to it. Dark humor. Dark indeed.

The next thing I remember is them saying how beautiful she was, the prettiest they'd seen. The doctor said her arm was broken at the shoulder, but that that wasn't the cause of death. He said it was probably the ambilical chord. It was an unusually long one and was wrapped around her neck several times over. He wound it off, I could see his actions, but not her. I still hadn't given my okay.

So she was strangled. Nothing to be done. Her chance of living done away with in a matter of how long, because of this? Nothing she could do. Nothing we could do?

Even the doctor said how beautiful she was. All body parts there and perfect as could be, aside from the aforementioned. I said I would like to see her. He said she was beautiful, but her color was, of course, not what I may expect, and likened it to liver, I think. I said okay. The nurses were happy. They looked at me with a bit of uncertainty, in case I were to freak out. But I wasn't going to. I knew that. I knew with every fiber of my being, with all the strands that connected me to the universe that I would have to see her, no matter what.

The little towel came towards me. Relief ran through me. I took in every little bit of her. Memorized her into every crevice of my mind. To this day I recall it all. Every curve. The exact brown of her skin. In that towel, the perfect little baby there ever was. So tiny. So soft. So sweet. so gentle. So peaceful. I likened her to a little bluebird. Rounded little belly. Perfect nose. Perfect shape of everything, fitted there in the little towel in the palms of my hands. I think I remember crying, if not outwardly, then inwardly. My eyes did not well with tears, I made sure of this, made sure that nothing stood in the way of my sight of her. I didn't want to let her go. I didn't want to let her go for anything in the world. But then, it was time.

Papers were filled out. I don't remember if it was the nurses or I who filled them out. The question of name came about. One of the nurses asked, so perhaps it was not I who filled out the birth certificate. Name. What was her name. I couldn't speak it. It wouldn't come out. That's okay, they said, probably for the best, they said. I wanted to say Souri. But instead she was Baby Doe. Baby doe. Not Souri. My little Souri. My secret? Mistake not to say? Sin? Forgivable? To this day I have no answers. To this day I struggle with the one moment that could have possibly made everything alright or more difficult.

Ten nights later, I think it was, I had a dream of her. There was a cloaked figured, a cross between a grim reaper and a priest. There was chanting in the blackness of the background. Were there torches, was that where the bits of flickering light were coming from? There was Suri, alive and bigger, dressed in a beautiful white vintage dress. There was someone taking her. I didn't want her to go but I had no control. She didn't want to go. She was scared. I think she was scared. She didn't cry. That someone who had taken her handed her over to the cloaked figure. The chanting abruptly ceased. So did the dream.

 About a month later, My husband and I recieved a letter in the mail.  It came from a cemetary, the same one my husband's brother was burried in. I was confused.

Inside was a certificate.  It said our baby was burried there via donation from the nurses at the hospital.  I was in shock.

I remembered them asking about funeral arrangement, if there would be any.  I had said no.  Partly because we didn't have enough money.  Partly because it was too painful.  I couldn't even think of it at the time.  It was something I hadn't even thought about. 

After looking at the paper in my hands I felt the heat surging through me, fast and furious.  I felt like a volcano smouldering lava.  I started crying, hard.  The tears wouldn't stop.  All I had been holding in came gushing out.  I felt so angry.  I felt so violated. 

How could they make a decision like this for me?  Why wasn't I the one making the decision?  Was I such a horrifically bad mother for not doing it myself?  The guilt washed over me like a waterfall.  I felt like I was choking.  I had to get out.  I had to leave. 

I kept the papers.  I've thought about visiting, but can't come to doing it on my own. Anger? Guilt? Shame perhaps?  All of these?

Had Suri survived, I would not have tried to get pregnant again. Not to diminish her short, yet meaningful existance in any way, shape, or form, but this is a fact. Which means I never would have had my little Sasha one year three months later. For her I am greatful. For her I am thankful. It makes it no more bearable, but it does make for solid witness that life does go on, and that blessings do come dispite our losses, and that we must all be prepared, and open, to life and death and all they have to offer.

This is my story.

1000 Oceans, by Tori Amos for those who cannot view the video presented here. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b6gVWD6l4PU&eurl=http%3A%2F%2Fhubpages%2Ecom%2Fhubtool%2Fedit%2F485200&feature=player_embedded

Also for those who cannot view the vieos presented here, Spark by Tori Amos http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Inj0HQBnuP8&eurl=http%3A%2F%2Fhubpages%2Ecom%2Fhubtool%2Fedit%2F485200&feature=player_embedded

Both videos are songs Tori wrote about her miscarriages. Both links are set to open in a new window.  If you are experiencing any issues with these or any links presented here, please let me know.

Thanks for reading. And thanks for passing on to anyone this may help.