I have never seen anything so
magnificent as my daughter. She was
gorgeous and perfect, all 8 pounds and 1 ounce of her. I miss her all day every day, every second,
always.
When
we found out I was pregnant we were surprised, but we were really excited. We did everything we could to be prepared,
read books, took every class offered on base to the military families, had a
room all set up full of everything we would need down to hand sanitizer to make
people use before they held her. We were
as ready as you can be, and the pregnancy was so wonderfully healthy I never
even had a thought that something bad could happen.
On
Monday October 21st 2013 John got down beside my belly and told her to
come out. She decided to listen, because
my water broke right then and there. Off
we went to the hospital.
After
a few hours at the hospital I was finally pushing. And a few hours later I was still
pushing. I had a fever that wouldn’t go
down & they said I might have had an infection, and then she released her
meconium. It was taking too long for me
to push her out, and the doctor tried to use forceps to get her out, but there
just wasn’t enough space to successfully use them, so we moved to the OR for a
cesarean.
When
we got in there they couldn’t find her heart beat. They searched and searched, and couldn’t find
it. And in my head I was screaming at
them to just start cutting and get her out, but I wasn’t getting numb fast
enough, so they put me to sleep. I
passed out telling myself they would have her out in minutes and she would be
fine.
I
woke up just before 6:30 am on Tuesday October 22. I was in a dark room, assuming Virginia was
with John and just thinking about how much I wanted to see her. Then John came in, and a ton of doctors and
nurses behind him. And one of the
doctors said, “I don’t know if anyone has said anything to you, but the baby
didn’t make it”
And
everything went numb. I couldn’t speak,
I couldn’t think anything except that he had to be wrong, it couldn’t have been
my baby, he was talking to the wrong person.
Or maybe it was a dream and I was just going to wake up. He was saying that her heart stopped and they
couldn’t start it again and I just knew it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real, it couldn’t be her, she
couldn’t be gone. He asked if I wanted
to see her, of course I wanted to see her.
And then there she was in my arms, the most amazing thing I have ever
seen, with fat little cheeks and little blonde hairs. I knew she was going to start crying, we just
had to wait, she was going to breathe.
I
asked to get out of that room, so they wheeled me and our lovely daughter to a
different one, with John right behind us.
We held her for a while, and then they took her to take some pictures
for us. I knew I had to call whoever
needed to know right away before I realized what was happening because I knew
when I did I wouldn’t be able to breathe let alone tell anyone. I made a couple calls, and then asked them to
bring her back. She stayed with us,
lying in a white bassinet wearing a little gown, the whole time we were in the
hospital, which we were until that Thursday.
Lots
of people came in and out in that time...lots of doctors and bereavement
counselors, and a couple chaplains. It
was horrifying, everything was horrifying.
I kept asking why her heart stopped and they kept telling me they didn’t
have a definite answer. She might have
had an infection, it might have been because of her meconium, she might have
lost too much oxygen because the cord was wrapped around her neck, nobody knows
for sure.
I
held her as much as I could while in the hospital. She was certainly beautiful, and marvelous. I held her sweet little hand. I kissed her a lot. I told her I was sorry, because it is
impossible not to feel guilty as the person who carried her and was responsible
for getting her into the world safely. I
have thought every day about what could have been done differently, and I’ll
probably never stop thinking about it.
Saying
goodbye to her will undoubtedly be the most painful minutes of my life. When we were ready to leave the hospital we
had them take her, and it is a moment I will never forget. I’ll never forget anything about it, down to
the sound of the door clicking as it closed behind them after they took her.
I
vaguely remember walking out of the hospital, only because I remember walking
past the people at the desk by the front doors wondering if they were the same
ones who saw me walk in 39 and a half weeks pregnant and were watching me walk
out without her. I don’t remember
getting in the car, or the ride, or getting home. And the months since then have been a
blur. There is really very little I
remember from that day to now, and that’s probably not a bad thing.
I
can safely say that on October 22nd I was not the same person that I
was on October 21st. That
person is gone, and is never coming back.
I am now in the “bereaved parent” club, which is a club I desperately
wish I wasn’t in. But the fact is that
while sometimes I still convince myself it’s all a dream, it isn’t. It’s real.
And I hope that I can be changed for the better. God knows I love her more than anything. And I want that love to inspire me. I want that love to be stronger than the
pain.
I
will never stop grieving. I will never
stop missing her. My family will never
be complete. But I can grow, and I can
learn from her, and her life, and all of this.
I can make sure she is loved and remembered forever. She is my first born, my incredible amazing
wonderful daughter always. And I am her
mother always. She is mine and I am hers
forever.
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