He blasted into the world like a rocket

Jersey #3 makes his guardian angels work overtime. He likes to ride on the edge of danger....starting with his exit from the womb.

I wanted to have more children. I was called to motherhood. I was home with the kids full time now. I loved raising Jersey #1 & Jersey #2. I no longer feared losing my children...even though I know tragedy is always possible...because I was finally resting peacefully in the will of God. (Granted, there was the whole "give it to God" lesson that I learned during Jersey #2's open-heart surgery, but that story will have to wait). I knew that God would not give me more than I could handle. I also knew that the blessings are always so much greater than the trials.

My husband did not agree. He was so relieved that Jersey #1 was alive. That was good enough for him. He did not want to take anymore parenthood risks. The surprise timing of Jersey #2, brought forth his struggle with wanting control. Her heart condition only elevated his vulnerability. Adding more children to our family was an unnecessary risk from his viewpoint. I appealed to his ego and reminded him that it was obvious he was an outstanding father, if he cared so strongly about his children that he could not stand the thought of losing them. He is a natural father. There is no doubt he loves his children. I thought, surely, he would see that the blessings outweigh the risks. It took many years, filled with many struggles, before I realized he was grieving at a different pace than me. He was stuck in the spiritual struggle for control. When he would dare to dream, he would happily consider another baby. When the fear of tragedy built up, he would throw himself into his work. He spent majority of my pregnancy with Jersey #3 working long days, and overtime hours with travel. Under the guise of providing for his family, he also hid from his emotional stress.

I spent most of the pregnancy home alone with 2 toddlers. Thankfully, I hardly had any morning sickness whatsoever. That was my first clue I was growing a boy. I usually prefer sleeping throughout most of the first trimester, but that feeling was magnified this time around. With the pregnancy with Jersey #3, I was exhausted beyond belief. I could barely move. I could barely keep my eyes open. I would get out of bed in the morning--when the toddlers being awake required it--and drop into the recliner in the living room. I was so frustrated with my limitations and inefficiency. I wanted to be up taking care of my house and kids. Instead, I was falling asleep sitting up, and too exhausted to move. Jersey #1 & Jersey #2 had free run of the entire house. They made quite a mess each day. On my worst days, I let them get their own snacks out of the fridge....juice boxes, cheese, fruit, and yogurt....and movies played continuously, while I remained glued to the couch, struggling to keep my eyes open. I complained to the doctor. He said of course I was exhausted, I was pregnant with 2 small children at home...what did I expect. No, he didn't get it, I was EXHAUSTED. Barely able to function, and I was hardly doing anything.

I later learned that all that exhaustion and my inability to move much, served as quite a protective mechanism for Jersey #3. That first trimester was a fragile time. I just didn't know it. As I started to get some strength back, I also started to do more. I managed to get out to the grocery store, with 2 toddlers in tow, at 14 weeks pregnant. As I was unloading the groceries from the car, I felt a gush. Oh No! I freaked out. I ran to the bathroom and discovered it was blood. Begin PANIC mode! I called Dr. S, fearing I was experiencing another miscarriage. Dr. S informed me that this far in the pregnancy--and after we had already seen a healthy baby, with a healthy heartbeat on ultrasound a few weeks prior--it was more likely a problem with the placenta that was causing the bleeding. He advised me to go to the hospital to get checked out, so we would know what we are dealing with. I called my husband home from work. I called a friend who was willing to keep the girls for me. While I waited for their arrival, I thought I was doing a good job of keeping calm. I packed up the diaper bag, changed diapers and dressed the girls. It became obvious that I was not calm, because I completely forgot to put a diaper on Jersey #2...and that was discovered later by my friend who had to take care of her "leak." Oops.

I was assessed at the hospital. The baby was still alive! We could hear his heartbeat with the Doppler. I was actually feeling movement early with him, so I had that extra comfort too. The bleeding was labeled a "threatened miscarriage," because bleeding is not a normal pregnancy symptom. The doctors did not want to "handle" things much, because they did not want to irritate my cervix or make it mad, for fear it would open up and expel the baby. They took a peak to see that it was closed, which was a good sign. Unfortunately, they could not figure out what was causing the bleeding. The ultrasound machine for that triage unit was so old, and it had a big black spot on the screen, right where they needed to see. The ultrasound department was booked full that day. So, they had to write me a referral to another ultrasound clinic, with an appointment a few days away. I was given a RhoGam shot (because my blood is Rh negative, and my husband's is Rh positive), and sent home with instructions to rest and monitor the bleeding.

I was 15 weeks along when that ultrasound revealed I was growing a baby BOY...and I had placenta previa! The placenta was resting right on top of my cervix, which is not a very sturdy spot for it. Thankfully, I only had "partial placenta previa" which meant the placenta was only covering part of my cervix, not the entire thing. That gave improved odds that the placenta could gradually move up the wall of my uterus, as the uterus grew, and move away from the cervix in time for delivery. (If the placenta sits on top of the cervix, it might become detached too soon, as the cervix dilates, which is dangerous to the life of the baby. It also yields to a c-section delivery, because the baby is suppose to be born before the placenta!) With this poor positioning of the placenta, blood was seeping out my cervix, from the placenta, as my activity level increased.

I was sent home to rest, watch, wait, and try not to worry. Time would tell if the bleeding would stop, if the placenta would grow away from the cervix, or if the baby's life was in danger. There are no interventions for such a diagnosis at 15 weeks.

I was scared. I feared losing Jersey #3. I prayed for God's healing hand. I requested prayer of all my family and friends. My husband was scared of losing Jersey #3. He did not like to be emotionally vulnerable like this. He threw himself into his job, and tried to ignore his fear.

We praise the Lord that Jersey #3 continued to grow and develop. The bleeding stopped within a week. I was careful to rest, as frustrating as it was to watch entropy take over our household, because the baby's life took priority. I had a series of ultrasounds that monitored the placenta, and showed it was moving up, away from the cervix. The coast was clear in plenty of time for delivery.

Then, things took an eery turn, running a little too-close-for-comfort, to our experience with Mackenzie. Just 1 week before Jersey #3 was due to be born, his movement in the womb decreased dramatically. He was normally very active. In one day's time, he became very mellow. Thankfully, he was still moving, so he was still alive. I mentioned this at my prenatal appointment that morning. Dr. S. suggested I go in for a Non-stress test to check things out and make sure all was well in the womb. He was very casual about the process, saying that if any concerns were discovered, they would recommend induction. He joked that I was the only woman he knew that LIKED induction, so that would not be a problem for me. On on the flip side, if everything looked good, I would have that comfort. It was a good plan. I agreed.

And along came a Guardian Angel...
I arrived at the hospital and discovered that the nurse who was administering the non-stress tests that day just happened to be the wonderful nurse who gave such respectful care of Mackenzie when she was stillborn. She remembered me, and remembered my situation, because we had apparently left quite an impression on her. She set me up on the monitors to check out contractions and the baby's heartbeat. We chatted a bit. She was so sweet. She took care of other patients too. When the room had cleared out, she came over to my station and reported that the monitoring looked good. The baby was moving enough to fit the "normal" range. She explained that the second step in the process was to take a look at the baby and the womb on ultrasound, and take some measurements, including a calculated measurement of the volume of amniotic fluid. She offered me some water to drink. Then she did something that was completely out of character for her...she sat down and said "Look. Even though things look good on the monitor, I would like to recommend to the doctor that we go ahead and induce you today and get the baby out." She assured me that she was not hiding any information. She just did not think it was a good idea to send me home and let me worry through the weekend. I was both surprised and relieved by her suggestion. I agreed, and she went over to the delivery unit to find a doctor. She returned and told me that there was a doctor who agreed with her assessment, but he wanted her to do the ultrasound anyway. So, she took a peak at the baby on ultrasound, and he looked good. I assured her that Dr. S would be fine with her plan for induction, because he expected that is what would be advised if anything was found anyway. She called him and gave him the details, completely fired up and ready to defend her position. A defense was unnecessary, because he was fine with that plan. He called one of his Residents to come over to meet me and get the process started.

Dr. S. told me later, that he was so surprised by the phone call from that particular nurse. He said that she is not normally that assertive, she does not push for "unnecessary" medical interventions, and she was arguing her case before she even completed the assessment (when she is normally so thorough). He was not surprised by the recommendation for induction, but he was rather surprised that it was so out of character for this Nurse. He said she was trusting her gut, and was a guardian Angel to Jersey #3.

This was my 4th induction with Mesoprostol, so I knew the routine well. That medicine works wonders with my body, and was just as effective this time around. My husband finished packing up a hospital bag for me, following my instructions over the phone, and joined me soon after. We chatted with the resident doctors and the Labor & Delivery nurses, throughout the admitting, assessing, and inducing process, and settled in for another round. We were relieved that the baby was still alive and well. We were also relieved to know he would be born soon. Dr. S was running things from the phone, with his Resident Doctor managing things in person at the hospital. He was planning to join us after his clinic ended that night.

The first dose of Meso got the contractions started. Change of shift brought in a new nurse for the night. Unfortunately, she and I did not click well. I nicknamed her "the nurse who always said No." It did not matter what I was requesting, her first response to me was always No. At the end of the 4-hour run of the first Meso dose, my cervix was only dilated 2cm. Bummer. I was hoping things would move faster this time. Dr. S decided to go home to dinner with his family, after clinic, and join us when things started really progressing. His resident was to call him with updates regularly. The 2nd dose was inserted. The Resident told me that Dr. S insisted that I get to have an epidural whenever I decided it was time, so to just tell him when I wanted it. I told him I was doing fine at the moment. An ultrasound machine was brought in to check the baby's positioning, because the Resident was not confident that the baby was lined up properly. It turns out that Jersey #3 was shifted a little to the side, so his head was not in line with the exit door. Since his head was not pushing down on my cervix, those contractions were not as effective. The nurse did a terrible job of explaining this to us. She asked me to lay on my side so that the baby could get into position. I had always been told that laboring laying down in bed was a bad idea, so I inquired if it would slow things down. She acted as though my questions were an imposition to her time. Thankfully, the Resident was willing to go into full detail about the position of Jersey #3's head, and the theory of how my positioning in bed might allow gravity to help the baby line up better. It made sense, so I agreed.

It worked. His head lined right up, and the contractions became much more effective almost immediately. Almost too immediately! The medical staff had only left the room about 10 minutes before I was having to breathe through and manage contractions. I also had to pee. When I returned to the bed, the nurse came to re-attached the monitors. I told her I was ready for the epidural. She told me No, that I was only 2 cm dilated, and I needed to be at least 4cm before they could insert the epidural. I told her there was no way that I was still only 2cm dilated. She agreed to go get the Resident doctor. No sooner had the door closed behind her, my water broke!

The Resident returned with the nurse and checked me. 5 cm. Since my water had broken, he asked if he could insert internal monitors on the baby's head, to get a better reading on the baby's heart. We questioned the procedure, the safety, and the details. The nurse initially tried to brush off our concerns as if this was routine, but we ignored her and turned to the Resident for his thorough explanation. This was our 4th delivery experience, and we had never had internal monitors before, so it couldn't be that routine! He convinced us with his explanation, so we agreed. He inserted the scalp monitor, ordered the epidural, and called Dr. S.

Apparently, Dr. S was the only one who expected things to move quickly from there. He got word that I was 5cm dilated, and my water broke on its own, so he jumped in the car and quickly drove to the hospital. He said he was going down the interstate wondering if he was going to even make it on time.

Back at the hospital, I was managing contractions, waiting for the anasthesiologist to set up for my epidural. I knew the routine for that too. The nurse raised the bed, and helped me get set up on the edge of the bed, feet on a chair, leaning over a pillow, while she and my husband stood in front of me for support and to keep me from falling. She did a good job of coaching my breathing, and had a temporary lapse of encouragement! As the anesthesiologist was cleaning the injection site, I felt a strange sensation down below, and thought out loud, "What was THAT?" The nurse answered that it was just my baby moving down the birth canal, and that I was doing a good job. She had no idea how right she was! The baby was moving down the birth canal....quickly! The anesthesiologist was ready. He told me to hold still. I said I thought I needed to push. The nurse said, "No, no, honey, you don't want to do that. You are only 5 cm dilated. Pushing now would harm your cervix." The anesthesiologist came to my aid, and suggested that maybe I should be checked before he actually inserted the needle. The charge nurse was in my room at the time, and confirmed his recommendation, and yelled out the door for the Resident. The nurse was barely able to help me get back to the center of the bed to be checked, when the charge nurse yelled "Grab a glove in case you have to catch!" The anesthesiologist just packed up his stuff and left in a hurry.

The Resident doctor barely got a gown up to his shoulders before he had to catch Jersey #3. When I first said I thought I needed to push, the charge nurse told me that I was dilated to 10 cm, but I had a piece of cervix hanging in the way. She then said I would probably just push through it. When the Resident arrived, I told him I think I really need to push. The charge nurse asked me to hang on and breathe through it, while she tried to help the Resident into his gown, and tried to set up for the delivery. The charge nurse had elbowed my regular nurse out of the way and was taking care of my case now. I thought it was because my regular nurse was so annoying. I later learned it was because things were getting dangerous, and required the charge nurse's experience. No one mentioned to us that Jersey #3's heart rate was dropping way too low. People just started coming into the room. It seemed like Doctors and Nurses were coming out of the cracks in the walls. [That internal monitoring was letting everyone know the baby was in trouble, and the computer at the unit desk was alarming everyone to the fact.]

The 3rd time I said "I need to push" (which was really just 3 sentences in succession, even though the details type out longer), the charge nurse said "Yes you do." My body was pushing anyway, so our dialog was actually useless to the situation. There was no time to set up the bed, my legs, my body positioning, or anything. There was no coaching for breathing, pushing, or any routine of the sort. I gave one push that I can take credit for concentrating on, while the nurse pulled a gown up the Resident's arms, and Jersey #3 blasted into the world like a rocket!

There were many hands and many arms waiting to transfer Jersey #3 from the Resident Doctor's hands to the newborn table. This time, the baby was not placed on my abdomen. The cord was cut mid-transfer. Everything happened VERY quickly. We heard him cry, so we knew he was alive. That was good. He needed oxygen, and some bagged resuscitation, which also yielded many physical assessments. There were Doctors and Nurses from a variety of hospital departments ready to assess the baby--Pediatrics, Newborn Intensive Care, Family Practice, OBGYN, L&D. Dr. S walked into the room at the moment Jersey #3 was transferred across the room, but he took the scene in stride. He took a peak at the baby and all the action, then assured us that he looked good. He took a peak over the Resident's shoulder at my need for medical attention, and joked that the baby left skid marks (abrasions) on his way out!

When some of the dust had settled, Dr. S scooped up the baby, and placed him in my husband's arms. He said that he always enjoyed watching the color return to my husband's face, when our children are born alive. After I was all patched up, I got to hold the baby. He was still fussy, breathing fast, and "complaining." They would later classify his behavior in the lump term "transitional issues". He was having a hard time transitioning from womb to world.

One of the other doctors challenged Dr. S, and an intense discussion took place in the corner of the room. She appealed that she was required to assess the baby. Dr. S informed her that after she did her assessment, he would do his assessment! He left the room. While the baby was being assessed, the nurse-who-always-says-no returned to assist me. She asked if I wanted some water or juice. When I asked for a straw, she told me no, that straws cause sucking down air, which would lead to gas. I turned to my husband and asked for the straw out of his finished drink. I joked that gas would be a good thing, because if you pass gas in recovery, they let you go home because all your parts work! The nurse explained to me that she did not know what the doctors were going to do. She said that any time that a baby needs oxygen following delivery, he has to go to the NICU (Newborn Intensive Care Unit) to be monitored. She then explained that she had just sent her previous patient to the NICU, and that it was full. So, she was guessing they would be sending Jersey #3 out of state to the next closest children's hospital.

Dr. S put a halt to all of that. He allowed all of the other hospital departments to assess the baby, make their recommendations, and fill out their paperwork. Then, he did his assessment. He calmed Jersey #3 down, talked to him, checked him out from head to toe, and assured us that he was healthy, alive, and doing well. He put him in my arms and said that was right where he needed to be. Jersey #3 was my only living child who did not take an interest in breastfeeding right after delivery. He went to sleep instead.

Jersey #3 was our baby who most resembled Mackenzie. He was real pale like her too. Ironically, his situation was the closest to hers, only he was born alive. The cord was also wrapped around his neck. When he entered the birth canal, it became constricted, which was what was alarming all the medical staff via the monitors. Thankfully, he was born so quickly that he was able to survive his life support being depleted like that. In Mackenzie's situation, the cord was wrapped around her neck, and it became constricted as her head engaged into my pelvis. For Jersey #3, his off-center position prevented his head from engaging into my pelvis, so the cord was not compressed early on. "Precipitous delivery" has its negative side-effects, such as all those "transitional issues"....exhaustion, weak breastfeeding, difficulty maintaining body temperature & oxygen levels, etc...but for our family, that speedy entrance gave Jersey #3 a chance to LIVE! He cemented our childbearing philosophy--as long as the baby gets here alive, that is all that matters...the rest is just details!

The Calm Before the Storm

Growing & birthing Jersey #2 was my absolute easiest pregnancy & delivery! Dr. S jokes that it was because she was "brewing something BIG!"

When hoping for a pregnancy, I am so impatient during that "2-week wait" between the window of opportunity for conception, and the time when a home pregnancy test will register. I did not have to do any hoping and waiting with Jersey #2, because she was a surprise! When Jersey #1 was just over 6 months old, I started having the desire to plan another baby. My husband thought I was crazy! It is quite common for bereaved parents to have only 1 living child after a loss, deciding to not take anymore chances after that. My husband was of that mindset. I wanted more. I was called to motherhood, and I loved it! We discussed the topic off and on, until he realized I was quite serious about wanting another child. So, when Jersey #1 was about 10 months old, we sat down and had an "intellectual" discussion about the "best" spacing of siblings. (I've posted about that topic earlier). We decided 2.5 years was our ideal, so that was the timing we were waiting for. So, when my cycle was much later than usual, we quickly learned that all of our intellect and reasoning was futile, because I was already pregnant!

I had quite a bit of morning sickness in the first trimester (which I've learned is typical of my pregnancies with my daughters). I also liked to sleep a lot. Thankfully, my husband was a pro at taking care of Jersey #1, so they gave me lots of opportunity to sleep.

I had an early "dating" ultrasound with Jersey #2 around 12 weeks, and an anatomical ultrasound at 21 weeks. The ultrasounds showed a healthy baby each time, and at 21 weeks we learned that she was a GIRL! Considering my husband is the oldest of 3 boys, and his father is the oldest of 6 boys, I was highly amused that we were growing our 3rd daughter! We joked that we were balancing out the generations.

I continued to work full time, even after having Jersey #1. I took 3 months leave when she was born, and then we enrolled her in a daycare center near my work 4 days a week. My husband worked from home on Fridays and cared for her while she was young (and slept a lot). When she became more mobile, we both switch to the 9-80 work schedule that gave us every other Friday off, and we took turns being home with her on Fridays. This was the schedule we were working while I was pregnant. I loved my Fridays home with Jersey #1. I also found myself more comfortable at work on the Fridays my husband was at home with her, versus the work days she was in daycare. I started to doubt that arrangement. As we talked about my desires, and about the family budget, we came to the conclusion that it would be better if I cut down to a part-time work schedule. My boss gave her approval. I began my new schedule of working only 2 days per week, at the start of the month Jersey #2 was due.

When was she due? A window of opportunity opened up when the "dating" ultrasound gave a due date for Jersey #2 that was 1 week earlier than my cycles predicted. The ultrasound also gave a margin of error of + or - 1 week! Normally, we would just go with the date from my cycles, since I am usually so accurate with my record keeping! But, this time around, Dr. S repeatedly mismatched the dates across all my prenatal paperwork. This gave him a nice justification to provide another "mercy induction" if I started to fall apart at the end. He could schedule an induction any time that week I was due (and still follow hospital policy of not inducing before 40 weeks), since the ultrasound paperwork would have shown me to be 40 weeks and overdue already. He left the option open. I was certain I felt strong enough to make it to the end.

Sure enough, I started to freak out as that last week approached. Mackenzie died in the womb 3 days before her due date. I was induced and delivered Jersey #1, 3 days before her due date. I was scared I was not going to be able to function when I reached 3 days before Jersey #2's due date, as I was starting to immensely fear losing her. So, we opted for another "mercy induction." Dr. S. scheduled the induction date, and told me to eat a good lunch and report to Labor & Delivery at noon. His resident would get things started, and he would join us after his clinic was closed that evening. My sister took a day off college and drove up to stay with Jersey#1.

This time around, I was actually 80% effaced at the start of induction! Wahoo! My body was actually doing something to prepare for childbirth (for a change). I was not dilated at all. The first dose of Mesoprostol was inserted, and contractions began about 30 minutes later. My husband & I sat and played Scattegories and waited for some action. The nurses would join in and help us brainstorm words when they came into my room to assess me.

The 2nd dose of Mesoprostol is usually given 4 hours after the first dose. Dr. S. had arrived by then. I was starting to feel the contractions, and I was not real thrilled about enduring another labor. I decided I would prefer an epidural this time around. I was already 4cm dilated, so an epidural was ordered, and I was switched to Pitocin instead of a 2nd dose of Meso. The epidural went in smoothly. I was told the epidural would not take away the pressure, just the pain. I was also told I might have some uneven numbness. I don't know what that anesthesiologist was talking about, because that was the best epidural I have ever had! I was perfectly numb in all my childbirth areas, but I could still move my legs. I had no pain, no pressure, no problem! I knew that it would be better if I was in a position to let gravity help the baby descend, so I asked the nurse to help me prop up one end of the bed so I could rest comfortably in a nearly upright sitting position. Dr. S. was going to remain at the hospital that night. My husband had a pull-out chair in the room with me. The plan was to sleep through labor, due to the awesome power of the epidural! My husband and I slept peacefully, listening to the sounds of Jersey #2's heartbeat on the monitor.

When we woke up 8 hours later, I was starting to feel some pressure and contractions. Dr. S arrived at the point I was starting to have to breathe through the contractions. I couldn't remember if I was suppose to breathe fast or slow. (That's what I get for claiming that childbirth prep classes were "useless" because of my "abnormal" experiences.) Sometimes I was just holding my breath, because I couldn't decide. Dr. S. casually reminded me to breathe slow....and that worked great! He checked me and I was 10cm dilated, but a piece of my cervix was still forming a ledge. No worries, I could push through that. But, Dr. S. was concerned that the baby's head was still so high. Once again, the amniotic sac had not broken on its own. He did not want to break it, like he had done for Jersey #1, because he feared if the baby's head was not right there, then the umbilical cord could swoosh on out with the gush of fluid, which would ultimately result in an emergency c-section. Dr. S. contemplated his options and asked our opinion. We assured him that we would deal with whatever came our way, and we trusted his judgment. He suggested he could use a needle to poke a tiny hole in the sac, to let the fluid come out slowly, and maybe that would help the head lower before the cord. It worked! The amniotic fluid leaked slowly, and Dr. S guided her head with his hand, and made sure the cord was not there.

Jersey #2 must have been up in my ribs, because I had to push and push to get that girl out. My husband, Dr. S. and the nurses were cheering me and encouraging me greatly. At one point they cheered so much I asked if she was crowning? No. They told me that I had pushed her down from the North Pole, and now she was finally at the Equator. Ugh. I still had to push her across half the globe! I was determined. I pushed and pushed some more. The nurse exclaimed, "Look at all that hair!" when she was finally crowning. I was excited to see it too, so I pushed her right out. Jersey #2 was born with a full head of black hair. She was beautiful.

When things go well, the husband is offered the opportunity to cut the umbilical cord. My husband was not interested in that tradition. He does not have the stomach for biological stuff. Dr. S. knew this, which is why he gives The Referee the "job" of watching the contraction monitor. This time, when Jersey #2 was placed on my abdomen, Dr. S held up the umbilical cord and a pair of scissors and asked my husband if he wanted to cut the cord. Do you remember those cartoons where the character ran through a wall and left a cut-out of their shape in the wall? My husband nearly left his shape in the wall. He saw the cord, the scissors, and the smile on the doctor's face, and he jumped back so fast, and so far, exclaiming "Dr S NO!" that he nearly crashed through the wall. That was funny!

Upon examination, Dr. S discovered that Jersey #2 had a very loud heart murmur. She was breastfeeding well, sleeping well, and crying without turning blue, so the pediatric cardiologist refused to examine her in the newborn nursery. He suggested that most murmurs that are detected at birth resolve on their own by 5 days old. He suggested that Dr. S listen to it again in 5 days and refer us for a cardiology evaluation if it was still there. Dr. S knew that murmur did not sound normal. He was correct. It was still there at 5 days old. At 2 months old, the cardiology evaluation revealed that Jersey #2 had the congenic heart defect Tetralogy of Fallot, which could only be treated by open-heart surgery!

Don't forget the outfit

It is all about the outfit. I should have known. Jersey #1 likes to "dress the part" of every activity. We know this about her.

The night before our trip to Day Out With Thomas, I was packing clothes for the kids to wear. I made a point to pick outfits for the boys that had Thomas the Train on them (we've got quite a few at our house). Then, I remembered that we might have a Thomas T-shirt stored in the boys bin, that could possibly fit Jersey #4 also. She would like that. The T-shirt was a red one that Jersey #2 wore the year we went to the event in Williams, Arizona. That year, I found Thomas T-shirts on sale at JC Penny, right before our trip, so I dressed the kids up in Thomas apparel for our Day Out With Thomas. (And I wonder where Jersey #1 gets it???) They sure looked cute. Here is a picture....

Yes, that is a Princess crown on Jersey #1's head. She was quite the Princess at that age. We could take the Princess to a Thomas Train event, but we could not take the Princess out of Jersey #1.

So, as I was packing up clothes, I was telling my husband how the younger 3 kids will be dressed in Thomas apparel, but that I was certain the older 2 girls would not permit such silliness. They like to pick out their own clothes. My husband responded, "Oh, I don't know, Jersey #1 would probably be willing to wear a Thomas shirt, since it is a Thomas event. You know how she likes to dress the part. It is all about the outfit with her." I laughed at that truth, and said I still doubted she would go for something so young. We joked that she might wear such a shirt, if it was Thomas carrying Hannah Montana, or something with an older child theme! Her interests have changed through the years.

Well, sure enough, as we were getting dressed for the trip, Jersey #1 commented that she wished I had a Thomas shirt that would fit her. I almost fainted! Then, I laughed. She was serious. She would have happily dressed in a Thomas the Tank Train Engine T-shirt for the Day Out With Thomas event. She is truly committed to "dressing the part." This passion ran so deep in her, that she actually selected a Thomas T-shirt in her size as her souvenir from the event. The moment it was paid for, she immediately asked if she could change her shirt....she had chosen a color that would go just fine with her shorts and headband. She wore her Thomas shirt for the rest of the event....

My husband teased that we needed picture proof of our Jersey #1 wearing her Thomas T-shirt and Hannah Montana tennis shoes!

Spending a Day Out With Thomas

Jersey #3 is completely enamored with Thomas the Tank Train Engine. He loves the metal trains, the wooden trains, the motorized trains, the movies, and anything that has a train on it. So, we knew this would be an ideal year to take him to the Day Out With Thomas event. This was our 3rd time attending this very family friendly event....we've gone even before Jersey #3 had time to build up a passion for Thomas. It is fun for all ages. The Day Out With Thomas is scheduled year-round, at various train stations around the country. This year, we went to the event in Durango, Colorado. In the past, we've attended the event in Durango, as well as Williams, Arizona. Each location has its own slight variation, but most of the activities are the same.

You pay for a ticket to ride a train that is pulled by Thomas the Tank Train Engine. It is a 30-minute ride, that moves slow and safe. The train ride in Durango is beautiful, because it runs along the Animas river.

After the train ride, there is a photo opportunity with Thomas...

And Sir Topham Hat (the conductor of the railway)....

There is a gift shop to buy souvenir T-shirts (and other goodies)....

The rest of the time we played in the train-themed wonderland...
(Which was free of charge!)

Bubble station...

A petting zoo....here we are learning how milk comes from a cow....

Balloons....

Interactive songs with a train conductor...

Temporary Tatoos....

Train playsets....

And a train jumper...

We have so much fun at this event. Here are some pictures from past events....

Day Out With Thomas 2006: Williams, Arizona
(Jersey #3 is 1 yr; Jersey #2 is 2yrs, Jersey #1 is 4yrs old)

Day Out With Thomas 2005: Durango, Colorado
(Jersey #3 is 2 months old; Jersey #2 is 22 months old; Jersey #1 is 3 years old)

She Fills Our Hearts With Joy

I am FINALLY going to write a birth story with a happy ending! Here she comes--Jersey #1--our first live-born baby!

Even though I have great trust and respect for Dr. S., our beloved family doctor, I chose to completely ignore his sound medical advice to wait for my body to work through one cycle before trying to become pregnant again. I was still so very mad. Mad as in angry & mad as in crazed! I had been so carefully concerned with my health, nutrition, and safety, for each of my first two pregnancies, and both children died. For crying out loud, drug addicts are capable of having living babies, in spite of the way they mistreat their bodies! Well-meaning family members tried to offer comfort after the miscarriage by suggesting to me, "it was just too soon. Your body wasn't ready." I did not receive that well. Were they actually suggesting I had a hand in causing the miscarriage because I didn't wait long enough to get pregnant? It was all so unfair, and I focused on the injustice. I rebelled against my lack of control in the situation. I told myself, it didn't really matter what I did, because I could not guarantee the life of my child with any of my actions....and I was mad about that. A mature Christian would have rested in the will of God, and waited for his timing. I was not mature. I was extremely immature.....and rebellious. I had only 1 priority--I was going to have a living, breathing baby, or I was going to die trying!!!!

It is not very smart to engage in a battle of wills with God.

I was just like a toddler who repeatedly rams a toy against an obstacle, when it would be so much easier to just move the obstacle. I was struggling for control, instead of just resting in the arms of the One who is in control. I became pregnant for the 3rd time, just two months after the miscarriage, while we were on our vacation. I had not had a regular cycle yet. I was still taking the antidepressants. I was still going through the motions of life, but I was not doing very much living. I was stuck in a depression, because I was stuck in a spiritual struggle.

Dr. S. was cheerful, encouraging, and ready to hold our hands through another pregnancy. He was convinced that if he could just get that baby into my arms, I would be just fine. He was a man on a mission. He shrugged off the "depression-in-pregnancy" diagnosis and did not dwell on it. He assured me that the antidepressant was safe for pregnancy, so he wanted me to continue taking it the entire time. He said it was not safe for breastfeeding, because it was excreted in breastmilk, so I would stop taking it at delivery, and he could prescribe another one that was safe for breastfeeding, if I needed it. He was confident that I would not need antidepressants after the baby was born.

I had no peace during this pregnancy. I knew that I was not in control, so the baby inside me could be ripped away from me at any moment. I was convinced Jersey #1 was going to die. At each prenatal check-up, my heart would race at the sight of the Doppler. I held my breath until her heartbeat was found. Sometimes it was hard to find the baby's heartbeat, because my own pulse was going so fast! I had a prenatal appointment the morning that I had my first ultrasound scheduled. I was 12 weeks along, and Dr. S. could not find the baby's heartbeat with the Doppler! I was not surprised. I was expecting doom. He tried to assure us that he was not worried. He suggested we get some lunch and go to the afternoon ultrasound appointment.

Much to my surprise, the ultrasound showed a healthy, living baby, whose heart was beating just fine. The ultrasound tech played the heartbeat repeatedly for us, as I was in disbelief. Jersey #1 turned her face to the camera, and appeared to smile and wave at us. She repeated this very same smile-n-wave pattern for 3 other ultrasounds throughout the pregnancy, where I was convinced she was dead in the womb. Each time, she was alive and well. Dr. S. later credited Jersey #1 with giving him grey hair for the number of times he could not find her heartbeat with the Doppler, and ended up needing an ultrasound confirmation!

I did not dare dream that Jersey #1would live. My friend (and college roommate) offered to host a baby shower for me. I declined her offer and suggested we wait to see if she was even born alive. I did not bother to set up a nursery. We had stored all of the baby gear we had bought and received for Mackenzie, into a closet. We pulled it out into the room that would eventually be the nursery, but we left it in boxes. No need to get our hopes up. I was bracing myself for another loss. I did not want to take another prepared childbirth class. I could not sit with all those innocent, happy, parents-to-be, and dream about our upcoming deliveries. It would not be fair to share my experiences with them anyway...let them keep their innocence. Dr. S did not think another childbirth class was even necessary. It would only be 19 months since I had delivered Mackenzie. Childbirth doesn't change much.

I slept through most of the pregnancy, but I did not give myself much care otherwise. I tend to run strong in the nesting desires in the last trimester. With my pregnancy with Mackenzie, I wanted to landscape the yard. With my pregnancy with Jersey #1, I wanted to tile the bathroom floors (that were previously carpeted). I sat in a strattle position on the floor and glued down sticky tiles, leaning over my big 'ole 7-months-pregnant belly! I almost didn't make it back off the floor. That hormone (relaxin?) that allows tendons and ligaments to stretch further during pregnancy, allowed me much more flexibility than I really had. By the end of that project, I had pulled a groin muscle and a hamstring muscle in my left leg. I also managed to damage the round ligaments that hold the pregnant belly to the point that I was in constant pain with any movement. Dr. S. enjoyed a chuckle as he informed me that those muscles and ligaments would not heal until after the delivery.

I started a new job two weeks before Jersey #1 was born. I actually followed my boss to a new company, where she was given the opportunity to have her own research laboratory. She invited me to be her technician. At least she already knew I was pregnant. I gave very little consideration to the need for leave to take time off, nor did I question if I would I really want to return to work full time after the baby was born. Those were non-issues because I was not expecting the baby to live. I knew I would want that great job to give me something to focus on while I grieved.

My heart betrayed me in the end. Deep down, I knew I wanted Jersey #1 to live. I wanted the opportunity to be her Mom. There was nothing I was going to be able to do to guarantee her life. Regardless of what I tried to tell myself, there was nothing I was going to be able to do to prepare myself for her death, or to make it any easier to handle. My struggle for control hit a climax when I reached 39 weeks pregnant. I was an emotional wreck. I wanted her to live. I was afraid she would die. I prayed to God to bless me with this baby and let her live. I did not think I deserved her. I had been acting so childish and awful. I wanted His mercy, but feared His judgment. I started to fall apart.

Dr. S. had a plan--let's induce labor 3 days before her due date and deliver her. That way, I would not have to endure the time line of Mackenzie's death, wondering each day, if this was the day that my baby would die in the womb. A mercy induction? What a great plan! Unfortunately, the hospital (and probably most everyone) thought he was nuts....but he understood our fears. It was against hospital policy to induce before 40 weeks, when there was no medical problem. Fear that my baby was going to die was not considered a medical problem. Besides, the nurse added, they were booked up and it was a holiday weekend. Aha! Monday was a holiday--Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Day. Dr. S. knew the labor & delivery floor would be empty that day, because they would not be scheduling inductions or c-sections on a holiday. He told me to show up for a Non-stress test at 7am that day. He said if they found any concerns, then they would recommend induction anyway. He would meet me up with me there at 8am to see how the test was going.....then he would stroll through L&D and make sure it was empty....and then he would admit me to a room and induce me!

Everything went right as planned except for my unexpected panic attack as soon as I entered the L&D wing of the hospital. A flood of memories of the day Mackenzie's death was confirmed, washed over me. My heart nearly pounded out of my chest. The nurse asked if I had problems with high blood pressure. I assured her I did not, but that I was having a panic reaction to returning here. She said my blood pressure was so high that there was no way they were going to let me leave the hospital. So, there it was: an induction-justified medical problem.

Once again, my body was not showing any signs of preparing for labor. No dilation, no effacement. So, what are all those practice contractions doing for me anyway? Thankfully, a little Misoprostol goes a long way for me! Contractions started shortly after the first dose. Then, after the 2nd dose was given 4-hours later, my body kicked in on its own and maintained the contractions and labor progression. I had no pre-planned ideas for labor. I decided to manage it for as long as I could tolerate....more out of curiosity as to how it would be different with a live baby....and then I would get an epidural later (choosing to skip those IV meds that make me loopy). I walked the floors, I rocked in a rocking chair, I sat upright in bed and held the rails during contractions. Since my water had not yet broken on its own, I figured I still had a ways to go, and I was not having any fun managing contractions. So, I decided it might be time for an epidural. Dr. S. wanted to check me first (apparently knowing I was getting close). I was 7cm dilated....(contraction)...oh, wait, 9 cm....(another contraction)....10cm & time to push! Ok, skip the epidural, I'll try pushing now.

I quickly learned that tiling the bathroom floor while pregnant was a huge mistake! With a pulled hamstring, and a pulled groin muscle in the same leg, my left leg was practically useless. The nurse attempted to help me hold it bent for pushing, and those muscles went into spasm! Change of plans, she stuck my left leg in a stirrup and we pretended it did not exist. My pushing positions were a little funny looking, but I eventually figured out a way to be effective. Dr. S. broke my water, since it never broke on its own. I had no idea I could dilate to 10 with the bag of waters intact. Odd. Since my husband is not much of a fan of biological things, we gave him the job of watching the contraction monitors. He preferred to deal with computerized equipment anyway. I was feeling the contractions on my own, but it was fun to watch his reaction to them on the monitor, at first. The closer I got to delivery, the less I was intrigued by the whole labor & delivery process. I became less of an observer and more of a participant. Right at the end, I tuned everyone else out and had a fight with my own mind. "Keep pushing.....No, I don't want to push out another dead baby!.....What if she is not dead yet, Push!....No, I can't go through that again!...Push, Push, Push.....Nooooo!!!!! And then she was born! Alive!

Dr. S. plopped that slippery pile of Jersey #1 onto my torso, and she stared me down! I could not believe that she was alive. She was breathing, she was squirming, and she was intently staring at us with eyes wide-open! My husband leaned over my shoulder and we both just admired her. She was beautiful.

It took me 4 weeks to accept the fact that I was the mother of a live baby. I loved her. I cared for her. I went through all the motions of breastfeeding, diaper changes, holding her, bathing her, ect. I did not want to let go of her, for fear she would disappear. At her 10-day check-up, Dr. S casually asked where she was sleeping. I think he was wondering if she slept in a crib, bassinet, or our bed. I answered, "In my arms." I had not put her down. He tried not to laugh, but a chuckle slipped out. That is when it dawned on me that I was not acting normal. He reassured me that if she was still in my arms at 18 months, we would talk, but for now, don't worry about it.

Breastfeeding is a natural way to feed a baby, but it did not come naturally to me. In an attempt to work out a rhythm, I lounged in bed with Jersey #1, practicing nursing whenever she was awake, and holding her and admiring her when she was asleep. I was watching her nap the morning she turned 4 weeks old--and that is when reality HIT me--she was ALIVE, and I was her MOM, and God had given me the AWESOME responsibility to nurture her, guide her, raise her, and train her in the way she should go! It was at that very moment that I stopped expecting to lose her, and started to think about what if she continued to live? I had a job to do, so I had better get to it. God loved me, blessed me, and expected more from me! My life had purpose! I had a baby girl in my arms! My heart was filled with JOY!

Jersey #5 turns 9-months old

I am discovering it is way too intense to try to write about each pregnancy/childbirth experience in sequential posts. So, I thought I would take a break and post some cute pictures of Jersey #5, since he turned 9-months old today...

He looks like me in the face, but he is blonde like his Daddy...

He is a busy little fella too. Sitting up....

Crawling....

I managed to snap 1 single picture before he dove forward out of this rocking chair....

He loves to stand, even though I think he is too young and too wobbly...

The King and I

It seemed only fitting to write a post about each of my pregnancies and deliveries, after pouring out all the details of the first. It sounded like fun to tell the story of the origins of each of our team players. In my head, I planned to write a new post each day, in birth order. Clearly that did not happen. A week has passed, and I have not yet added a new post. What originally sounded like fun, quickly turned into a challenge. The more I considered the idea, the more I realized that I have been able to joke about the details of each childbirth experience on a superficial level when chatting publicly, but when I stop and look a little deeper, there is so much raw emotion that I have been covering up and hiding from. My journey into Motherhood has been more than just growing, birthing, and caring for babies. It has been a spiritual journey as well. And it has not been funny.

We had been warned that men & women often grieve differently. It made sense. We were not prepared for just how differently we would react. After I attempted to "actively grieve" Mackenzie's death, I reached a point when I decided I was brave enough/strong enough/crazy enough to try for another baby. I wanted to move forward in life. My husband was horrified by the thought. He never, ever wanted to feel the pain of losing a child, ever again. Never. The only way to do that was to never have another child. I wanted to be happy again. He wanted to be in control. I was seeking joy. He was trying to prevent pain. Having no more children could control his level of vulnerability, but he knew it would not be an option for me. So, he allowed his heart to be an open-target again.

Six months after Mackenzie's birth/death, I was ready! Thankfully, we are extremely fertile, and I became pregnant right away. Dr. S. was excited for us and ready to go another round. We discussed the first pregnancy, the first delivery, the autopsy findings (that she was healthy, but the cord was constricted as her head began to engage in the birth canal, due to it being twice wrapped around her neck), and we agreed that we had not missed anything that could have been prevented. We should be in the clear, because "Lightning never strikes twice," Right?

Wrong. Pregnancy #2 ended in an early miscarriage. Apparently there are individuals who are struck by lightning multiple times in their lifetime. In hindsight, some early warning signs were there...the pink line on the home pregnancy test was rather faint....I was not nauseous at all....and my moods were rather low, going from cautiously hopeful to somewhat sad (for no apparent reason). I still had my most common pregnancy symptom--exhaustion. So, I slept away the first couple months. Once again, I had my first ultrasound at 10 weeks. I was so excited to get to see Baby #2 on the screen!

The ultrasound tech asked the usual questions about dates and timing while she took all the usual measurements. She finished up, ran the numbers, and announced that I was 6 weeks along in this pregnancy. What? No, I am 10 weeks along. No, she was certain that the sac, the crown-to-rump of the baby, and other measurements were right at the 6-week mark. I was concerned that we could not see a heartbeat. The tech assured us that it can be difficult to see the heartbeat at 6 weeks, so we should certainly expect to see it next time. I asked her what this meant in terms of developmental problems if the baby was measuring 6 weeks, and I was 10 weeks along. She was convinced I was just wrong on my dates. Instead of leaving that ultrasound appointment with increased excitement, I left puzzled and concerned.

I went right home and called Dr. S. and told him. He called the ultrasound tech, called me back, and confirmed that she was confident the measurements showed a normal 6-week pregnancy. I knew I was accurate on my dates. I asked what this would mean regarding development problems, if I was really 10-weeks along. Sadly, Dr. S. explained that it was not possible to be 10-weeks along in the pregnancy, with the baby only measuring 6-weeks in size. Early gestation follows a specific growth pattern, and genetic differences in height and weight of babies do not emerge until later in the pregnancy. It is all or nothing at this point.

Dr. S. suggested drawing my blood to check the hCG levels. Human Chorionic Gonadotropin is the pregnancy hormone that is made by the cells that form the placenta. In early pregnancy hCG levels rise measurably quick and concistent. He would draw my blood and test the level every other day, for a total of 3 times. If the baby was continuing to grow, the hormone levels would show a dramatic increase with each draw. The first blood test measured hCG levels accurate with a 6-week pregnancy! Ahh! How can this be? I keep really, really good track of my cycles, marking them on the calendar, just like my Mom taught me! Was it possible? I racked my brain trying to find ways that the dates could work out well in the end.

The night before I was scheduled for the 2nd blood draw, I started spotting. Dr. S. met me at the clinic first thing in the morning, and the sad look on his face (which he thinks he is hiding) confirmed my fears. He gave me a hug, and I fought back the tears. He suggested I complete the blood draw, to give him confirmation that the spotting was a product of the dropping pregnancy hormone levels (wanting me to be hopeful that the levels could be going up, and all would be well). The spotting was a sign of a threatened miscarriage. He briefed me on what to expect if I did start to miscarry, so that I would be prepared. I asked for a specimen cup to collect the baby's tissue for testing (yes, I am a scientist by nature).

The blood results did not have time to come back before I fully miscarried our Baby #2. I was prepared for cramping, pain, and possibly the need for surgical intervention. Instead, I experienced the easiest miscarriage ever possible. There was no cramping. No pain. My body expelled everything quickly and smoothly. Our Angel Baby simply fell out of my body. I collected the "products of conception" (as the lab called it), in the specimen cup, stored it in the fridge, and went to bed crying.

My husband held my hand as we went back to see Dr. S. with another failed parenthood attempt. I was devastated. Dr. S. checked out the tissue I collected and confirmed that everything was there. He confirmed that my body was closing up shop, after letting go, and there were no concerns with my health. He hugged us both. He tried to encourage us. Miscarriage is so very common--at least 25% of all known pregnancies end in miscarriage. Most of the time, the reasons are unknown.

The good doctor encouraged us to try again. He said the common recommendation is to allow 3 cycles to pass....allowing the body to heal and "reset".....before attempting pregnancy again. The concern is that the location in the uterus where the baby/placenta attached, would have an area with a healing blood clot, when everything detached. So, in theory, IF the next baby implanted at that very same spot, there might be problems as the old clot healed and fell off. In reality, he suggested waiting 1 cycle would be Ok with him.

For me personally, miscarriage was a double-edged sword. My heart was stabbed no matter how I tried to face it. Knowing miscarriage was common did not help MY situation. I was angry that I even had to deal with such a thing. I had already suffered the loss of a child...so I served my time, right? How dare this happen! Compared to the support we received after having a stillborn baby, the support we received after the miscarriage was very, very low. I was surprised by the intensity of my grief with the miscarriage. I was devastated. I was angry. I was hurting. This time, I felt so alone in the pain. I started to sink into depression.

I attempted to throw myself back into my work, as a way to take one day at a time, one foot in front of the other. Unfortunately, the demands of my job took more out of me than I had to give. I was responsible for training a new coworker, but I was too weak to deal with that level of social interaction all day long. I would dread going to work each morning, and I would drop into bed as soon as I returned home. I often skipped dinner, choosing to stay in bed and sleep the evening and night away. I was ready to give up.

I had a check-up 6-weeks after the miscarriage. Dr. S. picked up on my symptoms of depression immediately. (I was treated for postpartum depression after having Mackenzie). He assured me there were antidepressants that were safe during pregnancy, since he knew I would want to get pregnant again soon. I said I was doing Ok. He told me to call him as soon as I saw the warning signs of depression. A week later, I walked down the hallway at work and had 3 different people ask me if I was doing Ok. I gave them each the same flat "I'm fine" answer. In reality, I was just going through the motions, and my heart was not in anything anymore. I was growing frustrated with my coworker trainee. I did not think I could tolerate her anymore. I was ready to quit my job. I was ready to quit my life.

That night, I prayed fervently for God to take me out of this world and bring me Home. I prayed. I begged. Please put an end to my pain. I cried out to God that I just could not deal with the pain any longer. I just could not see the point in living my life if I was going to have to live as a mother who had no children to hold. That was too much for me to bare. I wanted to be with my children, and I could not stand my empty arms and broken heart anymore. When I finally stopped crying, God answered my prayer. He said "NO." He reminded me that He was in control. He would take care of my needs. My purpose here was not yet complete. I fell asleep that night in peace. Sad, with peace.

The next day, I managed to drag myself to work and go through the motions. I had completely given up on my life, but God refused to take me home, so now what was I suppose to do with myself? My boss pulled me aside and said that she was worried about me, but that she didn't want to aggravate me by constantly asking if I was Ok. She asked what she could do to support me. It suddenly became clear to me that I was in a state of depression. I saw the signs. I admitted it to myself and to my boss, right there, and told her I thought it was time to call Dr. S. and get some antidepressants. She agreed, and encouraged me to take action. I tearfully explained to Dr. S. that I thought it was time to talk about depression. He told me he had been waiting for my call, and he had the prescription already filled out. He assured me the antidepressant was safe during pregnancy, so he wanted me to start it, continue considering a future pregnancy, and keep taking it until my next delivery.

The antidepressant did not fix my life. It did help keep my emotions in a better balance. I was able to get up and go to work each day, and go through the motions of my life, without all the anger and tears. I was not able to find joy. I had a bad attitude about life. I was in the midst of a spiritual struggle. Things did not go my way. I wanted to be in control. But, I was not in control. God is in control. His ways are higher than my ways....and I still needed to accept that.

This time, it was my husband who decided Life was for the Living. He suggested we plan a vacation and get away from the sadness for a while. We drove to Las Vegas, Nevada, and stayed a few days at the Excalibur Hotel. It was a great get-away. We ate great food, we walked all over the Strip, in the daytime and nighttime, and checked out the lights, the fountains, and the free shows. I was surprised to find comfort at the King Tut exhibit at the Luxor. The exhibit showed a model of King Tut's tomb, filled with jewels and treasures. There were also two tiny caskets. According to the audio tour guide, King Tut suffered the loss of 2 infant children (one was believed to be stillborn). He took the pain of those lost lives with him to the grave. Who knew I would have something in common with King Tut?

She Would Have Been 9 Today...

I lost my innocence about life 9 years ago today. Our first born baby....our daughter Mackenzie.....arrived stillborn. At this anniversary of her birth & death each year, I am flooded with the memories and emotions of that day. Some describe the feeling as bittersweet. Bitter because losing a child is a tragedy. Sweet because she brought me into motherhood. My husband & I were only 25 years old when our lives were changed forever. [She arrived on my husband's 25th birthday] I am so thankful to God for every moment I had with her.

I was eager to start a family. Motherhood was a strong desire for me even during my college years. As we planned our wedding, I also added plans for our first child. 25 years old.....the year 2000.....didn't that seem like a really cool time to start a family? Women used to collect household goods in a "Hope Chest" for their marriage....shortly after our wedding, I started collecting baby items. I kept them in the closet, in a box that my husband affectionately named "Project Baby 2000." I wanted to get pregnant in August. I thought being pregnant from August to May was the ideal time. My irregular cycles did not cooperate, so we had to aim for September instead. I read so many pregnancy books, pouring over the details of every second of development, and anxiously tried to calculate the absolute earliest day I could get a pregnancy test to register. My impatience got the best of me, and I went in for a blood test even before a urine test could register. It was negative. Bummer. Maybe next month... until my cycle was later than usual...the HPT was positive! We were so surprised, because we had already accepted that it didn't happen, so we would have to try again next cycle. My husband was studying when I gave him the news. He was so shocked. His reaction was, "I was just sitting here working on my math homework, and now we are going to have a baby! Wow!"

I had a pretty normal pregnancy. I scheduled my first prenatal appointment immediately, shared the exciting news with our family, friends, and coworkers, and browsed the baby aisle every time I went to the store. I had all-day "morning" sickness the entire first trimester. I am suspicious it was worsened by my job. I worked in biomedical research, and my line of work involved cell culture from mouse organs. Let's just say that those sights and smells were a real trigger! I spent a lot of time gagging and heaving in the lab. Cheeseburgers and Coke were the only things that would settle my stomach. I ate them practically every day. My boss assured me that cheeseburgers covered all the food groups, with the meat, cheese, lettuce, tomato, and the bun! Each prenatal visit, Dr. S would ask me if I was feeling any movement. Each time I would report no. I didn't report feeling movement until I was 18 weeks along. I laugh at myself over that experience. I had actually been feeling Mackenzie move for almost a month prior to that, but I did not realize it. I kept excusing away the sensation of butterflies in my stomach, as I was just excited about having a baby. Then, at 18 weeks, I was sitting at my desk concentrating on work when I had the sensation again. I had not even been thinking about the pregnancy, so it wasn't that I was just excited! When I realized that I was the feeling of the baby moving, I had a good laugh, because I had been feeling those movements for a month, but I kept telling the doctor I wasn't feeling anything.

I could not wait to learn the gender of the baby. I did not have a gender preference, but I had a strong need to know all the details I could get my hands on! I had my first ultrasound at 10 weeks. I made sure to tell the tech that if there was any way to identify the gender, I wanted to know. She laughed and told us that the baby was just too small to see anything yet. I had my first anatomical ultrasound at 21 weeks, but the baby kept her legs crossed and would not cooperate with gender identification. I was so disappointed that I almost cried. I had dreams at night...nightmares really....that even after delivery no one would tell me the gender of the baby! The only glitch I had with this pregnancy was that I had a false positive result on the alpha-fetal-protein screen, which indicated I might have an increased risk for Downs Syndrome. We went for genetics counseling and learned that we did not have a risk factor of a family history of Downs Syndrome, but we did have a family history of twins (which we knew already). I was given the option to have an amniocentesis to tell for sure, and a focused ultrasound to look for physical traits of Downs Syndrome, such as an elongated femur (thigh bone), cleft palate, and/or thicker skin folds at the back of the neck. We chose to have the focused ultrasound, but opted against the amniocentesis due to the miscarriage risk of that procedure. I wanted all the data I could safely obtain about our baby, so that I could prepare myself and seek resources for whatever we were dealing with...but we were going to take her any way that we could get her! The focused ultrasound revealed a healthy baby GIRL! I was so excited to know her gender. The doctor had difficulty getting good views of her heart, so we returned a month later for another ultrasound. Her heart was fine and she was still a girl. We had settled on her name, so we called her Mackenzie from that point forward.

Mackenzie was active in the womb and quite a kicker! She responded strongly to her Daddy. Every time he put his hand on my belly, she would kick it. I felt her jump once when the dog barked. We played music in the lab at work, and one day we were listening to the song "We Will Rock You" by Queen. Each time there was a strong drum beat, Mackenzie would imitate the beat with her kicks. I brushed it off at first, but her pattern continued. My coworkers pushed repeat on that song a dozen times, and we all enjoyed feeling her kick me to the beat of that song. That night at home, I showed my husband what she was doing. He is a fan of drums and of Queen, so he replied, "That's MY girl!" To this day, we think of Mackenzie every time we hear that song.

Another fun memory I have of that pregnancy is the day I had the glucose tolerance test. To complete this test, I had to go to the lab and pick up a sugar drink, down the drink, return exactly 1 hour later and have my blood drawn to see how well my body managed the sugar load. My workplace was in the building next door to the clinic, so I was able to go pick up the drink, return to work, and then return to the lab at the scheduled time. My drink was cola-flavored! My husband decided to make a fun game out of it. He bought a Coke and chugged it at the same time I chugged my glucola drink, racing to see who could finish first! That turned a yucky experience into a good laugh!

We had a good time in childbirth preparation class, a breastfeeding basics class, and a baby boot-camp class. Even though I saw a video of 3 different births, I still could not wrap my mind around just how that baby was going to get out of my body! That seemed impossible at the time! The instructor of the breastfeeding class shocked us all with some very graphic, very private pictures of her most recent delivery. That didn't help my disbelief! We went through a "mock labor" in childbirth prep class, practicing breathing techniques with an ice cube in hand. I am not sure how much preparation that ice cube provided, but it sure gave us a lot of good laughs! The instructor did deliver an amazing lesson during those classes. She had us list our priorities in childbirth...all the things that were important to us...epidural, completely natural, vaginal, c-section, water delivery, music, nurse, doc, birthing ball, etc....and we crossed so many off the list over time, leaving only the ones that really mattered most. That exercise showed each of us where our priorities were for our upcoming deliveries. By the end of the lesson, everyone had the same two answers as to what mattered most of all--a healthy Mom & a healthy baby!

I had plenty of Braxton Hicks contractions in the last trimester, but none of those "practice" contractions did anything to progress my body into labor. I was checked at my 39 week prenatal appointment, and learned that my cervix was not dilating or effacing at all. My coworkers had made guesses as to when Mackenzie would be born. That Friday we all commented that I would surely deliver her that weekend, so they didn't expect to see me at work on Monday. I went to bed Friday night, feeling her move and kick as usual.

We were being lazy Saturday morning, lounging around the house and moving slowly into our day. I sat down at the computer to email my Mom & sisters and give them the daily report that I was not in labor yet. I decided to take a break and get something to drink. As I was walking across the living room toward the kitchen, I was overcome with a horrible, paralyzing feeling of panic.....I had not felt Mackenzie move all morning long! That was one of my four criteria from the doctor for labor & delivery....1) bleeding, 2) water breaking, 3) contractions getting closer/stronger, & 4) no movement. I emailed my Mom about it and she replied that babies often slow down in activity before labor. She asked if I was worried. Yes I was. I decided to take a shower, drink some juice, and call the hospital. The nurse told me to drink some juice (because the sugar can boost the baby into action), and come on in to be evaluated. As we drove to the hospital, I secretly hoped I would be going into labor, but I was certain they would tell me all was well, no labor, and send me back home.

The nurses later told me that they just knew something was wrong from the tone of my voice on the phone, and the look on my face. I thought this was odd, because I thought I was doing a good job of keeping calm. I really had no thoughts of impending doom. I was too innocently-minded to even consider the possibilities. I was a little embarrassed to be there and not be in labor. The nurse put me in a triage room and took all my vitals. She could not find the baby's heartbeat with the Doppler. We joked with her that that was common, because Mackenzie ran from the Doppler most of the time. The nurse tried a second Doppler, with no luck. She told us that if the baby would not cooperate with the Doppler, she would just wheel in the ultrasound machine. I laid on that exam table completely unsuspecting anything to be wrong. A medical student came in with her head resident, to do the ultrasound. The resident walked her through the process, being real careful to not divulge any concerns. They complained about the old equipment that was hard to read. The resident then informed us she was going to get her attending to see if she could read it better. The attending came in and the resident performed the ultrasound for her. I only remember them talking about going up the spine to get a clear look at the heart. I continued to lay there in innocence, waiting for the time when they would turn the screen so I could see it too. The attending physician placed her hand on my wrist and softly said, "I am sorry, but your baby's heart has stopped beating." WHAT? My first thought was, "Ok, then fix it." My next thought was the full-blown realization of what she was saying. I sat upright and said, "Are you trying to tell me that my baby is DEAD?" Yes. I immediately started crying. I cried so hard, yet I had no tears. I was in immediate shock. They tried to comfort me...hugs, a box of tissue....they explained that they called Dr. S and he was on his way over.....they were going to move me to a room so he could assess me more and we would have privacy to phone our families. They could not (or would not) offer any explanation as to what happened that my baby was dead in the womb 3 days before her due date. Another Family Practice doctor arrived to offer condolences, comfort, but no ideas as to what went wrong. We managed to go out into the hallway and call our Moms and let them know Mackenzie was dead. My parents jumped in their truck and immediately started the 4-hour drive to come be with us.

Dr. S arrived soon. He walked through the door with the look of sadness and grief that only comes from someone who has walked in our shoes. He understood our pain, unfortunately, as he & his wife had also lost a baby. The first thing I said to him was, "I had no idea this could happen." It was true. I was in complete denial that anything would ever go wrong. You get pregnant and have a baby. It is as simple as that. Right? There is even a section about fetal demise in the womb, in the What to Expect When You're Expecting book, but I skipped that part. He comforted me with a hug, and then the tears poured out in buckets. The nightmare was true. Dr. S confirmed it. Our daughter was dead. He explained that at this late stage of the pregnancy, the problem is usually caused by an umbilical cord accident. He might find more answers at her birth, and also with an autopsy, but sometimes there are no answers at all. I asked him how we were going to get her out. I was immediately creeped out by the fact that I was carrying a dead baby inside my body. The options are to have labor induced, or to wait for labor to start on its own (most women will go into labor naturally within 3 days of the baby's death). I didn't wait for all the options, as soon as he said he could admit me to the hospital and induce me that night, I said Ok.

Time passed as the administrative process progressed to get me admitted and induced. My parents, my middle sister, and my mother-in-law all arrived. There was lots of uncontrollable crying. By the time the first dose of induction medication was given, I was in a puffy-eyed, cried-myself-silly state of calmness....and shock. My mind was fuzzy and I could barely process the reality I was dealing with. The nurse gave me some Tylenol for my headache, and I felt no pain. The plan was for our family to go to our house and get some rest. Induction (when I was showing no signs of labor) could take days, so there was no reason for them to wait around and stay up all night. Dr. S suggested that as soon as we were sure I was tolerating the induction medicine, and contractions were started, that they drug me heavily and give me an epidural so that I might sleep through labor. There were no concerns about medications affecting the baby, as she was already dead. There was a delay in getting the epidural due to some emergency c-sections that night, but it didn't matter to me. My nurse did a fine job of keeping me drugged. I am not entirely sure if it was all the IV meds, or the grief that kept me from feeling the full effects of labor. In hindsight, that labor experience was very mild. Even the anesthesiologist commented that I was managing my contractions well, and asked if I was sure I even wanted the epidural...I didn't care if I was doing well or not, there was no prize at the end, I was going to be empty-handed...the nurse pulled him aside and in no time he changed his approach and cheerfully gave me an epidural and his condolences. My husband collapsed in a nearby pull-out chair. We slept through the rest of labor. Dr. S came in to check on me around 8am, and we were all surprised to learn that I was fully dilated, and starting to feel some pressure to push. That induction only took 12 hours. We called our Moms to come to the hospital for the birth, and started trying to find a rhythm for pushing.

Since Mackenzie was my first baby, I had no idea what to expect for labor and delivery. Clearly, my experience was not normal. It is more difficult to push out a dead baby. I've heard it explained that live babies can "help" in their delivery. I do not know if that is true. I do know from my own experiences that mental strength plays a large role in delivery. I was mentally weak for Mackenzie's delivery. I was doped up so heavily that it took me 3 days to get out of the IV-medication fog. All the things that I had learned in childbirth preparation went right out the window. Those classes could not prepare me for this. It was not a "normal" delivery. I focused on the wisdom of my doctor and found comfort in the support of my husband & Mom. Dr. S gave us the plan for breathing, pushing, and positioning. I listened and obeyed. My legs were still numb, so I had help holding them in place. Pushing was work. I was in such a fog that I didn't care. As soon as her head emerged, we had all the answers. The umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck twice. It was so tight, that Dr. S had to cut it just so I could finish pushing her out. The nurse handled baby Mackenzie so gently, as if she were a living baby. I cherish that level of respect she gave our little girl. She put on a diaper, wrapped her in a blanket, put a little hat on her head, and brought her over for us to hold. She was beautiful. She had blonde hair, her Daddy's eyes, and my mouth. Her legs, fingers, and toes were so long. Her bottom was dense and heavy. At first her skin was warm and extremely pale. Her lips were crimson red.

Soon after, her body cooled off. Blood pooled to the surface of her skin, giving her more of that bruised, dead look of a corpse. Her eyes were dark and cloudy, from the absence of life. Her skull bones moved around and scraped against each other, as there was no fluid to provide cushion and structure. We agreed to an autopsy, hoping for more answers. We held her in our arms, cherished our very brief time together as a family, and took pictures to help keep our memories alive.

Our state does not provide a birth certificate for a stillborn baby. There is a death certificate. I struggle with the concept that her birth is not acknowledged, but we are required to dispose of her body through proper burial means. Our society will acknowledge that she is a dead human being, but they refuse to acknowledge that she was ever an alive human being. The ache of empty arms was so great. It was so hard to hand her body over to the proper authorities and go home with a broken heart.

Grieving is very hard. I tried "actively grieving" thinking I could take matters into my own hands. I read a bunch of books, pamphlets, and internet sites about the stages of grief, and losing a baby. I cried constantly. I opened up and shared her story and my feelings to anyone who would listen. We found a support group for grieving parents to be very helpful. We met others who were walking in our shoes. It was hard for me to be a mother who did not have any living children. I felt robbed of my joy.

My husband and I threw ourselves into our jobs, to help us manage one day at a time. I was drawn back to God because I knew I could not handle that level of pain and emotion on my own...I knew His love would sustain me. I prayed constantly for strength. I did not understand why Mackenzie had to die like that. But, I did understand who was in control. Her short life already had great purpose--She came to raise our hearts to heaven... When it game to grieving, the saying "It takes one to know one" proved true. People who had buried a child were able to bring us the most comfort. They understood that level of pain. I would not wish that experience and knowledge on anyone.

My broken heart began to heal later, after I was able to deliver living children. Living children reminded me that Life is for the Living. Mackenzie's death certainly re-structured my priorities. Our living children have given me a sense of purpose again. It seems that there will always be a hole in my heart where my firstborn daughter belongs. Nothing can take her place. As each year passes, we consider what might have been. I say to my husband, "Can you believe we would have been the parents of a 9-year-old?" He replies, "Has it been 9 years already? Wow!" It feels as if it were just yesterday.

Some people only dream of angels.....we held one in our arms!

Her tiny feet left large footprints on our hearts!