This is the sort of thing you only hear about a hundred years later 01/27/2019

Trigger warnings: high risk pregnancy, fetal death, stillbirth, and probably some bodily fluids. You’ll see. Or read. No photos of said fluids.

You can dig way back in my blog if you want to know my entire history of child/pregnancy loss from my point of view. This obviously begins far sooner than the morning of September 8th, 2018, but that is where I will begin.

For no other reason in the front of my mind, I woke up and decided to take a pregnancy test. I was in the bathroom and saw the control line show up, immediately followed by the “hope” line. I call it that because home pregnancy tests (hpts) are weird. Sometimes they will have this wacky line that shows up where the test should be either positive or negative. Sometimes called an indent line or evaporation line. It will become a shadow sometimes and disappear completely if there is not enough human chorionic gonadotropin (hcg) detected indicating negative for pregnancy. When trying to conceive (ttc), my eyes have been fixated on this line on countless ovulation and pregnancy tests. At times, a test can give false readings. In my mind, there are for sure times I have placed so much hope on this line showing up that I have dubbed it the “hope” line.

This morning I was cursing the “hope” line because it showed up so quickly. I blinked. I refocused. I blinked again. I refocused. The line continued to grow brighter. I was unable to slow my breathing and I began shallow breaths and shaking. I was stumbling to get myself together in the bathroom so that I could go show Batman my “for shits and giggles” test.

We had been in the middle of a funny conversation prior to my bathroom visit and as soon as I exited, he began some comedic punchline before he saw my face and how quickly I was coming toward him. I shoved the test at him and curled up on my knees on the bed next to him. He has a smile that lights up his entire face, which he displayed while asking excitedly, “Yeah??!!” I was shaking still and unable to speak as a few tears escaped. “I can’t lose another, Batman.” He held me and told me everything was going to be fine.

The next several days and weeks were spent peeing into cups and watching two lines appear on each test shown below. Maybe you’re one of those people who gets a positive test and believes it. I used to be that mama. But after three miscarriages, I am not that mama anymore. Pictured are a portion of the tests I took.

I decided not to call my doctor until I was 5 weeks pregnant. Two of my losses were right around 5 weeks and I knew I was going to have to have repeated blood tests with the possibility of learning after all of it that it wasn’t “sticky” after all. I didn’t want to be told my baby was gone as soon as I got him/her. I had a week and 2 days to wait to see what would happen.

I started spotting during that first (4th) week. I waited for pain. I waited to start bleeding heavier. I passed several small clots and had brown (old) blood. Having had both a Subchorionic Hemorrhage (sch) as well as miscarriages (mc), I knew there was nothing to be done either way.

I called the doctor at 5 weeks. They got me in immediately for the first of two blood tests. They check hcg levels to make sure it’s doubling, as well as progesterone. I went in on Monday for the first test. It is to be repeated every 48 hours, but they were closed on Wednesday. I went in on Thursday. Friday I should have the results. I called in on Friday and they did not see my progesterone results as it hadn’t been run for some reason. They put in for that to be done but also they were able to tell me that my hcg was doubling appropriately. And they congratulated me on my pregnancy. Later that same day, a nurse called to inform me that my progesterone was a four and that she was calling in Progesterone supplements right now to my pharmacy. I went ahead and skipped my 20 year high school reunion and went home to get that started, knowing that a four is not good. I read up on progesterone supplements and learned it could possibly help 1 in 200 women remain pregnant. My chances were not good. Everything I read was that while it wouldn’t hurt, it also might just not help.

The Big Awesome (TBA) and Kidlet found out by accident that I was pregnant. Kidlet doesn’t normally use my bathroom, but she did one morning and came out asking if I was going to have a baby. She had seen my growing mountain of pregnancy tests. I couldn’t lie to her, so I told her that as of that moment, I was pregnant. I told the kids not to get too excited because I had lost 3 previous pregnancies. I maintained that mentality throughout the duration of my pregnancy. I didn’t want them to get too attached, though I know they did.

Over the course of the next two months, I bled off and on. I say off and on though it was always there. Sometimes just worse than others. When I would pass a sizable clot or have a “big bleed”, I was instructed to call the doctor and go in for ultrasound. The hemorrhage was visible every time and may have grown. Very early on they were unable to determine whether it was a sch or a twin sac. They look the same on the ultrasound. We would only know for sure based upon growth of the possible sch, reabsorption, or by it just bleeding out.

Each time it happened I was certain they would tell me my baby had died. Every single day of the pregnancy thus far had been the most stressful days I had known in a very long time. It seemed as though each day I remained pregnant, my stress would only increase. I made these little goals for myself: make it to X weeks. Like I had any control over it at all…

Around 12 weeks, I went in for an ultrasound. I had not seen blood in a few days, but mentioned to the doctor at my 14 week appointment that I was instead seeing yellow discharge. I know what the internet says about a sch healing (yellow discharge can be normal). The doctor agreed it is normal and warned me what to look for that would be concerning. I was less concerned around 12 weeks because I was feeling flutters. Yes, this is possible. As soon as the ultrasound wand hit my belly, I saw the baby move and felt it at the same time.

At around 13 or 14 weeks we were able to do some genetic testing which showed the basics and that all was well, genetically speaking. We were also able to learn we were having a boy.

We sat on that information for a while. It’s pretty hard to name a baby when you’ve already named four children with both first and middle names. We were finally able to agree upon Parker John. Parker is keeper of the trees. John was after my step-dad, and “God is gracious”.

At my 12 week appointment, the doctor mentioned progesterone shots to keep me pregnant. So, off progesterone suppositories over the next few weeks, and on to progesterone shots. Batman did a great job stabbing me in the ass, btw. It really did feel like a milestone for us. You have to have a lot of trust to allow someone to shove a needle into you. I had faith he could do it, but his hands do tend to shake at times. I knew I had to be strong so that he could be strong. Afterward, I told him I was proud of him and asked him if he was scared. “F*$k yes I was scared!” He thanked me for not punching him in the throat.

When I hit 17 weeks 6 days, I had some unexpected clots again. I hadn’t bled in 5+ weeks, so it seemed like I was beyond all of that. That same yellow discharge kept up though. It was enough that it warranted a call to the doctor, who wanted me to come in to have an ultrasound done that night. We woke the kids up, called my sister, dropped the kids off, and made our way to the hospital.

All was well with Parker. Strong heartbeat. Nothing was concerning at that time. We left the kids with my sister and I spent the next day in bed. As we left the hospital, I looked up at Batman and said, “Maybe I’ll get my baby?” Tuesday I went back to work and all was as normal as it could be. I was having some mild Braxton Hicks contractions and having a hard time keeping up my usual pace, but that was expected.

Wednesday, I woke up around 2:00 am and went to the bathroom. I got back in bed and as my head hit the pillow and I sighed for the pure joy of more hours of sleep, I realized my underwear was growing wet at a fast rate. “Oh, shit!” I said as I jumped out of bed and bolted back to the bathroom. I sat back down on the toilet and said, “No, no, no…no…” as I looked down at what I knew had to be amniotic fluid running down my legs. I peeled off my underwear and put it in the sink. I rinsed it out as I stood on the bath mat, feeling a slow trickle running down my legs. I picked up a clean washcloth and held it between my legs as I put my saturated underwear in the hamper. I waddled out to the bedroom where I half leaned against the bed and said, “Batman…BATman…BATMAN!”
He woke up and looked at me over his shoulder, “Hmm?”
“I think my water broke.”
“Your water broke?”
I waddled back to the bathroom where I picked up a new washcloth. We debated how the next few minutes should go before deciding somehow that I would call the doctor and get dressed and he would get the kids together.

I knew.

I knew.

There was no question in my mind what was going on.

The doctor returned my call quickly and I explained that I thought my water had broken. He said, “But you’re 18 weeks…I mean…that would be bad…that would just be bad…”
“Yes, that is what I’m saying to you.”
“Normally, we see loss of bladder control and 18 weeks…”
“So, it’s clear, no odor, and when I bend at the waist it gushes more.”
“Well, let’s go ahead and bring you in for peace of mind. Right now. Come right now, I’m calling over there now.”

Again, kids in the car, husfriend driving like a cop. My sister met us as the hospital. I stepped out of the car and the final seal released. I couldn’t stop it. My water had trickled before but now it completely ran down my legs and into my boots. TBA looked at me, “Are you OK?”
“Yeah, buddy. I just can’t stop it.”

We passed the kids off to my sister. I hugged her and whispered, “It’s not good. It’s bad. It’s very bad.”

A security officer met us at the door with a wheelchair. I was waddling around my now freezing legs and told him I couldn’t sit there because I was all wet. He reassured me it was OK.

I was wheeled up to triage (I think the nurse was Maddie) where I asked for a gown. My lame attempt to catch any amniotic fluid in a pad was completely stuck to me, and again I had to peel my underwear off.

I returned to my triage room and to where Batman sat with his face in his hands. I sat on the edge of the bed, strangely calm. We have a rule where we cannot both flip out in the same moment. Maybe we came by it naturally. Maybe we agreed to it somewhere along the way. But in this moment, he needed me. And I already was the calm. He felt guilty and I felt guilty for breaking him-even though I know it wasn’t something either of us did.

Emily was my nurse. They were able to confirm my water broke. And Parker’s heart beat on. Before I left triage, Emily said, “Oh, I just want to hug you.” I said, “Come on.” I needed it. I needed her.

I was moved to High Risk where I was sent to bed.

Doctors and nurses came and went. Conversations started with the knowledge of everything that would likely happen within the first 48 hours…then within a week…and over time it became cautiously about what to expect when I hit 24 weeks. There was no false hope. It was just…waiting…

I feel as though I must mention (not obligated, just really want to tell you) how the chaplain came to visit. She came in and I thought she looked familiar and she told me she was the chaplain and thought she would come to see me. She was saying her name and I said, “Oh, wait. Here’s my preacher mom.” Sometimes clergy people will run into one another from time to time, so maybe they would have people in common or something. My mom stood up to greet her and smiled this huge grin. Apparently they had a class together in seminary, many years ago. It was at that moment that I realized what she said her name is, and in the middle of their greeting I butted in with, “Hey, you aren’t Ann’s daughter, are you?” I had met her before at the church I both lived and worked at for 7 years, and Miki was preaching there in a week or so. A few minutes later we discovered Batman also worked with her nephew. Small world! Miki came by every time she was working. She sat with me and asked questions and generally got to know me, and my family. She brought coconut oil after asking if I wanted a hand massage once. She sat with The Big Awesome (TBA) while he got much of his worry out before transitioning to his dad’s house (where he was about 25 minutes away from me) for a few days. She listened and was able to relate to him. She became family.

My hemorrhage would show up in spots or clots. And then, on Christmas Eve Eve Batman and his brother went in a caravan to our house to pick up presents for our celebration (to be held at the hospital the following day on Christmas Eve). My mom was sitting with me at the hospital. We were in the middle of a conversation about who knows what when I felt a gush of fluid. My water hadn’t sealed back up by some miracle. I knew I was having a big bleed. I sat up on my bed again saying, “No. No no no! It’s bad. Mom, it’s going to be bad.” By the time I got to the bathroom and sat down, there was blood streaked across the floor, the toilet, and all over my leggings. I pulled the chain on the wall and said, “Mom, call Batman.” At once there were a handful of nurses standing at the bathroom door. I filled the bowl that day. Clots. Blood. So much of both. As I was sitting there, waiting for the people mover to move me back to the bed, this verse kept playing over and over in my head. I was so lightheaded, I was laying against the wall, then had my head between my knees. Well, as close to my knees as I could get.

The nurses got me back in bed and we waited on a doctor to come check me. Batman hadn’t come back yet and my mom was sitting in a chair a few feet to my right. At one point I glanced over and saw her sitting on her hands and crying and just kind of rocking. I think she was feeling helpless and she just wanted to fix it. And she couldn’t. I scared my mom. But I understood what she was going through, I think. Cervix was closed. Ultrasound performed. Parker had a good heartbeat.

A former patient donated her Christmas decorations to someone, and I was the chosen one to receive them. My family hung up that garland and those lights in a way that only my family can. My entire room was filled with gifts, and I had an entourage of visitors on Christmas Eve.

We made it to 20 weeks!

My sister-in-law brought my niece by one day. She’s closing in on three years this coming spring. She was a little weirded out by the hospital scene, so she brought me her doctor kit. She fixed me up and then painted me a picture. She had a few questions, then she stood at the foot of my bed and told me she was going to pray for me. Then that little girl squeezed her eyes closed and I have NO IDEA what she said, but she was definitely moving her mouth in some sort of amazing prayer. It was the sweetest thing. After that, she just walked off and was on to the next thing.

I almost passed out in the shower one morning. No idea what that was about, but later that day I was moved to a bigger room. It had a larger bathroom, which I think was helpful since they kept having to haul me out of there.

On Thursday, January 3rd, I was feeling strange in the evening. Parker was kicking so much, I had trouble settling myself down for the night. I adjusted myself in bed and he eventually settled as well. I didn’t wake up all night.

On the morning of January 4th, my nurse came in to take my vitals. I think it was around 6:00 am. She left and I got up to use the restroom. I passed several large clots. I was sitting on the toilet and went to wipe and there was what I first thought to be a large clot coming out but I couldn’t wipe it away. I had a fleeting thought that it must have just needed to finish coming out, but then I remembered the feeling of an umbilical cord and I got more toilet paper and tried to wipe it again. When I couldn’t, I was pretty much able to tell what was going on. I called once for Batman, but he was still asleep. I pulled the chain on the wall, and all at once there were about 4 or 5 nurses in the bathroom with me. One asked, “Oh, did you have more clots?” I replied, “No-well, yes. Clots. But also, something else.” All they had to do was look to know. They helped me up and into the bed and there was a doctor examining me and confirmed that Parker’s umbilical cord was prolapsed. She said she tried to put it back in there, but she couldn’t get it to stay. I was already dilating. I was going to have my baby. Not immediately, but it was going to happen soon.

We had already discussed my four previous c-sections and I knew that if I were to deliver early, they would very gently “induce” me and see if I could deliver vaginally. Really, they were just trying to soften my cervix so that I could deliver safely, without rupturing my uterus. We knew he was coming no matter what, but no one wanted to cut into my layers and layers of scar tissue if they didn’t have to. It was something like 7-10 hours before a doctor came in to sit down and speak with me. I was given the gift of the most wonderful nurses over the next several shifts. The first was Susan. We started a very low dose of Cytotec. Every hour, I would take only 1/4 of a pill. Sometimes I would decline another dose. I figured if I was having to breathe through my contractions, my body would pick up on what to do next. My nurses were all checking Parker’s heart tones twice a day. Susan asked if I would like to check for heart tones and I said, “Thank you for asking. I don’t think I do.” I declined all further checking (for heart tones) from that point onward. More than anything, I did not want to be told that my son had died while I was in the midst of laboring and knowing there was a 0% chance of survival. I noticed a change in his umbilical cord over the hours. I knew what was to come. Either way, the end was going to be tragic. Susan prayed with me. She wore snowflake earrings.

Batman really wanted me to take a break so that “I” could sleep. I agreed to stop further medication late on Friday night and begin again Saturday morning. Stephanie was my nurse by then. She would ask if I needed anything for pain and I declined. I wanted to be present in the moment. I didn’t want anything to get in the way of the last few hours I would have with my son until I got closer to delivery. I was concentrating on his movements because I knew it would be the last time I ever felt life growing and moving inside me. I passed several more clots that evening, one being the size of my hand. I caught that one in a washcloth and it was carefully inspected to make sure it wasn’t my placenta. Stephanie talked with me a long time about her daughter who was born still, and eventually she found me on Facebook after I had been home a few days.

I attempted that sleep thing that Batman had asked for, but 45 minutes after I fell asleep I was woken up in enough pain to call my nurse and ask for an epidural. The pain wasn’t the worst I had ever felt, but I had been timing my contractions (loosely) and they were about 5 minutes apart. I figured it might take a while for anesthesia to arrive, and since we were still uncertain as to how delivery was going to, I knew it was time to opt in.

I got my epidural and my blood pressure tanked. The hearing went out of my right ear, I felt heavy and dizzy. My nurse was taking my blood pressure about every 2 minutes. We watched it go down to about 60/40. They would ask what I was feeling and I couldn’t even speak. Then they would shoot me with something else that made me go almost back to normal, then I would crash again. I finally stabilized after about 5 doses. That’s a scary feeling. Not the lowest I’ve ever been, but still terrifying.

Dr. Stoller came in to check me to see how far I was dilating. She asked me, “Heidi, are you still feeling Baby?” I said, “It’s hard to say because of the epidural, but if you figure out something, could you just not tell me, please?” She asked, “You don’t want to know?” I told her I can’t. She said it looked like I was starting to deliver part of the placenta. She also saw another large clot. I think this was the last of the SCH. I clarified about the placenta, asking what it meant. Really, it just meant I would deliver the placenta first, though in case I forget to update about that, it didn’t happen that way. We all needed my placenta to be whole. After she was done, she turned and walked out of the room. I knew. I couldn’t say anything to Batman. I couldn’t tell him. Not yet.

Batman had pulled his bed right up next to mine prior to falling asleep. He held my hand and he was right there with me. 

They increased my dosage of Cyotec in the morning. Stephanie brought in the next nurse around 7:00 am at shift change. She introduced herself, “Hi, I’m Maddie.” I said, “Of course you are!” She questioned my response and I told her my daughter who died was Maddie. She offered to leave but I asked her to stay because doesn’t that just make sense? Of course Maddie would show up. Just for support. Her presence was perfect. Looking back, I am trying to remember every detail. I’m pretty sure it was Maddie who wheeled me upstairs. Well, in the elevator. Not UP actual STAIRS.

Throughout this whole stay, my kids had mostly been staying with my sister, and sometimes with their bio dad. I had been having my sister bring them in so that I could gently inform them of whatever was to come. I had them come in and I told them that I was going to have Parker very soon and that he wouldn’t survive. From day 1 when Kidlet used my bathroom and found my stack of tests I never had them get too attached to the idea of actually having a baby come home with us. Maybe it was intuition that something just wasn’t right, but the whole time, I could never envision that baby. I had some dreams while I was pregnant about being pregnant and about after I was pregnant, but there was never an actual baby.

I never allowed myself to get my hopes up too high.

Outwardly.

We got through the day with contractions increasing. That night, Emily came on. My first nurse from triage on December 19th. I was beginning to feel more intense contractions. I was breathing through them, anesthesia had to come fiddle with my epidural, and Dr. Hughes had come in to check me and said I was almost there. I didn’t have to dilate to 10 because my baby was so small. I only had to dilate to about 6 cm. I say ONLY. This is no joke. I was feeling pressure and Dr. H came every time I called for her. I felt like she would leave and I would call for her again there in the final hour.

At one point when she we were alone together, I turned to Batman and whispered, “I don’t think he’s going to be born alive, OK?” He asked how I knew, and I just told him I had a feeling. My mom came in and I told her the same.

How do you tell someone that?

I don’t know either.

As the pressure increased, I told Emily I was really feeling it. Dr. H came back in to check me and said I wasn’t there yet. As soon as she left, I started feeling more. I said something along the lines of needing to push now or feeling pressure.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Batman. My big strong hero. My love. My lifeline. My menace. My humor. My biggest source of frustration and my best friend. He turned away from me and ripped his shirt off. He choked back a sob as he pulled on the shirt I had purchased for him for Valentine’s Day in 2018. I bought it for him during my last pregnancy, but miscarried before Valentine’s Day. It reads, “Baby Daddy.”

He turned back around and he was ready. He sat right by my bed and held my hand through every push.

The doctor was checking out the situation and told me that it looked like Parker was coming feet first. My kid was breech.

I delivered his feet and then his body, and finally his head. Maybe 8 pushes? I turned to Batman and said, “OK…OK…OK…” He kissed me and he told me I did a good job and he was proud of me and that he loves me and that I’m perfect.

At 9:39 pm, Parker John Mayo made his way into the world at 20 weeks, 5 days gestation.

I delivered the placenta shortly after I delivered PJ. It was completely intact, and the look on Dr. H’s face was pure joy and absolute relief. She didn’t want to have to perform any kind of surgery (like if my placenta had torn away from the wall of my uterus, that would not have been good). Pure joy.

The doctor checked Parker out and after I got a little situated, she asked if we were ready to talk about what she had learned. She said he was the right size for his gestation, and there was nothing obvious that she could see that would have led to his death. She did, however, inform us that Parker did have a birth defect. It was not one that would have led to his death in most cases, and almost certainly not at 20 weeks 5 days gestation. Parker had Gastroschisis. Some of his intestines were outside of his body. Before you go wondering, there is no link to Crohn’s Disease. I’m not sure if it was just his intestines or if other organs were out as well. There is a 90-95% chance of survival, it would have just meant a lot of surgeries during his first year, and possibly others as he went along in life.  This in no way contributed to his death. His death certificate states preterm premature rupture of membranes (PPROM) = my water broke early as well as prolapsed umbilical cord (umbilical cord delivered first). What caused THAT was likely due to the SCH.

My mom was on her way to the hospital and they had Parker sitting in a basket close to the door of my room. They asked if they could clean him up a little and I asked them to take him right then because I didn’t want her to walk in and that be how she saw him (swollen and bruised from delivery). Also, we hadn’t seen him yet. I also wanted to prepare her.

The kids came and we all held each other and cried. I know their little hearts are hurting. Before, they knew Jeremiah was their brother who died. They knew Madeline was their sister who died. They knew I had miscarriages. But this one they could see. They saw my body change. They heard his heartbeat. They saw pictures of the ultrasounds. They were attached. As they should be.

Every person who came in over the next half of a day or so (before I left for home), entered the room with wide eyes. My village. My tribe. They were all looking to me to see how I was reacting. There were hugs and love and tears shared everywhere. I saw you. I noticed you. I saw what Parker did.

We held Parker later on after everyone had left. Well, we left him in his little basket at that time because he looked so fragile. We took pictures. He was so tiny and just very red in color. I’m not uploading any of those pictures now because I’m not ready to look at them again.

And I felt guilt. I felt guilt because this keeps happening. And I’m the mother of it all. Guilt. I put my people through trauma and it sucks. I don’t even have a good excuse. I just wanted a baby. I’m pretty exhausted of all the freak incidents happening. More than half of my children are dead. I have sadness and I want to sleep literally all day. Nightmares. I saw Parker in my dream as a healthy newborn. He was beautiful. I woke up crying and couldn’t stop. And I’m sad. Depressed, even. I lost my light. I want a baby. The outcome was supposed to be a baby. I don’t understand. Some of the thoughts I had over the course of the next few weeks.

I had to call the funeral home and make arrangements. Batman and I found a small box at New Age People. Seriously, I recommend this place for people in this same situation or people with pets who have them cremated.

I would sit here and tell you how much this sucks and how much I love my village for holding me and my family through all of this, but I am exhausted. I have been writing this for days. I have to get it published today because tomorrow is Maddie’s 18th birthday and I need to devote that day to her. The next day I will return to work. Don’t get me started on how much I love those people. They have been amazing. But I’ve written almost 5500 words here so I need to scoot.

Yep. 5501 now.

Love until later,
Heidi
xoxox