It's frankly impossible to believe that one year ago today I delivered Caleb. Impossible in every way - how did I survive a full year after my baby died? How has it been that long? How hasn't it already been a lifetime?
Happy birthday, tiny man. I miss you.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Offical records
Caleb's birth certificate came today. I finally was ready to get a copy of it, plus we needed it for taxes, so it was good timing.
It was a bit startling, because there's a giant "deceased" stamp across it. I guess I didn't realize they did that. But I'm so glad to have it and that it exists, period. I know not every state issues birth certificates to babies born at Caleb's gestational age, but here in Nebraska, a baby born with a heartbeat is considered a live birth and gets one. It's such a relief to know that there's an official, real record of his short time on earth - that in 100 years if someone is looking up the history of our family, his name will be right there. Proof positive. He wasn't just a figment of my imagination, though sometimes it feels like it was all a dream.
I had to laugh, though, because they spelled my middle name wrong. Whoops. It'd be a funny story to share with him when he got older if he was around to do so. ::sniff::
It was a bit startling, because there's a giant "deceased" stamp across it. I guess I didn't realize they did that. But I'm so glad to have it and that it exists, period. I know not every state issues birth certificates to babies born at Caleb's gestational age, but here in Nebraska, a baby born with a heartbeat is considered a live birth and gets one. It's such a relief to know that there's an official, real record of his short time on earth - that in 100 years if someone is looking up the history of our family, his name will be right there. Proof positive. He wasn't just a figment of my imagination, though sometimes it feels like it was all a dream.
I had to laugh, though, because they spelled my middle name wrong. Whoops. It'd be a funny story to share with him when he got older if he was around to do so. ::sniff::
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Blame Game
Last year, on April 5, I was 18 weeks and 3 days pregnant. Late that night, I felt a sensation like a water balloon popping and a gush of blood. I was sure my water had broken. First thing in the morning, I went to the midwife's office. The baby's heart was beating away, loud and clear. She gave me a fern test, which tests for amniotic fluid. It came back negative. My big anatomy ultrasound was scheduled for 20 weeks exactly; she decided to move it up a week - three days from then.
Two days later, my water broke for sure. This time it was clear, and I immediately went to the ER.
Five days after that, Caleb was born.
I'd had very minor spotting at the beginning of the pregnancy, but around 15 or 16 weeks it picked up, and there was bleeding to some degree nearly every day. I learned later that bleeding like that can be a very typical symptom of cervical changes. I also learned later that the fern test isn't accurate when accompanied by blood and the blood can obscure the amniotic fluid, giving a false negative.
I question everything. I blame myself, but I trusted my caregivers. I thought they would take care of me and my baby.
Why didn't the midwife tell me, after I'd gone in several times for bleeding, that I wasn't a candidate for midwifery care anymore? Why didn't I get an ultrasound to look for the source of that bleeding? Why didn't she know that the presence of blood could give a false negative on a ferning test? Why didn't she order an ultrasound immediately upon my coming in with the concern that my water had broken? In retrospect, waiting three days was completely insane. But I trusted her when she said everything was okay. Why didn't she consult with one of the doctors at that point? The midwife practice I was seeing was in a hospital, and shared office space, staff, and the L&D area with both the regular OBs and the high-risk doctors. Why didn't I insist on a second opinion??
I'm convinced that my water broke that first time, and that it broke a second time two days later (the bag can reseal, temporarily or permanently, after breaking).
If I'd gotten an ultrasound at 15 weeks when I started bleeding, would they have discovered that my cervix was shortening? Would I have gotten a cerclage at that point? Would that have saved Caleb?
If she'd used ultrasound to check on my fluid levels instead of using a ferning test, would she have discovered that my water had broken 48 hours before it broke "for real"? Would I have been admitted to the hospital at that point, given antibiotics earlier, gone on bedrest earlier? Would the bag of waters resealed and stayed resealed? Would that have saved Caleb?
We'll never know if different care would have changed the outcome. Maybe it would have been the same and he would have died no matter what we did. But maybe he would have had a chance if I'd been more knowledgeable; if she'd have been more aggressive.
I still believe in the standard of care that most midwives provide for low-risk, uncomplicated pregnancies and births. I do believe that when I started bleeding at 15 weeks, the midwife should have bowed out of my care. I do believe that when I was sure my water broke at 18 weeks, she should have bowed out of my care. I don't blame midwives in general. I'm not even sure I blame her specifically. I should have spoken up. I should have insisted on an ultrasound. I should have asked for a second opinion. I didn't. At the least, we share blame. At the most, as his mother, the blame falls on me for not protecting him.
The what-ifs in do nothing but frustrate and sadden me, so I try not to think about them too much.
But please. Be an advocate for yourself and your baby. If something doesn't feel right or you don't feel like the care you are receiving is enough, speak up. Your baby's life may depend on it.
Two days later, my water broke for sure. This time it was clear, and I immediately went to the ER.
Five days after that, Caleb was born.
I'd had very minor spotting at the beginning of the pregnancy, but around 15 or 16 weeks it picked up, and there was bleeding to some degree nearly every day. I learned later that bleeding like that can be a very typical symptom of cervical changes. I also learned later that the fern test isn't accurate when accompanied by blood and the blood can obscure the amniotic fluid, giving a false negative.
I question everything. I blame myself, but I trusted my caregivers. I thought they would take care of me and my baby.
Why didn't the midwife tell me, after I'd gone in several times for bleeding, that I wasn't a candidate for midwifery care anymore? Why didn't I get an ultrasound to look for the source of that bleeding? Why didn't she know that the presence of blood could give a false negative on a ferning test? Why didn't she order an ultrasound immediately upon my coming in with the concern that my water had broken? In retrospect, waiting three days was completely insane. But I trusted her when she said everything was okay. Why didn't she consult with one of the doctors at that point? The midwife practice I was seeing was in a hospital, and shared office space, staff, and the L&D area with both the regular OBs and the high-risk doctors. Why didn't I insist on a second opinion??
I'm convinced that my water broke that first time, and that it broke a second time two days later (the bag can reseal, temporarily or permanently, after breaking).
If I'd gotten an ultrasound at 15 weeks when I started bleeding, would they have discovered that my cervix was shortening? Would I have gotten a cerclage at that point? Would that have saved Caleb?
If she'd used ultrasound to check on my fluid levels instead of using a ferning test, would she have discovered that my water had broken 48 hours before it broke "for real"? Would I have been admitted to the hospital at that point, given antibiotics earlier, gone on bedrest earlier? Would the bag of waters resealed and stayed resealed? Would that have saved Caleb?
We'll never know if different care would have changed the outcome. Maybe it would have been the same and he would have died no matter what we did. But maybe he would have had a chance if I'd been more knowledgeable; if she'd have been more aggressive.
I still believe in the standard of care that most midwives provide for low-risk, uncomplicated pregnancies and births. I do believe that when I started bleeding at 15 weeks, the midwife should have bowed out of my care. I do believe that when I was sure my water broke at 18 weeks, she should have bowed out of my care. I don't blame midwives in general. I'm not even sure I blame her specifically. I should have spoken up. I should have insisted on an ultrasound. I should have asked for a second opinion. I didn't. At the least, we share blame. At the most, as his mother, the blame falls on me for not protecting him.
The what-ifs in do nothing but frustrate and sadden me, so I try not to think about them too much.
But please. Be an advocate for yourself and your baby. If something doesn't feel right or you don't feel like the care you are receiving is enough, speak up. Your baby's life may depend on it.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Linky Link
On my other blog is a post about how the second time around does not lessen the pain of your loss, and how people's reactions can be difficult to understand.
Emotional Limbo
Emotional Limbo
Saturday, January 1, 2011
And time goes on. And so does procreating, apparently.
As some of you guessed, the reason I stopped blogging over here so often was because I'm pregnant again. We're due July 11 and I'll be 13 weeks on Monday. I didn't post anything here because there are family and friends who read this blog, and I wasn't out yet. Well, as much as I'd like to keep it completely secret from EVERYONE until I'm actually given a real, live baby to take home, we made the announcement to family and friends over Christmas and New Year's. I also didn't post because when I was deep in the throes of grief, it seemed like every time I found a new loss blog to follow and fall in love with, the writer found out she was pregnant. Which was great for her, but holy shit painful for me. I was SO not there yet...so there were a lot of blogs that I followed and then immediately unfollowed. Well, now I'm one of those writers. I won't be writing about my new pregnancy on this blog - this is Caleb's blog - but if you are so inclined you can follow the progress of this little one at Baby H, Take Two. Some day I might make a new blog and combine them all into one epic site, but...well, let's be real. I won't. Far too lazy for that.
Anyway, I hope that I haven't caused anyone too much pain by posting this, and maybe (just maybe) even provided someone suffering a loss a little bit of hope. This will be the only post about a current pregnancy here, I promise.
Fingers crossed our 2011 baby has a better outcome than our 2010 did.
Anyway, I hope that I haven't caused anyone too much pain by posting this, and maybe (just maybe) even provided someone suffering a loss a little bit of hope. This will be the only post about a current pregnancy here, I promise.
Fingers crossed our 2011 baby has a better outcome than our 2010 did.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Life is like a Blackboard
I was reading one of the many, many baby loss blogs I follow, Awful But Functioning. In a recent post she mentioned that several years ago, she'd written a post about political candidates that had lost children. And Elizabeth Edwards responded with a very, very beautiful analogy that was so eloquent and TRUE that I wanted to share it here. Even though it's three years old I just saw it for the first time.
I have often described the death of a child in this way: in life we have a blackboard on which we write all the things we are doing -- our jobs, coaching soccer, working at Goodwill, going to basketball games, whatever. And the board is full, so when the next thing comes along, we find a corner or the board to add a computer class or a space between other things for book club or sewing Halloween costumes. It is full and lively and seemingly all important.
And then your child dies, and all the things that were so important that you worked to squeeze them in? Well, they are all erased. And you are left with an empty blackboard. Everything you thought was important was not. And the next time you write something on the board, you are very, very careful about what it is. Your choices about what to do and how to do it are so much more deliberate. Doing something that is so patently important as public service -- whatever your politics -- well, that seems like an easy call. That is worth some of the space. And putting something on the board, well, it allows you -- in your words -- to function another day. And each day that you find something else worthy of the board makes it a little easier to put one foot in front of the other. And each day you functioned the day before makes it easier to function again. Are there still bad moments, even bad days nearly twelve years later? Sadly, there are. But they are not as frequent and they don't happen in that same emptiness you feel today. Now when they happen, we can turn to something that we have written, something worthy of our time, of his parents' time and we can function through that pain. As you will -- not without [your child], but with [your child]* not as a living, breathing daughter [or son] but as an inspiration and a helper to decide what is worthy of your blackboard.
How beautiful and so spot on is that?
*Tash, I hope you don't mind that I changed this...I wasn't sure if you'd want your daughter's name out on someone else's blog, and I thought it was such a beautiful sentiment that I wanted anyone to be able to see their child's name there. Let me know if it's not ok!
I have often described the death of a child in this way: in life we have a blackboard on which we write all the things we are doing -- our jobs, coaching soccer, working at Goodwill, going to basketball games, whatever. And the board is full, so when the next thing comes along, we find a corner or the board to add a computer class or a space between other things for book club or sewing Halloween costumes. It is full and lively and seemingly all important.
And then your child dies, and all the things that were so important that you worked to squeeze them in? Well, they are all erased. And you are left with an empty blackboard. Everything you thought was important was not. And the next time you write something on the board, you are very, very careful about what it is. Your choices about what to do and how to do it are so much more deliberate. Doing something that is so patently important as public service -- whatever your politics -- well, that seems like an easy call. That is worth some of the space. And putting something on the board, well, it allows you -- in your words -- to function another day. And each day that you find something else worthy of the board makes it a little easier to put one foot in front of the other. And each day you functioned the day before makes it easier to function again. Are there still bad moments, even bad days nearly twelve years later? Sadly, there are. But they are not as frequent and they don't happen in that same emptiness you feel today. Now when they happen, we can turn to something that we have written, something worthy of our time, of his parents' time and we can function through that pain. As you will -- not without [your child], but with [your child]* not as a living, breathing daughter [or son] but as an inspiration and a helper to decide what is worthy of your blackboard.
How beautiful and so spot on is that?
*Tash, I hope you don't mind that I changed this...I wasn't sure if you'd want your daughter's name out on someone else's blog, and I thought it was such a beautiful sentiment that I wanted anyone to be able to see their child's name there. Let me know if it's not ok!
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Christmas
Christmas was hard, knowing that we should have had a cute three-month-old in red and white striped footie pajamas being passed around and spoiled with "Baby's First Christmas" ornaments and toys well beyond his age ability. Instead, almost no one mentioned him. Thank god for my mom, who *did* remember and gave us an ornament...but instead of "Baby's First Christmas" it said "Our baby angel".
So not fair. Babies should not die.
So not fair. Babies should not die.
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