Losing Eva....

Good morning,
Yet another family member had a baby last night. I read it on FB (family lives far away) and told myself that I would try to seem happy when I shared the news with Patrick. But I couldn't. Even if I had pretended, he'd have known, probably because he feels the sadness too. He held my hand and was sad with me. I hate that this happy news makes me sad. All these women I know, having babies, are wonderful, lovely, incredible women. It's not (at all) that I want them not to have their babies, or to go through what we're living- I just wish I could have mine. I feel like everyone gets to keep their babies but us-even if I know it's not true. I know other wonderful, lovely, incredible women who didn't get to keep their baby/babies (!), but all of them now have at least one, and I'm sitting here with my arms empty. I really hope that this time next year, that part has changed.

We hope to start trying maybe around Christmas but certainly by early next year (that's our decision now, which could change as we work through our grief process). Not that it will make this pain go away, but because it will probably make make it less significant, less all-encompassing. It will always hurt. Evangeline will always be missed. People will think either that we're rushing it, trying to replace her. Others will think that we're over it, that we've moved on, we're all better. Neither is accurate but hopefully we'll be a little better. We'll never be "over it" though. I don't think death is something you can recover from, it's something you survive and learn to cope with. Losing Eva has forever changed the way we view the world, the way we view our life. Nothing is guaranteed. Nothing is certain. Life will never be simple again.

I'm sitting outside today as I write this, it's 11am, and it's chilly out. I've started the Game On Diet challenge with some ladies I love. So far, it's working, on a few levels. I've spent less time on the computer, more time writing, thinking. I'm working out even more than usual, drinking lots of water and actually losing weight. It's been just under a week, and so far, the weight loss has been pretty steady. I know it will get more difficult, but at least it helps me focus on other things and get healthy again. It helps me feel less out of control, which is something I desperately need these days....
S. <3

*Sigh*

I knew it was a mistake. I should have left well enough alone.

I met a girl on one of the pregnancy forums while I was still pregnant. We were due the same week. It was a lot of fun. We became Facebook friends. Now, I'm not pregnant. She still is. So, in the week following Eva's passing, I decided to hide her status updates so I wouldn't have to see them, but today I got curious. I went to check out her wall. She has a beautiful round belly, looks radiant, and has a closet full of little pink clothes.

I can't help but think 1) Wow, I'm glad I hadn't done that much shopping yet.... and 2) Gosh, I hope her baby is okay.

And this is a week when I'm generally feeling better. Life, or its routines at least, is starting to get back to normal....Unless I start thinking. Hence, the sigh. It's strange these days, and my darling sweetheart husband would agree. There are moments, when you almost forget, and then you remember and feel bad for smiling or laughing. And then you just feel bad, we miss her so much. She was only around for a few months, but changed us so completely.

I spent close to 45mins talking to a grief counsellor last night, and it just confirmed that I'm doing this properly, and that all my feelings really are normal. Even the yucky, dark ones. I pretty much knew that, and I know that even those feelings are less intense than they've been....but they still creep in sometimes. The feeling that it's my fault, that I failed us all. That nothing will ever work. That other people don't deserve to be happy either...

And yet, in all this, there are already little miracles, little signs. I asked Eva for a ladybug to show me she's okay and happy, and she sent me one within the hour. I have been surrounded ever since. That's something. Someone prayed to God for our little Evangeline, who hadn't talked to Him before. That's something too.

No one can say I'm not being open at least....
<3

Here's the real beginning...

They say to start at the beginning, but that is not where my heartaches begins. I’ll start with some details, and then jump to the middle. The rest, you’ll learn along the way. My name is Sarah. I’m 30 years old and a substitute elementary school teacher. For the past two years, I’ve been married to my incredible husband Patrick, who is 27 years old and a police officer. We’ve been together since June of 2005, when we first met. This spring we moved into our beautiful little bungalow surrounded by some of the best neighbors a person could dream of. This is the neighborhood where you want to raise a family. And that brings me to our story....

Once we had settled into our home (just barely!) we decided the time was finally right to start trying to get pregnant. In May, after only a couple months of “hard work” we found out that we were indeed expecting our first child. We were over the moon, overjoyed and only somewhat overwhelmed. Since forever, my most important ambition in life was to be a wife and mother. More than any other dreamed profession or career path, this is my heart. To be a good wife and mother. Finally, and so soon, our dreams were starting to come true. 

I was removed from work because I had no immunity to one of the childhood diseases rampant in elementary schools, and not allowed to return until 20 weeks. I started feeling nauseous at 5 weeks, but that only lasted until 11 weeks. It was a relatively uneventful pregnancy otherwise. There was some mild spotting at times, always discussed with the doctor and deemed normal. And so, we planned, we painted, we read books, articles, websites, we spread our news with those closest, keeping in mind that we were still in a danger zone. We borrowed baby items from those who had them to lend. Most importantly, we dreamed. I knew fairly early on that I was carrying a girl. They say a mother knows. Patrick so desperately wanted a girl, and so told himself it was probably a boy in my belly, to stave off the disappointment. We also knew that she would be Evangeline. For as long as Patrick and I have existed together, we always knew that our daughter would be Evangeline. And so she was. 

Of course, I had the same anxieties that any mother has, maybe more. I think it runs in my family, the worrying. I did plenty of it. When we finally got to our 12 week ultrasound, I waited in the waiting room with my husband and my mom. There was a delay, and unfortunately Patrick had to return to work. I later learned that the couple right before us had found out their baby had died. The appointment was wonderful, with the doctor saying there was a very low risk for Down’s Syndrome and related trisomy issues. When I called Patrick after the appointment, he was so excited that he asked me to bring the ultrasound photos straight to him at work. I also was so thrilled to tell him the doctor’s impression, “He said the baby already has a cute face and he thinks it’s a girl!” 

Once we passed the first trimester point, we were excited to start sharing the news more publicly. I was starting to show a little by then, but only to those who knew. We had been talking to my belly for weeks already but by 15-16 weeks, Patrick had read, the baby can start hearing. So, we started playing songs for her. “Evangeline” by Marie-Jo Theriault or Les Muses, and “Ma Belle Evangeline” from the Princess and the Frog soundtrack. I also liked to play “Never Alone” by Jim Brickman and Lady Antebellum. 

At around 19 weeks, I was sitting on the couch watching TV when I first felt it. For about 2 weeks, I had been feeling little goldfish feelings inside, but this time was different. It was a kick, followed by 5 more. I cried. I called for Patrick to come, but she wouldn’t budge again. It took almost another week for her to finally kick her daddy. Around the 20 week mark, we had our ultrasound to make sure everything was going okay. Patrick finally got to see our very wiggly little baby moving around. She was being stubborn, but the doctor finally had all the measurements she needed. Aside from having somewhat immature kidneys, which we were told would resolve itself, she was perfect. And she was, in fact, a girl. Her growth was on target, and I asked the usual questions: placenta? (perfect, in my back) amniotic fluid? (normal) cervix? (fine), all was well. 

I loved rubbing my belly. Patrick loved rubbing my belly. My sister, Becky, loved rubbing my belly. We were the first ones in our family circle to be expecting, and we were all so excited. I started back to work, a few days a week, and kept up my regular workouts, I had gained only 9 pounds, and was more than halfway done. Our doctor was so happy with the way everything was going. 

On a Friday night, after a long day of work, I was getting ready for bed. Pat was on night shift so I was alone. When I went to the washroom, I noticed a bit of pink on the toilet paper. I thought...strange.... I figured I had been too active lately and needed to lay down. So I went to sleep. In the morning it was still there. I consulted all the usual websites, my mom and one of my closest friends. We were all in agreement that I should spend the day with my feet up, and rest. So I did. I updated the registry I had started that week, watched TV, drank lots of water. At around 6pm, I woke Patrick up (night shift) and said I thought I should go to the ER. I had a sensation in my lower abdomen that I could only describe as weird and the spotting was slightly more instead of less, and I needed to put my mind at ease. He would still go to work, as I probably had a long wait ahead, and my dad would come kill the time with me in the waiting room. 

When I got to the ER, I was called immediately into triage, and then when I told them my symptoms was put into a wheelchair and sent straight up to Labor & Delivery. At that point, there was some bleeding, but the baby monitor showed that Evangeline was fine, wiggling around, with a strong heartbeat. The nurse, pregnant herself, said she would just check my cervix before sending me home. She checked, and after a bit said she needed to get a colleague to verify something. Hmmpf. At this point, Sue, my Dad’s wife came through the curtain. My dad had the foresight to send her instead, knowing the physical exams might be weird with him around. And so Sue held my hand while the second nurse performed her exam. When she looked at me, I knew there was a problem. The pregnant nurse had already left in tears.The second nurse wrapped her arms around my bent knees and took one of my hands. She said, “You’re dilated 5 cms already and your baby is not going to make it”.  

I called Patrick. I called my mother and my one of my best friends. I called my sister. Because I was not allowed to stand, the doctor got Sue’s cell phone number and called me on it, just to confirm what the nurses had been whispering about. It looked like I was suffering (we all were...) from an incompetent cervix. Basically, my cervix decided to dilate on its own, without pain or contractions. It would continue to do so. To further complicate things, my amniotic sac was bulging through my cervix. The nurses said I would probably deliver tonight. The doctor said if I could hold on through the night, maybe tomorrow, there would be some hope. I was wheeled into a private room, and on the way in the hallway, was my strong, handsome husband with tears running down his cheeks. In the room, I was poked with an IV bag, several antibiotics in case it was an infection causing the premature labour and of course, a catheter. 

The family started to arrive slowly. They came just to share their love, they cam to pray, to sit with us, to cry, to keep watch. I could not cry. I started to, once, when we had just reached our quiet little room, and realized that the heaving sobs could my body to move in ways I worried would further dilate my cervix. I had to be strong. I had to have hope, for Evangeline. 

Later that night after most people had left, maybe 2am, I drifted off to sleep, with Patrick curled against me on the tiny cot bed. I had tubes and needles everywhere, so I couldn’t move without planning. A bit later, Pat moved to the chair to see if it was more comfortable, but I couldn’t sleep without him there, so I stayed awake and prayed. In my head I yelled at God, but I was otherwise numb. In denial. Hoping. Finally he returned to the narrow little bed, and I dozed again. When I awoke we laid together, before dawn and talked. We cried. We tried to understand how and why this would be happening. We couldn’t. Around this time, I started feeling mild contractions, more like Braxton Hicks. Over the next few hours they would increase in strength, duration and frequency, but were not like I’d seen in the movies. They were very uncomfortable, but not really painful. They were, however, terrifying, as I knew that each one was bringing us closer to where we did not want to be. I did not know, however, that by 8am, I was already 10 cms dilated. 

When the doctor arrived, she was in tears. She said she had prayed all night that I would stop contracting, that the antibiotics would work, that she could somehow do the cerclage (stitching my cervix shut) that she wasn’t supposed to do, as I was too far dilated already. She said, despite my being dilated, Eva was still no closer to being ready to come out. I was given something to increase the contractions, and the doctor explained that after an epidural she might need to use her hands inside me to guide her little body out, which would be painful for  me. The anesthesiologist came in yelling, asking what I wanted done. At this point, the medication was kicking in and I was in constant pain, one incessant contraction. This doctor said that my doctor wanted to deliver our daughter in our room, but that she thought it’d be best to wait 45 more minutes and “have the fetus removed” (per words, translated from French) in the OR, by myself. I asked her if I could see the baby if we did it her way, she had a weird sneer or smirk or her face and said “The fetus will come out in pieces, of course you can’t see it!”  I looked around the room, to see if maybe I had heard wrong, but Patrick was just staring at her with his jaw hanging, and my mother in law looked like she could spit. My mother was looking around in confusion (she doesn’t speak French). The nurse, however, cut in almost immediately and said “Here, we deliver the baby in one piece, and you can hold her as long as you like”. Decision made. 

As the doctor prepared the epidural, Patrick and a nurse had to held my body down. I was shaking constantly, from the pain, fear, anxiety, from a horrible sense of being out of control and from anger and the woman poised with a needle at my back. It was the only time I thought that maybe I would die. It was over quickly and then we settled in to wait for it to take full effect before I started to push. In the meantime there were details to attend to. The nurses were wonderful. They had to ask us horrible questions, questions no parents want to hear or answer. Do you want to see her after? Would you like us to take pictures? Do you want a little pink knitted hat for her? Which funeral parlor should we contact for pick up? They were like angels in blue, and we knew they had seen this before and yet still felt part of our pain. I asked one if they happens a lot, and she said “Once is too many”.

Then I was asked to push. I did, with all my might. Or, with all the strength someone could muster when pushing her child to her death. It wasn’t working. In a regular labour, the baby does a lot of helping to push his/herself out. Evangeline was too little to help. Or maybe she knew it was too early. So, they amped up the drugs again. The doctor said we would just wait, and let nature take it’s course. The nurses said 2-4 hours. Patrick went down to the cafeteria to get his first meal in over 24 hours. Family members came in to see me, but within just a few minutes, I knew something had changed. There was a pressure that felt lower than my cervix. A friend went rushing to find Patrick. My mom came back in the room, and the nurse called the doctor who had already left the building. I had to summon all I had to wait. In the end, Evangeline was born with her daddy on one side of me, her Nana on the other side as the doctor struggled into her scrubs. The nurse was there for hold her. It was Sunday, October 3rd, at 2:06pm. I was 22 weeks, 4 days pregnant. Patrick baptized her with water that he and his mother had consecrated for this purpose. She was already gone. We knew that would probably happen. We had been told that with all the drugs, her little heart wouldn’t be strong enough to survive the contractions. 

Outside the door, our family had huddled, waiting to hear, to see.... They heard my anguished sobs, the first real tears I’d allowed myself, and they knew. 

An hour or so later, they brought her back to us, wrapped up in a white knit gown, with her little pink hat. The nurses had taken some pictures and took a couple more with us. She was 1lb, 3ozs, and about 13”. She was so fragile, so tiny, so perfect. She had tiny little fingernails and my nose, but otherwise she looked like her daddy, but with lots of dark hair already. We spent our only time as a family of three. We cuddled her, kissed her, sang to her. We told her how much we love her. Then, we invited her grandparents to come meet her. They each held her and spoke their words of love. It meant so much to us to be able to share her with others who were awaiting her arrival. It was a moment we’ll treasure forever. We prayed as a family.

Later, everyone had left except for my mom. Patrick had fallen asleep on the reclining chair, and the nurses were slowly unhooking me from all the machines. My mom brushed my hair, and washed my face and neck, the way I’d have done one day for Evangeline. Eventually they had me use the washroom to prove I could, and then gave me a Rh-vaccine. There was no allergic reaction and my bleeding was stable. I was cleared to leave. It had been 5 hours since I gave birth. 

It was such a short time, but it’s such a long road. I have found small mercies in this already. My mother, who had wanted so much to feel her granddaughter move in the weeks before she left us, finally got to feel her move, just hours before it was too late. Until the very end, I prayed for a miracle. I still think I’ll get my miracle, it just won’t be what I expected....

I just spent hours writing it all down....

And as a testament to my state of mind, I didn't save it. 5 pages, gone...