Birth Of This Blog

On July 4th, 2014, I lost one of the true loves of my life when my son, David, was born prematurely at 23 weeks.  He lived only a day, but impacted me greatly, and still does.  In an effort to connect, heal, and find myself again, I have turned to one of my passions…cooking and baking. So, here goes!

A Love Lost

For me to say good-bye to 2014 hurt.  Plain and simple. I thought I might be happy to ring in 2015 and all that it, hopefully, would bring, but on New Year’s Eve all I could do was reflect on a year that was so tragic for me that I ended up being sad most of the night.  Let me explain…

Before My Life Changed Forever

In February 2014, my husband and I learned that we were pregnant with our second child!  I found out on a Saturday morning, before I was to go on a 28KM run with my girls.  Needless to say, I didn’t go on my run, and stopped running altogether for fear of miscarrying.  I was 37 years old and didn’t want to do anything that would jeopardize this pregnancy.

So, airing on the side of caution was my strategy for everything. At the time, my daughter was two and would be just 3 by the time our baby was born.  Seemed perfect and I was excited for her, especially!  Because of complications that we had with my daughter’s birth, we were considered ‘high risk’, despite my age, and were set up with a specialist right away.  I was really hoping for a less stressful pregnancy this time around.  The first 3 months were the normal, stressful, please-God-let-me-make-it-to-12-weeks, I-can-hardly-wait-to-announce-my-news times. But, we made it! And I enjoyed sharing my great news with everyone.

My fourth month was my best time.  We went to Florida with my parents, sister and her husband and son, the baby’s heart beat was consistent and strong and I was feeling great!  In my 19th week of pregnancy, my brother-in-law was riding in the Ride to Conquer Cancer, that was starting in Toronto, where we live.  So, my sister and her son joined him and stayed with us over the weekend. We had a normal, fun weekend.  On Sunday, June 8th, 2014, we went to Church and then we were driving around, trying to decide where to go for brunch.

We took forever figuring this out and I was starting not to feel well.  I didn’t make much of this, as I often didn’t feel well if I was hungry when I was pregnant.  After, what turned into lunch, we went home to put my daughter down for her nap.  I, also, decided to take a nap.  Pretty easy-going Sunday so far, right?  I got up, about an hour later, went to the bathroom and saw blood.  I panicked, yelled for my husband and we rushed off to the hospital.  It was a small miracle that my sister was with us that weekend, as we have no family in the city, which would’ve made rushing off to the hospital, with a 2 year old, difficult.  Not being officially at 20 weeks, I sat in the emergency room for 2 hours before they finally said I was close enough and admitted me into OB Triage.

A Dream Falling Apart

I was admitted to hospital, as they couldn’t send me home as long as I was actively bleeding.  Just like that, my life changed.  No longer could I go back to work, care for my daughter and enjoy my pregnancy.  That following Monday, I had an ultrasound, where we found out we were having a boy!  What should have been a beautiful moment was incredibly heartbreaking.

The doctors were speaking over me and not to me.  I heard them say that my amniotic fluid was ok, but not great. I later learned I had had a placental abruption.  Every day while I was in hospital, a nurse would check my blood pressure and my baby’s perfect heart beat, morning and night.  But, that was it!  No IV, or any medical measures taken.  I felt like a ticking time bomb, and they were just waiting me out till I blew.  It was a sad and helpless feeling.

On Friday, June 13, 2014, the bleeding had pretty much stopped and my doctor said that I could go home, but not back to work and pretty much carry on my pregnancy!  I was very encouraged, but he wanted me to have another ultrasound before I left, just to make sure everything was okay.  My husband was on his way to the hospital to pick me up and bring me home when my doctor came into my room and told me that I had lost about 80% of my amniotic fluid, that he couldn’t let me go home, and asked if I wanted to induce labour.

We both knew my baby wouldn’t survive so young. 

I sat there in shock and wanted him to leave my room so that I could cry in private.  But, he wouldn’t!  He just sat there and waited for me to react. I held it in as long as I could until I couldn’t bear it anymore and I started to cry.  My baby’s heartbeat was perfect.  How could I end his life?!  I couldn’t.  I wouldn’t.

That following Monday, even though I continued to leak amniotic fluid, they let me go home, since my plan was to save my baby, and they thought it would psychologically, be easier for me to be in my own home to rest.  I was 20 weeks pregnant, at this point, and needed to make it to 24 weeks before any doctor would step in and take measures to save my baby. It was an agonizing time, knowing I had so far to go.

To help us cope with everything, my mom travelled 3 hours, from Windsor, ON, and moved in with us until I had my baby.  She was a godsend.  I don’t know what we would’ve done without her.  I had several friends come through for us as well, and we had many dinners made for us over the course of the weeks I was off my feet.

On July 3rd, 2014, after my weekly ultrasound, I had a visit with my doctor, who was wanting us to prepare for me going back into the hospital to be monitored, as I was nearing my 24 week mark.  I had some hope!  Finally!  When we got home, and as I was walking into my house, I felt a gush, which wasn’t completely unusual because I was leaking amniotic fluid since I started bleeding back in early June.  But, this gush felt significant, so I went inside and lied down, hoping I wouldn’t leak anymore fluid for the night.

One Week Shy

Around 5AM on Friday, July 4th, 2014, I woke up not feeling so well.  By 6AM, I went to the bathroom and saw blood.  I yelled for my husband and my mom came running in as well.  I burst into tears and my husband and I were off to the hospital.  They admitted me quickly this time, but it felt like forever before I felt any relief from the pain.  They needed to determine if I had an infection.  A concern my doctor had from the beginning.  The pain was so intense, both physically and emotionally, I could barely handle it.  I was curled up into the fetal position crying harder than I’ve ever cried, into my husband, who was standing next to me, with my right arm stretched out as the nurses poked and poked and poked my arm again, trying to draw blood, without success.

They had to finally draw from my foot.  When they finally gave me morphine, I remember the doctor telling me that it would take 30 minutes to take effect.  30 minutes!!!  I was already dying.  It was torturous to wait.  They checked my cervix once.  Then twice, and determined that I was going into labour.  I remember saying to the doctor, ‘I’m going to lose my baby, aren’t I?’.  She just squeezed my hand and looked at me.

They took me into a delivery room, so that I could deliver my baby boy.  It was considered ‘palliative care’.  No measures would be taken to save my son.  I was just days shy of that 24 week mark and it was hospital protocol not to step in before that time.  It was a heartbreaking experience to be in a delivery room again, remembering all the hustle and bustle of when I delivered my daughter, 2 and a half years earlier.  This time, it was so quiet.  Just the nurse, most of the time.  There was no excitement, no smiles.  Nothing but tears and disbelief that this was all happening.

They gave me my epidural and I was finally beginning to feel some relief from the pain, until I started shivering uncontrollably.  They put a heated blanket on me, then another, and then another up around my head.  This was caused by the infection that I had somehow gotten, called Chorio.  A short-form word for a long medical term that basically meant I had gotten an infection of the amniotic fluid that I had so little of, and this infection pushed my body into labour.

The Delivery

Before I knew it, my baby, David, was born at 2:50 PM on July 4th, 2014. Only took a few pushes, since he was so small.  The first words I said to him were, “I’m so sorry” and I asked the nurse if the chaplain could come and baptize him.  I kissed him and handed him over to my husband, as I had to go into the OR to get the placenta completely removed.

David was alive for 3 hours before he passed away in my husband’s arms. 

We found out after he had passed that he weighed 1 pound 1 ounce.  A nice size for a baby of 23 weeks gestation.  This hurt to know, as the hospital saves lots of babies who are 1 pound.  To this day, I wonder, if they had known he was 1 pound while he was still alive, could they have saved him?!

I was so heavily drugged, I don’t remember much while David was alive.  When we came back from the OR, my mom was waiting for us in the delivery room.  She got to hold him while he was still alive.  She’s the only one in my family who ever got to meet David.  We all took turns holding him for hours after David had passed away.

The nurses needed to move me from the delivery room into my own room, but were very gracious about giving us as much time as we needed.  They had told us that they would keep David’s body on the same floor as us, should we want to see him again.  We decided to say our goodbyes before heading into my new room, as David’s body was beginning to deteriorate and we thought that going to a new room without him would be somehow easier than being in the room they took him from.  We all kissed him goodbye and told him that we loved him and I handed him over to the nurse, never to see him again.

The After Math

It was nothing short of surreal once we were brought into my new room.  A butterfly was posted outside of my door, so that staff would know that I had lost my baby.  The nurses were lovely and supportive and apologetic.  A Social Worker came to speak to us about how we were handling our loss.

Friends came to visit.  It was all so new, I didn’t really know what to say about all that had happened.  I was still on an IV getting medication for the infection I had had, and so I had to stay in the hospital.  We were cleared to leave the hospital the following evening.  We were given a box with David’s little outfit that he was wearing, a teddy bear, a CD of pictures and a card with his hand and foot prints.  I remember sharing an elevator down to the parking garage with a woman who was very pregnant thinking, ‘I wonder if she knows that I just lost my baby?!’.  We left the hospital with a box and no baby.

Planning My Baby’s Funeral 

I was pretty numb throughout this whole process.  My husband, Michael, felt most of the pressure in this.  We needed to register David’s death certificate, but because he was only 1 pound, 1 ounce, he didn’t qualify on the governments requisite scale.  It was a whole other headache we just weren’t capable of dealing with!  To plan a funeral after a birth is something I can’t describe, and nothing I’d wish for anyone to experience.

Michael, eventually, broke down about having to do so much ‘work’ around the loss of his son.  My dad and my sister went to the Church for us and took care of the details there.  My dad is a concert pianist; he was the perfect person to discuss the music for the funeral.  We upgraded for David and had a singer from the Canadian Opera House sing the solos during mass.  It was perfect and lovely and worth every extra cent.

My good friend, Mary, took care of all the other details around the reception.  She pulled some strings and got a local favorite restaurant of ours to open for us privately.  They did us proud.  I felt like we honoured David in that day as much as we ever could.  It’s a feeling I hold in my heart still.

We ended up having David cremated, since we don’t know where we will be buried yet, and want him to be with us. I light a candle for him every day, next to his urn.  I talk to him, every day.  He’s my direct link to God.  My sweet baby boy, I miss you.  I wish you were here with me. I will honor you all the days of my life.  <3