How long until it doesn't hurt as bad? *rainbows mentioned*
Apr 7, 2015 9:33:03 GMT -5
Post by 360blessings on Apr 7, 2015 9:33:03 GMT -5
It's been nearly 7 years since my first son Caleb was stillborn at almost 33 weeks (April 13, 2008). Today marks 7 years since the last time I heard his heartbeat, and I'm just having a rough day. Generally speaking, on a daily basis, I am able to pull myself together and even talk about him and the situation without crying. Some days are still worse than others, but each anniversary of this week leading up to his angelversary it's like I relieve those moments in vivid detail. And it hurts and still feels so raw. I can tell you exactly what was happening at what time and what I did. Today marks 7 years since I heard his heartbeat. I had an OB appointment and was sent to L&D for preeclampsia screening where I was hooked up to fetal monitor for a couple hours before they released me. Tomorrow marks 7 years from my first and only childbirth class. The leader asked our favorite part of pregnancy. Mine was feeling him move. By Saturday, April 12th, I was at work and realized I hadn't felt him move in awhile. I worked on my feet and was a store manager for Babies R Us. My husband was out of town for the day and ironically, so was my OB and they were in the same town. I called my OB after a while, and he told me to head to L&D. I waited another couple hours until closer to the end of my shift and when my DH was back home. We ate Papa Murphy's take out pizza and had red koolaid for dinner before we headed to the hospital. We had nothing packed and I almost told DH to turn the car around that I was being paranoid.
We got to the hospital just before shift change. The put me in their first triage room, and our nurse Amanda tried to find the heartbeat. One moment we thought we had it, but it was just my heartbeat. She then went to get a resident and a portable ultrasound machine. When the resident came in and did the ultrasound, I immediately knew something was wrong and the familiar flicker I was used to seeing wasn't there. The resident and Amanda quickly left without a word and I started crying. My husband tried to comfort me that we still didn't know anything, but I knew. It seemed like forever went by and we heard voices outside our door. The on-call OB for my doctor came in the room with at least 4-5 other people (resident, nurses, etc). His first words to us were, "I'm sorry, your baby is dead." Just. Like. That. The blood-curdling scream from deep within me still haunts my nightmares. We had gone through nearly 5 years of IF treatments to get pregnant. He was our miracle. This wasn't supposed to happen. None of our family lived close, and my OB was in another state. Thankfully, as soon as he received word, he left his son's lacrosse tournament and drove back to take care of us. It was late when he got to the hospital. I was already 4 cm dilated when the checked and my OB did another ultrasound just to confirm the inevitable. He cried with us. The triage nurse, Amanda, actually stayed over even though shift change was just as we had gotten to the hospital. The rest of that night was a blur. I know I was drugged up on something. Early in the morning the anesthesiologist came in to give me an epidural. I had no objections and my OB didn't want me to be in any more pain than the emotional pain I was already going though. I had earlier asked for a c-section, but was told no. My OB gently told us that since there was no risk to the baby, and it was better for me, they didn't want me to have to have a major surgery to recover from as well. Several hours after the epidural was working my OB came in to break my water. Within 3 hours, my first son, my first child, my miracle was born silently and placed on my chest. I hate having to relive these memories. I hate that I have to "visit" him at the cemetery. I hate that all I can do "for him" is bring flowers to his grave and send kisses to Heaven. I hate that my subsequent children will never know their brother, although they know of him and miss him in their own way. I hate that every year as April turns the corner, I have this sad ache in my heart. I hate that my blooming daffodils and white buds on the flowering pear trees all take me back to the moments of coming home from the hospital with empty arms, and from his funeral.
So moms, who have grieved longer than I have, tell me, when do moments like this get easier? When will the time come when I still remember but the pain isn't so raw and fresh?
We got to the hospital just before shift change. The put me in their first triage room, and our nurse Amanda tried to find the heartbeat. One moment we thought we had it, but it was just my heartbeat. She then went to get a resident and a portable ultrasound machine. When the resident came in and did the ultrasound, I immediately knew something was wrong and the familiar flicker I was used to seeing wasn't there. The resident and Amanda quickly left without a word and I started crying. My husband tried to comfort me that we still didn't know anything, but I knew. It seemed like forever went by and we heard voices outside our door. The on-call OB for my doctor came in the room with at least 4-5 other people (resident, nurses, etc). His first words to us were, "I'm sorry, your baby is dead." Just. Like. That. The blood-curdling scream from deep within me still haunts my nightmares. We had gone through nearly 5 years of IF treatments to get pregnant. He was our miracle. This wasn't supposed to happen. None of our family lived close, and my OB was in another state. Thankfully, as soon as he received word, he left his son's lacrosse tournament and drove back to take care of us. It was late when he got to the hospital. I was already 4 cm dilated when the checked and my OB did another ultrasound just to confirm the inevitable. He cried with us. The triage nurse, Amanda, actually stayed over even though shift change was just as we had gotten to the hospital. The rest of that night was a blur. I know I was drugged up on something. Early in the morning the anesthesiologist came in to give me an epidural. I had no objections and my OB didn't want me to be in any more pain than the emotional pain I was already going though. I had earlier asked for a c-section, but was told no. My OB gently told us that since there was no risk to the baby, and it was better for me, they didn't want me to have to have a major surgery to recover from as well. Several hours after the epidural was working my OB came in to break my water. Within 3 hours, my first son, my first child, my miracle was born silently and placed on my chest. I hate having to relive these memories. I hate that I have to "visit" him at the cemetery. I hate that all I can do "for him" is bring flowers to his grave and send kisses to Heaven. I hate that my subsequent children will never know their brother, although they know of him and miss him in their own way. I hate that every year as April turns the corner, I have this sad ache in my heart. I hate that my blooming daffodils and white buds on the flowering pear trees all take me back to the moments of coming home from the hospital with empty arms, and from his funeral.
So moms, who have grieved longer than I have, tell me, when do moments like this get easier? When will the time come when I still remember but the pain isn't so raw and fresh?
Really made my heart swell and my eyes tear up. We then we to the party store so they could pick out a balloon. As the ladies were blowing up the balloon they asked him whose birthday it was. He told them it was for his brother, and when they asked how old, he told them that Caleb was 7 but in Heaven so we were going to take the balloon to his brother at the cemetery. I know it almost made them cry and probably a little uncomfortable, but he is so proud that he has a brother in Heaven and I love that he talks about him as if it isn't a huge deal and he just loves him anyway. 
