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Elaine
Mom to Blaine
Born at 17 weeks on April 13th, 2010
Ontario, Canada
Mom to Blaine
Born at 17 weeks on April 13th, 2010
Ontario, Canada
This is the story of how we lost our little boy Blaine. Even a life this short can make a huge impact. While I wish I still had my son with me, I would not trade those 17 weeks for anything.
The Descent
My husband and I started trying for our second child in December 2009. We were very lucky to get pregnant the first try. I was extremely sick right away with nausea, exhaustion and body aches. But I was very healthy otherwise and the baby was thriving. I was in good condition...exercised regularly and ate well most of the time. I called him my little parasite, I felt like crap because he was draining all my nutrients. It was a good thing and I suffered with joy.
I first felt the baby move at 8 weeks. A mouse ran across our living room floor and as I jumped a second later the baby jumped. It's like he knew from then on what he was physically capable of. Every couple of days from then on I'd feel a little jump. He became Momma's Little Nudger. I couldn't wait to feel the little movements. Normally it felt like a little butterfly was fluttering.
I had my first ultrasound on March 15th. The ultrasound went perfectly. He was a stubborn little guy and was dancing around but wouldn't show the lab tech his back so it took a while. I had to go and eat ice cream to get him to move around some more. When the lab tech showed me the screen I swear to God my son waved. Yes, it was his hand moving up and down and most of you will think he didn't have any idea that he was making a waving motion. But I know how smart my son was!! He waved at his Momma. Maybe he knew it was the only time he'd get to say hello.
I had my next doctors appt on April 5th, I took my little girl with me so she could hear the babies heartbeat. Boy, did he have a heartbeat. It was like a stallion romping around my uterus. Big Sis was so excited to hear the baby. She wanted this baby as much as me and Daddy did. The doctor said he sounded very strong and healthy, that his heart was powerful. I had a healthy little baby boy inside me. I had not yet confirmed he was a boy but I just knew. It's funny, with my daughter I wanted a boy, I always wanted a boy growing up. I had it in my head that I could raise the perfect man. But I knew right away she was a girl. This time around I wanted another girl, another little princess. But I knew within weeks I was having a boy.
I started feeling better around 13 weeks, feeling stronger and was even working out again.
On Sunday April 11th I woke up around midnight, I was just past 17 weeks. I didn't know why I had woken. And then I realized I had a pain in my stomach. A minute later I had another. I went to the washroom and there was blood. The one thing you don't want to see when you're pregnant, blood. I tried to stay calm and went and told my husband. I felt another pain. This one was worse. And I knew what it was. Having gone through 17 hours of natural labour with my daughter I knew what a labour pain was. I called the hospital and they said to go to emergency, not the maternity ward because I was only 17 weeks along. This was not yet a baby to the hospital administrators. I started crying. My husband tried to calm me and I tried to convince myself that it wasn't that bad. Maybe they could give me some drugs and I'd stay in bed for the rest of my pregnancy. For anyone who knows me you know that's not such a bad thing, I generally have the temperament of a big lazy cat.
We got to the hospital at about 1:30 am. I sat in the waiting room for about an hour and they got me into a room. The doctor came about an hour later. He took an ultrasound, he was optimistic, my baby was fine, still swimming around in there, still with that strong healthy heartbeat. It was the last time I would see my son on this Earth. The doctor, who by the way had hands like a Sasquatch, did an internal exam. I could tell by the look on his face even before he said it. "I'm sorry to tell you that you're having a miscarriage, you're three centimetres dilated." My husband and I both burst into tears. We held each other. I had him wait a couple of hours and then call my Mom who came to be with us. Thankfully my mother in law lives close by and was watching Big Sis.
The next day is a blur. I was on morphine and oxytocin (which induces contractions). I couldn't eat or drink because they may have to do a D&C. I don't want an abortion and you may have to give me one to take my living baby out of my dying uterus. I couldn't deal with it. This doctor that was like 15 years old came in to "help." We named him Doogie. It was the only comic relief we got and I am thankful for Doogie. His awkwardness took some of the stress away. He did some work "down there" to help me along but then told me he didn't really know what to do and went to talk to his superiors. They decided to just keep me on the drugs and let me do it naturally. I kept asking if they couldn't just knock me out and do what they had to do. In hindsight I'm really glad they didn't.
At about 10:30 that night, Monday the 12th, Doogie and his superiors decided to unhook me from the machines and let me sleep. I was allowed to eat something and drink some water. My husband left to go home, he wanted to change and see our daughter who was thankfully with Grandma. I cried myself to sleep. My husband came back in the night and we slept til about 7:30. We laid in bed and talked. I got up and put on some deodorant, laughed about how badly I stank. That is my most vivid memory. The smell of blood, sweat and tears. It filled the room.
My baby was born at 8:40am on Tuesday April 13th and it is mostly a blur. I remember it like I remember a movie I once saw. The doctors were there, Dr Sasquatch and Doogie and a female Dr who I imagine was Doogies Mother superior. We confirmed he was the boy I thought he was and he was perfectly formed. We made the decision, the wrong decision, not to spend time with him or hold him. We named him Blaine, I had already been calling him that secretly for weeks! I will forever regret the decision not to see him and hold him. Medically there was nothing wrong with Blaine. There was nothing wrong with me. The doctor said this was a "fluke." I guess I am supposed to take comfort in that. I do not. I don't take comfort in being part of the 1% of women that this happens to. I would rather have fallen or lifted something or smoked crack or drank too much coffee or anything to explain it. How do you prevent a "fluke" from happening again? I just went into labour far too soon.
We went home from the hospital at about noon. My parents and sister took us home. We are trying to get pregnant again, trying to heal, trying to move on with our lives. Trying to parent our little princess. When you're baby dies inside you you are ultimately alone in that pain, there are no words to describe the pain, the grief, the anger, the feeling that God or yourself or life has betrayed you. Thank God I have my husband to hold me up, my daughter to make me laugh, my online friends who are part of this sad sad club to comfort me and listen to my rants, my faith in God to preserve me.
I first felt the baby move at 8 weeks. A mouse ran across our living room floor and as I jumped a second later the baby jumped. It's like he knew from then on what he was physically capable of. Every couple of days from then on I'd feel a little jump. He became Momma's Little Nudger. I couldn't wait to feel the little movements. Normally it felt like a little butterfly was fluttering.
I had my first ultrasound on March 15th. The ultrasound went perfectly. He was a stubborn little guy and was dancing around but wouldn't show the lab tech his back so it took a while. I had to go and eat ice cream to get him to move around some more. When the lab tech showed me the screen I swear to God my son waved. Yes, it was his hand moving up and down and most of you will think he didn't have any idea that he was making a waving motion. But I know how smart my son was!! He waved at his Momma. Maybe he knew it was the only time he'd get to say hello.
I had my next doctors appt on April 5th, I took my little girl with me so she could hear the babies heartbeat. Boy, did he have a heartbeat. It was like a stallion romping around my uterus. Big Sis was so excited to hear the baby. She wanted this baby as much as me and Daddy did. The doctor said he sounded very strong and healthy, that his heart was powerful. I had a healthy little baby boy inside me. I had not yet confirmed he was a boy but I just knew. It's funny, with my daughter I wanted a boy, I always wanted a boy growing up. I had it in my head that I could raise the perfect man. But I knew right away she was a girl. This time around I wanted another girl, another little princess. But I knew within weeks I was having a boy.
I started feeling better around 13 weeks, feeling stronger and was even working out again.
On Sunday April 11th I woke up around midnight, I was just past 17 weeks. I didn't know why I had woken. And then I realized I had a pain in my stomach. A minute later I had another. I went to the washroom and there was blood. The one thing you don't want to see when you're pregnant, blood. I tried to stay calm and went and told my husband. I felt another pain. This one was worse. And I knew what it was. Having gone through 17 hours of natural labour with my daughter I knew what a labour pain was. I called the hospital and they said to go to emergency, not the maternity ward because I was only 17 weeks along. This was not yet a baby to the hospital administrators. I started crying. My husband tried to calm me and I tried to convince myself that it wasn't that bad. Maybe they could give me some drugs and I'd stay in bed for the rest of my pregnancy. For anyone who knows me you know that's not such a bad thing, I generally have the temperament of a big lazy cat.
We got to the hospital at about 1:30 am. I sat in the waiting room for about an hour and they got me into a room. The doctor came about an hour later. He took an ultrasound, he was optimistic, my baby was fine, still swimming around in there, still with that strong healthy heartbeat. It was the last time I would see my son on this Earth. The doctor, who by the way had hands like a Sasquatch, did an internal exam. I could tell by the look on his face even before he said it. "I'm sorry to tell you that you're having a miscarriage, you're three centimetres dilated." My husband and I both burst into tears. We held each other. I had him wait a couple of hours and then call my Mom who came to be with us. Thankfully my mother in law lives close by and was watching Big Sis.
The next day is a blur. I was on morphine and oxytocin (which induces contractions). I couldn't eat or drink because they may have to do a D&C. I don't want an abortion and you may have to give me one to take my living baby out of my dying uterus. I couldn't deal with it. This doctor that was like 15 years old came in to "help." We named him Doogie. It was the only comic relief we got and I am thankful for Doogie. His awkwardness took some of the stress away. He did some work "down there" to help me along but then told me he didn't really know what to do and went to talk to his superiors. They decided to just keep me on the drugs and let me do it naturally. I kept asking if they couldn't just knock me out and do what they had to do. In hindsight I'm really glad they didn't.
At about 10:30 that night, Monday the 12th, Doogie and his superiors decided to unhook me from the machines and let me sleep. I was allowed to eat something and drink some water. My husband left to go home, he wanted to change and see our daughter who was thankfully with Grandma. I cried myself to sleep. My husband came back in the night and we slept til about 7:30. We laid in bed and talked. I got up and put on some deodorant, laughed about how badly I stank. That is my most vivid memory. The smell of blood, sweat and tears. It filled the room.
My baby was born at 8:40am on Tuesday April 13th and it is mostly a blur. I remember it like I remember a movie I once saw. The doctors were there, Dr Sasquatch and Doogie and a female Dr who I imagine was Doogies Mother superior. We confirmed he was the boy I thought he was and he was perfectly formed. We made the decision, the wrong decision, not to spend time with him or hold him. We named him Blaine, I had already been calling him that secretly for weeks! I will forever regret the decision not to see him and hold him. Medically there was nothing wrong with Blaine. There was nothing wrong with me. The doctor said this was a "fluke." I guess I am supposed to take comfort in that. I do not. I don't take comfort in being part of the 1% of women that this happens to. I would rather have fallen or lifted something or smoked crack or drank too much coffee or anything to explain it. How do you prevent a "fluke" from happening again? I just went into labour far too soon.
We went home from the hospital at about noon. My parents and sister took us home. We are trying to get pregnant again, trying to heal, trying to move on with our lives. Trying to parent our little princess. When you're baby dies inside you you are ultimately alone in that pain, there are no words to describe the pain, the grief, the anger, the feeling that God or yourself or life has betrayed you. Thank God I have my husband to hold me up, my daughter to make me laugh, my online friends who are part of this sad sad club to comfort me and listen to my rants, my faith in God to preserve me.
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