For those of you that read my blogs, tips, or Facebook pages, you know what I do...but you don't necessarily know me. So today's post is a little different...I thought I would give you a story about me.
Warning: Graphic images and pictures, please do not read if you are sensitive to images or offend easily. This is not meant to offend, but to inform, and to let you get to know me a little better and maybe help someone else who is struggling. Keep tissues handy.
My daughter turned 7 a month ago yesterday. She is my miracle baby. My pregnancy with her was not an easy one. I was terrified the entire time. You see, while she is my only child, she is not my first pregnancy. I have been pregnant twice before I was blessed with her. I say blessed because both of my previous pregnancies ended in miscarriage. Such a dirty word. Unfortunately, they weren't miscarriages in the first 12 weeks like some experience and which we, as woman, are all told occur pretty regularly. These miscarriages occurred in my 16th and 17th weeks. Here is my story.
I was married before, happily at the time, when I got pregnant the first time at 21 years old. My pregnancy was normal and everything was going well. I turned 22 in April of that year and a week later my father-in-law passed away. It was a rough time for my husband (at the time) and the family, but it got worse. A week after we buried my father-in-law, my water broke. I was 16 1/2 weeks pregnant.
Now, I never went into labor on my own and after much discussion with my doctor decided to try to save the pregnancy despite my bag being open. I went to specialist after specialist and was not given very good news. I was constantly leaking fluid, even with being on bed rest, I was losing more fluid than I was keeping in my bag for the baby. They couldn't close the bag back up (yes, I did ask) and they couldn't prevent the fluid from leaking out. After 5 weeks of being on semi bed rest (we had a tri-level split house and I didn't have anyone who could be off work for months to care for me so I had to be laying down or sitting with my feet up except when I was going to the bathroom or getting food or drink), I was sent to Loyola Hospital for special ultrasounds to check my fluid levels again and see how the baby was doing. It wasn't good news. I had even less fluid in than I had for the previous ultrasound and doctors were becoming extremely concerned.
The doctors were concerned for a few reasons. The first was which with my bag being open, I posed risk for infection. Infection that they could do nothing to prevent and if the infection was bad enough or not caught fast enough, could mean leaving me sterile or even death. I was also told that the baby had little to no chance of survival at this point. They said that there was little to no chance that I could carry her full term, if I could carry her full term, the likeliness of her surviving the birth process was slim to none. If, by some miracle, she survived the birth process, she would be unable to move any of her limbs, have any brain function, or breath without machines. You see, that fluid I was leaking is what teaching the baby how to breath, without the fluid she would basically suffocate inside me. That fluid also allows the baby to move inside my uterus and without that movement her joints would freeze and lock up, making it impossible for any of them to move later. That fluid also is what helps the body to expand around her allowing her to grow, without it my body would not expand and would squish her. If she by some chance survived being squished and suffocation, she would be living on machines and unable to move on her own. After a long discussion with my then husband, we decided to take the advice given by my doctor (every week for the past 6 weeks) to terminate the pregnancy.
I was 24 weeks when she was born. Yes, I did say born. My nightmare didn't end with the difficult decision we had to make. I actually had to go through labor and delivery. And to add insult to injury, I had to be induced by given drugs known to cause miscarriage. See the hospital that my insurance covered was a Catholic hospital. My doctor had gotten special permission to induce me, but when I went in for that inducement I found out that they changed their mind. Why? Because my baby still had a heart beat and I didn't show any signs of infection. I had seen my doctor on Friday and he gave me a medication known to cause miscarriage (I think he was trying to prepare for just in case the hospital did give him problems despite having permission, which they did) so Monday when I went in to be induced....they sent me home and refused to do it. The medication kicked in that night and by morning I was in labor.
I will apologize for the graininess on some of these pictures since they are pictures of pictures in a photo book memorial that I have for her.
Kara was born....alive. She lived for about 30 minutes. She looks like a doll, miniature version, but still a doll and at 24 weeks is recognizable as a baby.
The bruising on her bottom and legs was because she was sitting on my bladder the entire last 6 weeks with no fluid and was born breach. I made it to the hospital in time to have her, but not to even have my IV or any pain medication until after she was born. At the time when she was born, 12 years ago now, the hospitals were not equipped to handle a baby born at her gestation, at least not the ones close enough to help and I don't think they were prepared for the possibility that she would even be born alive. I know I wasn't and didn't even realize she was alive until they called her time of death. I was devastated as was all of my family and my then husband's family.
She was not tiny, but she was small. She weighed in at a little over a pound and was 12 inches long. If you look closely at the pictures I posted of her, it looks like she has a giant bear with her and a bracelet on. The bracelet is actually my wedding band and the bear is a beanie baby. I took a picture of the bear here with my computer mouse to give you an idea of its size.
After losing Kara, my doctor ran multiple tests and found I had an autoimmune disease. Antiphospholipid Antibody Syndrome to be exact. This disorder, is genetic, and causes the blood to clot too much. This means that I am prone to blood clots, poor circulation, and have issues carrying full term. It also can manifest in other ways but multiple miscarriages is usually one of the main symptoms including headaches, migraines, and stroke to name a few. Here is one sight for more information if you want to look into it....
. Basically, I have to be on some sort of blood thinner (for me this is a low dose aspirin, but can be as bad as having to get heparin shots depending on the severity) every day, but especially when I am pregnant. It also means that I struggle with anemia.
After Kara, I was depressed, but was able to get pregnant about 3 months later. January 14, 2003 marked another disaster for me. I dilated 4 1/2 centimeters with no labor pains, pressure, or any discomfort at all. I was once again 16 1/2 weeks pregnant. This time I was rushed up north where my doctor's teacher was a doctor to have my cervix stitched closed. By the time I was prepped for surgery my bag was leaking again. Again, I had to go through full labor and due to complications with the delivery (placenta born first and baby refusing to come out), I was rushed down to the ER for emergency D&C because I was starting to hemorrhage.
Now you can see why I say my daughter is my miracle child. Her delivery wasn't easy (sunny side up baby, had to be turned manually during deliver, and gave me lots of stitches) and I was terrified during my entire pregnancy that I was going to face the same problems again, but she was born a healthy 8 pound baby at full term 40 weeks. I was on aspirin daily and had my cervix stitched closed at 12 weeks, but she made it full term. This story isn't usually something I share with everyone, but lately I am seeing more and more Facebook posts about people having miscarriages. It is not something we find easy to share with each other, our stories that is, because it is so personal, so hurtful, so emotionally scarring. I think as women, boyfriends, husbands, and families, we need to start sharing. Sometimes it helps to hear that you are not going through it alone, even if the situation is a little or a lot different from your own. Sometimes it helps to hear that someone is there to listen while you talk. Kara would of been 12 this past July, my second daughter (we did not name her, Kara was born alive and because of state law had to have a funeral and I did not want to bury her without a name)would have been 12 next month and it is still difficult to talk about. I do feel it gets easier with time, with sharing it with people. I still cry, I still hurt, I still struggle some days especially on their birthdays. I will never forget them, never forget what I went through, but talking about it does help me to heal a little more and maybe will help someone else heal a little too.
