This post is a deviation from the others. This isn’t about abuse or therapy or any of those things. It’s about grief.
My husband and I suffered with infertility for years. We sought medical help but still no pregnancy. We moved on to IVF and our first attempt was a success. A wonderful success….twins! We were so very happy. We had frequent ultrasounds and learned it was a boy and a girl. They were growing well and they looked perfect.
Four years ago today I woke with a horrible headache, the worst headache of my life. I stayed home from work which is very unusual for me. The next morning it hurt to breathe. I went to my regular doctor and they said it was likely anxiety to go home and call my high risk ob. I did and I went into his office the next day.
My heart sank when I saw the ultrasound. They didn’t have to tell me that something was wrong, it knew it by looking. My son had no amniotic fluid. His sister was pressing down on him. The tech left to get the doctor. I asked if I should call my husband and they said yes. I sat in that tiny room for an hour waiting for the doctor.
When the doctor came into the room he said that he had been doing research to determine the best course of action. He said we only had a 10% chance of our daughter surviving. Our son had no chance as he would rest on his umbilical card and cut off his life source. He suggested we terminate the pregnancy. I said no, that we would take the 10% chance. I was sent home with antibiotics and strict bed rest.
That night my temperature spiked and I knew neither of my children would be coming home. I delayed going labor and delivery for as long as possible. When we finally arrived my temperature was 104 and I was very sick. I laid in the hospital bed knowing that if I just relaxed I would go somewhere that felt very warm and peaceful. I could see it and feel it. My husband kept yelling for me to hang on. I just didn’t feel like I could leave him so I fought to hang on. My husband ran to get help and the nurse came in and called a code. My husband said the room quickly filled with people and they ran with me to the ICU. He thought he had lost his wife and his two children.
I had to deliver the twins in order to survive. A faulty chest x-ray led them to believe that I might have an infection in my chest instead of my uterus. They started massive amounts of antibiotics and we waited.
My family was allowed to stay with me around the clock and they did. They were told the odds were greater of me dying than surviving.
The next morning I went into labor on my own. My beautiful son was born still. Two hours later my daughter was born and passed about 5 minutes after her birth. She wasn’t yet 24 weeks so there was no attempt to save her.
I miss my children everyday. It’s hard to believe it has been 4 years and yet at the same time it seems like it was yesterday. Even though I now have a living child my arms are still empty. Their birth being near Mother’s Day certainly doesn’t help.
I know I need to just let myself grieve and practice self care. The tears just seem to come in rivers this morning. I’m really dreading the 13th their actual birthday.