One Year Later

It has been 365 days since we said goodbye. The roller coaster that has been the last 12 months has finally pulled up to the station. In some ways it was a fast year, but in other ways it seems like it has taken forever to get here. It seems like another lifetime ago and that it happened to someone other than me. The me of 366 days ago was a completely different person than the me of 365 days ago, which is completely different from the me of today. Hell, the husband and wife team of Brad and I has transformed in ways I never would have thought possible. I didn’t know if I would ever be able to resume life, go to work, eat and sleep like a normal person and yet I’m still here.

I think about Charlotte every day. Probably more like at least once an hour every single day and I’m pretty confident that will be the case for the rest of my life. Sometimes the sadness is still so profound that it takes my breath away. But most of the time I cannot articulate how happy (and relieved) I am in my current life. I realize that not everyone who experiences stillbirth is so blessed to have the year that we have had and I am beyond grateful for so many things. I am so happy that I got pregnant so quickly, that the pregnancy flew by, that I am not pregnant at this first anniversary, but also that I was able to get pregnant and already have a living, gorgeous baby.

I could never picture a baby or child version of Charlotte. I panicked my way through the pregnancy and I think in some ways, I knew how it was going to end. I couldn’t accept it and wouldn’t have believed it had you told me, but I was almost prepared for it. I don’t think, although I’ll never know, if that fact made it any easier. I doubt it, it would be hard for any of this to be any iota of easy.

The last 12 days of last December were the longest of my life. Christmas and the days before and after were hard. There were more tears than I would have imagined shed during those days and nights and every step of the way Brad would hold me as the emotions spilled over. I tried to be myself around family, but it wasn’t easy. Unfortunately, or fortunately, it was necessary because it was the holidays and distractions were welcome. I would be exhausted at the end of the day, but I couldn’t sleep. I had so many conflicting thoughts about life, pregnancy, and whether I would ever be “Heather” again.

This year had so many ups and downs. Most of the lows had to do with work. On my third week of working from home (I had four approved by my boss), the owner of the company questioned why I was “allowed” to work from home. He told my boss that I was “setting a precedent,” and that no one had permission to work remotely, even though there was a girl in my department who had worked in a different state for several years. I had to use vacation days the last week that I wasn’t in the office. Everything that I had done at my job up until that point was questioned and scrutinized while I was out, so I went back to the office earlier than I had planned to. Not even a month back one of the C level guys compared a slap on the wrist to a company in our sector to “showing pictures of dead babies” in a meeting I was attending. I had already started looking for another job by this point.

In April my boss, who was my greatest protector, was fired. Aside from that, I hit my due date, which was hard, but I lived. I thankfully spent it outside of the office. I found out that I have a genetic anomaly called MTHFR which prevents the body from absorbing folic acid correctly. I also learned that there were blood clots in my placenta. Then I was told that Charlotte had Trisomy 21, which completely knocked me off of my feet. Thankfully there were enough ups to make up for the craziness.

Eleven weeks after Charlotte was born, I got a positive pregnancy test. Eight weeks later, after my second ultrasound at my first high risk appointment at 12 weeks, I quit my job. I could not go through another pregnancy no matter the outcome at such a lousy place to work. I found a new, easy, flexible job that wouldn’t question or care if I had four doctor’s appointments in a week. It was a perfect situation. I hit the 23 weeks mark in that pregnancy, and breathed a sigh of relief. I ignored just about everything else, including the fact that I was pregnant. Nine months and two days after we lost Charlotte, we welcomed a new baby into the world. He was born eight weeks early, spent 25 days in the NICU, but he is home, perfect, and wonderful. His existence makes me appreciate everything, even the hardest parts of newborns, that I never got to experience with Charlotte. I’ve said it before, but it warrants mentioning again. He is not supposed to exist. If Charlotte were here today, Ryder wouldn’t be. Their two lives are interwoven in ways that most siblings are not and I am so thankful for both of them.

Maybe Charlotte was never supposed to make it. Maybe I was supposed to be a mom to two boys all along. Maybe Charlotte had to die so I could have Ryder. I’m not sure, and I know I will never know, but my life will never be the same after the past 12 months, for reasons both good and bad.

I have learned that life is not fair. I thought I was one of those people that would skirt through life with deaths from old age, and that for some reason I was exempt from all of the worst parts. I have learned that life is rife with tragedy and that if we live long enough we will experience it. If we don’t live that long, that is a tragedy in itself. Death is never good, never expected (no matter the age) and never welcome. But for the most part, there is enough joy and love to outnumber the pain, and at the end of the day, isn’t that what it’s is all about?

Char, I miss you every day, and will love you forever and I promise no matter what, I will never forget you.
Thank you for giving me the gift of being your mom.

December Fifteenth

One year ago today, everything is starting to fall apart, I just don’t know it yet.

I spent the morning baking, spent the afternoon bagging up my baked goods, watching football and wondering why I hadn’t felt much movement from my 22 week old baby girl.

My mom, Chase and I went to an amusement park about an hour away to go to their Christmas themed celebration. The whole way there I sat quietly waiting to feel something, but if I felt anything, it wasn’t much, I wasn’t even sure it was her moving. The whole time we were there, I waited for the same thing. We stood in line for two hours waiting to see Santa and I shook my belly, would say silently, “Come on Char,” and wait. Nothing. There was a little girl in front of us in line, she was probably four, her name is Charlotte. We go to eat dinner. Nothing. We head home. Again, nothing.

After we get home and Chase lays down for the night, he throws up. He has a cough and inevitably during any cold with an accompanying cough, he pukes at some point. He and I shower, I hold him because he’s upset and crying and his heel bounces against my protruding belly. I wonder if that will wake up his sister. I tell myself that I’m overreacting, that everything I’ve read, says before a baby hits 24 weeks or so, there are hours, days, where there is no movement. In that moment, which I can still remember so vividly, I am happy. Finally. My children and family are complete. I have one still nestled in my belly, the other in my arms and I can’t wait until we are all together.

Not much longer.

December Fourteenth

One year ago yesterday was the last day of normalcy. It started with an argument with my husband that even today, a year later after spending way too long thinking about it, I cannot remember what it was about. I do know that I cried and also told him that arguments were not fair with my crazy hormones and his anxiety/depression/whatever he was going through.

Some friends came over later that morning with their kids and all of the kids played. We had lunch from Panera, everyone left, Chase napped, I worked on addressing Christmas cards and stuffing them with the letter I wrote telling everyone the happenings of the past year, including the fact that I was pregnant with a baby girl. What had started off as a gorgeous winter day, evolved into torrential downpours and freezing temperatures. I thought better of mailing the Christmas cards and thought I would do it the next day when it was supposed to be warmer.

We had Brad’s work Christmas party that night. I begged him not to go. It was cold, rainy, we could use the night with a free babysitter to go out to dinner, just the two of us, which was going to become more and more difficult. He insisted that we go. I decided to wear maternity dress pants and a sparkly red sweater. I kept wondering when it was going to be okay to show off my pregnancy. To stop worrying. I was 22 weeks along, I was in the glory days of the second trimester, I was past the scary parts of the first trimester full of fears of miscarriage and doubt, and only three weeks earlier, I had seen Charlotte at my anatomy ultrasound and she looked great. I felt her kick and punch me, swiftly, every day. But I still couldn’t shake a weird feeling that had plagued me my entire pregnancy.

The party was fine. People made over both of us, everyone told us how happy and excited they were for us. Charlotte kicked me during the entire program. It was nice. On the way home, I stopped and got me a milkshake for suffering through the party. As I went to bed, I noticed it didn’t jazz up Char like sugar usually did.

The next morning, we all slept in. Chase is usually up at 7am, but this morning we all slept past 8. I noticed that I hadn’t felt Charlotte moving much in the night, which wasn’t unusual, but it was a little weird. I had several friends who I was baking for that morning, and was already super behind since I had slept in, so I spent the next several hours in the kitchen baking a couple of batches of cookies and getting together some breakfast cakes. Again, I noticed that Char wasn’t moving around much, but she rarely did when I was on my feet a lot. I did mention this fact to Brad, so I went upstairs to take a shower because that always worked to get her ramped up.

At 10:06am, laying on my bed after my shower, I saw the usual gymnastics reflected around my navel. That was the last time I ever felt her move.

It’s a Girl!

The first 15 weeks I was pregnant, I just knew I was having a boy. I felt the same exact way I had felt with Chase. Nauseous, with no vomiting. Starving, but not in the mood to eat anything. Even the Chinese Gender Chart said I was having a boy. But if I really thought about it, there were some noticeable differences. I was craving sweets instead of salty. My stomach was upset more than with Chase. I looked kind of haggard rather than glowing. My linea nigra stayed below my belly button, but I was convinced I was having a boy.

At my 15 week appointment I got a flu shot and had to sit in a waiting area for 10 minutes to make sure I didn’t have any type of reaction. My favorite ultrasound tech walked by so I said hi to her and told her I would see her in a couple of weeks. She said hi and walked with her patient into the ultrasound room. A minute later she came back and asked how far along I was, I told her 15 weeks and she said, “Do you want to find out today?” Brad was in Germany, but my mom was sitting beside me and I couldn’t tell her no, so of course I said, “YES!!!” Ten minutes later I’m all hooked up to the machine and she tells me, “That’s a girl.” I honestly couldn’t believe it. Honestly. My mom looks at me beaming and we just start squealing, “It’s a girl!!!”

I wanted a girl so, so, so badly. I wanted someone to follow me around the kitchen baking to our hearts content. Someone to be my best friend. To have the same relationship with me that I have with my mom. With a girl, we were done. No more trying, no more caring, two and out! Everyone needs an older brother and she would have just that. Boys are wonderful and fantastic and sweet and amazing, but they are not girls. They grow up, find a girl, get married and forget about their moms. So I was thrilled to death that I was having a girl.

Some days I feel like that was my only chance at having a girl. What if I were to get pregnant a dozen more times and that was the only one “meant” to be a girl. Maybe I’m just not meant to have a girl. Maybe I’m destined to be a mother to boys.

Today

Today was the worst day of my life.  So far.  I hope against hope that this will be marked down in history as the worst day of my life ever.  But, I’m learning that life is not fair, there are no promises or guarantees and my spirit has been stripped forever.

Today I was told that my 22 week, 5 day old daughter in utero no longer had a heartbeat.  I had the feeling that something was wrong for a couple of days, but today it has been confirmed.  I would like to say that it started as an ordinary day, but it didn’t.  It started with a phone call to my doctor after the fourth shower in a row that did not wake Charlotte up and get her kicking.  Then it turned into my laying on the couch for an hour after I drank a soda at 8:15 in the morning counting “kicks.”  I thought I felt nine, but was not confident enough to text a friend who is a nurse practitioner at an OB/GYN office.  The rest of the day kind of passed in a blur.

I went out to dinner with my husband and our three year old then ended up at my friend’s house with my son watching her try to find a heartbeat with a doppler while laying on her couch.  She couldn’t.  We called my mom and asked her to come over to watch our son while we drove to the hospital.  For a minute when I got there, I had hope.  I thought, “Heather, you are over exaggerating, everything is fine.”  Then the nurse at the hospital couldn’t find a heartbeat, then the ultrasound tech couldn’t see movement or a heartbeat.  Then the doctor confirmed everything, she was no longer alive.  Her heart wasn’t the only one that was broken beyond fixing tonight.

In the short time that I’ve known what is going on, I’ve tried to accept it.  Tried to make sense of it.  I’ve tried to find silver linings, but most of all I’ve wondered why.  No one can answer that one.