It's Christmas Eve, and we're with family, and that's nice. And I can't help but think about my babies. And how much I miss them. And how much I wish they were here with me. But, I reckon they're probably having the best first Christmas EVER in heaven, and they're together, and that helps it sting a little less. At least for today.
Merry Christmas to you all!
Monday, December 24, 2012
Monday, December 17, 2012
Babies
I almost didn't write anything tonight, but I'm not quite ready to give up the "tradition" just yet.
I'm honestly not entirely sure WHAT to write. Life has surely been full of ups and downs lately. It's hard to believe that Christmas is a week away. I was looking so forward to this Christmas...getting to feel our little one kick and move, getting some baby stuff for Christmas, setting up the nursery...let's just say a lot of Christmas wishes will not be coming true this year.
But, deep down, I know that Christmas isn't about MY baby....it's about THE baby. The one who came to save us all, and because of Him, my babies are rejoicing in heaven right now. They couldn't be happier. And even though I know they don't miss us--I really don't think you can feel anything remotely painful in heaven--I do think they are looking forward to meeting us one day. But for now, I reckon they're in pretty good hands.
I'm honestly not entirely sure WHAT to write. Life has surely been full of ups and downs lately. It's hard to believe that Christmas is a week away. I was looking so forward to this Christmas...getting to feel our little one kick and move, getting some baby stuff for Christmas, setting up the nursery...let's just say a lot of Christmas wishes will not be coming true this year.
But, deep down, I know that Christmas isn't about MY baby....it's about THE baby. The one who came to save us all, and because of Him, my babies are rejoicing in heaven right now. They couldn't be happier. And even though I know they don't miss us--I really don't think you can feel anything remotely painful in heaven--I do think they are looking forward to meeting us one day. But for now, I reckon they're in pretty good hands.
Monday, December 10, 2012
The whole story
**Disclaimer--there are some swear words, and I use the phrase "dead baby" a lot. It's awkward and uncomfortable, much like this whole situation. I can't embrace phrases like "born sleeping" just yet, because if he was just sleeping, well, he'd have been ALIVE. Just wanted to forewarn you. Please proceed if you're so inclined.
I've been trying to write this story for more than a month. In fact, pieces of this have been written for about that long. But putting it all together has just been laborious, though so very necessary for me. So, I present you with the longest blog entry you've probably ever read. I decided to put it all in one post so that anyone who reads it can decide where they want to stop if they need a break, not me.
November 5th....I got to work a little before 7:30 and went into the bathroom. This is thankfully where my water broke. I mean, if it's gonna happen, I reckon that's one of the best places. I freaked out, and didn't have my phone with me to call anyone for help. I managed to flag down a co-worker to help, and proceeded to just freeze. I didn't know what to do. I knew there was another co-worker already at work who had 2 kids and 2 miscarriages, who better to ask? So, I sent co-worker one to IM co-worker two (who is in a different building) to see what we should do. She suggested the hospital, so co-worker one graciously drove me to the nearest hospital. My OB's office wasn't open because it was so early, so the nearest hospital seemed to be the best bet. In hindsight, I would have spent the extra time travelling to the hospital where my OBs are, but hindsight is 20/20.
My dear husband keeps the ringer on his phone off when he sleeps, so I knew he wouldn't answer, but it didn't stop me from calling and texting obsessively, almost as if I was trying to will him to wake up. It didn't quite work, but thankfully my co-worker was willing to stay with me until I could get a hold of Jeremy. I called my mom, slightly freaking out, to let her know what was happening. I could tell she was shaken, but she did a great job at helping me calm down a bit.
We got to the ER, and my co-worker went in to get me a wheelchair. Honestly, I could have walked in on my own, but I was so scared of leaking more fluid or, honestly, the baby just falling out that I didn't want to walk that much. Got into the ER, and thus began two days of "hospital time". I read that in a blog recently....hospital time....where everything just moves so much more slowly than in real life.
A couple of staff came in to get my basic information and take vitals (can I tell you how many times people said "You have a touch of tachycardia"? I mean....DUH! I'm worried that my tiny, incompatible-with-life-outside-of-the-womb baby is dead or dying. I think a little tachycardia should be the least of their worries. I think my blood pressure was a touch high, too. Let's move past the obvious.).
I did eventually get taken to a "real" room in the ER (read: separated from other rooms by real walls and not curtains) and the first person to greet me is the fella looking for my co-pay. Really? I mean, I know they've got to get paid, but it just seemed a little insensitive at the time. He was immediately followed by a nurse or doctor of some sort. I can't remember what person held what title. He was a nice fella, and did one of my ultrasounds, but my GOODNESS he was not gentle when it came to the internal exams. Geesh. But I digress.
The first ultrasound in the ER was a mostly silent affair. He didn't say much until he was done examining, at which point he did let me know that the baby's heart was still beating, but there was very limited movement. He didn't comment on the whole "my water broke, does my baby have any fluid?" situation, but instead said that he was going to let one of my OBs take a look at the ultrasound to see if they saw the same thing. This was the only time that any of my OBs were consulted since they don't work at that particular branch of the hospital. Made me happy for technology allowing those images to transmit between different parts of the city.
More waiting. Hospital time. Painful internal exams. Finally hearing from Jeremy that he was on his way. Making awkward small talk with co-worker, who is so young and naive that this probably literally shook her foundation a bit. Someone came in with a wheelchair to take me "upstairs" (I can't remember exactly where) to have a higher-level ultrasound done. Sat in the hallway outside of the ultrasound room for a while before finally getting wheeled in. The room was almost completely dark with the exception of a few dim lights. Another silent ultrasound. Was told I was done, and sat in the hallway some more, waiting for my "ride" back to my ER room. Got back there and, not too long afterwards, Jeremy finally got there. I can honestly say there's scarcely another time in my life that I've been so happy to see him. Co-worker got a reprieve, and Jeremy got introduced to my hell. I was finally able to cry a bit, after feeling like I had to be so strong for my co-worker's sake.
At some point, two doctors who looked like they were approximately 14 years old came in, male and female, to give us an idea of what was going on. It didn't sound good, not at all. They were doing tests to make sure the fluid I was leaking was indeed amniotic fluid. Things would certainly be better if it wasn't, and they wanted to make 100% sure that it was before proceeding. A third ultrasound took place, I think during these final amniotic fluid tests. This time, they asked me if I wanted to see. I did, but I didn't. I said no. I wish I could take that back now. I was afraid of what the baby might look like. Jeremy looked, but afterwards said he really couldn't tell what he was looking at.
We finally got confirmation that it was amniotic fluid, and that my OB (well, not the one I saw primarily, but I had seen him twice) agreed. The 14-year-olds gave us our options....go home and just wait for it to happen--which would pose a high risk for infection--or induce labor. Neither of those even remotely sounded like good options. At the time, the thought of birthing the baby just seemed horribly impossible, and, honestly, cruel. I remembered how painful the first miscarriage was, and little Jordan was only 6 weeks in size when that happened. I asked about surgery, and they told me the risk for excessive bleeding was pretty high (you'll see the irony in this later), and the safest option was to actually give birth. We decided that was the way we were going to go. Our teenage friends left us, saying we'd head to labor and delivery soon. (We had to go to L&D if there was even the slightest chance I might want an epidural)
And then began more hospital time. I'd be willing to bet it was 2-3 more hours in that room, just waiting for what we knew was going to be the hardest thing we had ever done. We filled the time with texts, phone calls, and emails to close friends and family to let them know what was going on, and to ask for prayers. The one small thing I found funny was that, even though we got the TV on, we couldn't get the volume on. Thankfully, someone in an adjacent room was watching the same channel as we were, and had the volume sky-high. This allowed us to hear a little of the dialogue. It's not that we actually cared what was on TV, it was just a welcomed distraction.
Here's where things first started to go downhill. So, as most of you DON'T know, I was diagnosed with diabetes at around the 8 week mark. Not gestational, good ol' type 2 diabetes. It runs pretty heavy and rampant through my family, so I was expecting it at some point, just not at 32, and not while I was pregnant. But all of that is a story for another day. Since I hadn't eaten since 6:00, and it was well after noon, I sent Jeremy to ask the nurse if I was allowed to eat anything, as I had a snack in my bag. We diabetics always have snacks in our bags. She said she'd find out. An hour went by. An hour. Seriously? It takes that long? I sent Jeremy out a few more times, and he could never find anyone else. I was on the verge of just eating something when I sent Jeremy out one last time, and he found the same lady he had talked to earlier. She said she'd find out. Come on! You've had over an hour to find out. Jeremy mentioned both times that I was diabetic, but I guess it didn't sink in. Someone finally came in to check my sugar, and it was only in the 80s, which is not terribly low for me. She asked me what I'd do if I was at home with a blood sugar in the 80s...I said I'd probably eat something. It was then she informed me that I couldn't eat. Great. So, she brought me some Gatorade. It was at least something. I asked if she could please check on us getting into a real room. She had told me earlier that L&D was really busy, and it might be a while for a room. She called up there, and was told that a room had been ready for a while. This was my first taste of the poor communication here. She paged someone to come wheel me on up, which took a while. I'd say we finally got to our L&D room around 2:30 or so. (I only remember this because we were in the room and settle in time for the NCIS marathon that started at 3:00.)
So, we got settled in to the VERY nice L&D room. Being fully cynical at this point, I honestly wondered if they would have put us in such a nice room if they knew we were dead baby parents. But, I wasn't going to say anything. I get a little confused at this point. I can't remember if our nurse came in immediately, THEN followed about an hour later by someone who came in and said "Oh! I didn't know anyone was in this room!" or if it happened the other way around. But, the truth is, someone literally did come in and say "Oh! I didn't know anyone was in this room!" Organization? Uncheck.
At some point after 3:00, though, our nurse did come in. Now, I have to say that I've found myself living in What-If land lately, and I really, truly think that if Nathan hadn't been born directly before shift change and we had had this nurse all night, we would have pictures and footprints and anything else we wanted, because this nurse was awesome. But, the last time I saw her was when I was birthing him. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
The nurse (I really don't remember anyone's names, sorry!!) asked a million repetitive--though I'm sure necessary--questions. Told me there would be (could be? this is again where I get fuzzy) pictures taken of the baby, we could hold the baby whenever we wanted after birth (IF we wanted), we would have the option of an autopsy, we could choose what would happen to the baby after birth, and all of these things. She assured us we didn't have to answer any of those questions yet. She really was awesome, and calming.
At some point (maybe 4:00ish?) a doctor came in to give me the medicine to start labor. I won't go into detail, but let's just say you don't get to swallow these pills. I was told that it could take up to 24 hours to have the baby, and they'd keep giving me doses every 4 (6?) hours until the baby was born. Great. So we were possibly in this for the long haul. At this point, I realized I really did want my parents to come, so I called my mom and she said when dad got off work they'd head down. We filled the time watching NCIS. The lovely nurse came in and checked my blood sugar a few times (finally, someone who was actually paying attention to my medical conditions), and gave me lots of tasty apple juice because my blood sugar kept dropping.
I probably started cramping mildly around 5:00 or so (and was thankful, because hopefully this meant it would NOT be a 24-hour process) and by about 6:15ish, they were getting too strong for my liking. I was not wanting an epidural, just something to take the edge off, so I used the call button to ask for pain meds. They'll come soon, I was assured. About 30-45 minutes later, still no meds. I used the call button again, apologized for calling a second time, but the pain was getting worse and I would really, really like some meds. Someone all in their scrubs came running in, asked if I was OK. I told her I would really like some meds, and she said that someone would be in shortly. *sigh* It wasn't until after 7:30 that super-awesome nurse came in to give me some morphine. She talked me through a few particularly bad contractions, and pushed in the happy drugs. Truthfully and honestly, it was less than a minute after she gave me the morphine that I could feel that the baby was on its way out. I told her I thought it was time, and she called someone in.
Within another few minutes, our baby was born. Super-awesome nurse told us we had a little boy, and asked if I wanted to see him. At that exact moment, I couldn't even bear the thought, so I said no. They took him away, and Jeremy went to look at him while the doctors examined me. When I opened my eyes (I had them closed during the entire birth, as if not seeing it happen would mean it didn't happen at all), I noticed there were no fewer than 8 doctors/nurses/residents/medical personnel of some sort in my room. Really? I had been told at the beginning that this would be a calm, peaceful, as-non-interventional-as-possible process, and I had 8 people watching me birth my tiny, dead baby. So, several strangers started looking at my junk, trying to get the placenta out. Because nothing could work out right this day, it wouldn't come out. They didn't seem too concerned, said they'd come back in later to check. At this point, I called my mom to let her know that he had been born, and she said they had gotten there just as I was giving birth so, of course, they weren't allowed in the room. (But 8 doctors/nurses/residents were? Digressing...) I asked one of the remaining staff if they could please show my parents where the room was, and she said sure. Jeremy and I spent a few quiet minutes talking about what to name him. Fairly quickly (at least it felt quick, maybe it was the stress or the morphine), Jeremy came up with Nathan. It seemed perfect. I picked the middle name of Jeremiah (since my dear Jeremy was supposed to be named Jeremiah but, due to an error on his birth certificate was actually named Jerimah, but that's another story for another day). (Turns out the name was perfect, we just didn't know at the time) So, it was decided.
After what felt like a long time, my parents still weren't in the room, so I sent Jeremy to find them. The staff person didn't get my parents like we'd asked and, bless their hearts, they had just been patiently waiting. They came in, took a peek at Nathan, and just hung out with us for a few hours. They gave Jeremy a break (and a $20) and sent him out to get some food. He hadn't eaten all day, and I'm sure he appreciated the break.
I felt like I was bleeding a lot more than I should be, and kept asking folks if I was. No one ever really gave me a straight answer, but no one ever did anything about it either. A few more attempts at getting that damned placenta out failed, even after more of the "you don't take this orally" medicine. A little while after the 2nd dose of medicine, I was getting crampy again and called for more pain meds. I was told I couldn't have any. Ummmm, OK. Thankfully, about 30 minutes after that, someone came in to check on me and when I told her I was in more pain and wanted meds but was told no, she said that there wasn't any reason I couldn't have any and pumped a bit more morphine into my system. The next couple of hours were a bit of a blur because of the morphine. But, I guess that's OK given the situation. I happily watched some mindless TV (because that's what normal people do after having a dead baby), and fell in and out of sleep.
My parents left, I would say, around 10:00ish (maybe a bit later) to get a hotel room and pass out for the night. I was waiting for the placenta to deliver before I held Nathan. I just wanted to have the pain done and over so I could really focus on our son. (Hindsight....) Sadly, around 11:00 or so, the doctors determined that I needed to have surgery to get the placenta out. I was still pretty out of it, but I remember having to sign papers saying that I consented to a blood transfusion if needed. I really think they knew all along that I was losing too much blood but just never said anything. Frustrating. Not long before midnight, I was whisked away to surgery, leaving Jeremy waiting. I just found out today that the waiting room they directed him to was the same one where friends and family were happily awaiting the news of the births of live babies. Seriously? Was there nowhere else they could have had my husband sit?
Got into the operating room, and they knocked me out. Of course I remember nothing, but the surgery that was supposed to last 10-15 minutes lasted hours. They apparently had to give me 2 units of blood during surgery, and 2 more units after surgery while I was in recovery. They brought Jeremy into the recovery room at some point, and he had to watch the hospital staff freak out because they didn't know how to use the new blood warming machines, and they were panicked about getting more blood in me since my heartrate was really high. Yeah. I'm sure that really made him feel awesome. I remember waking up and seeing the IV-looking bag with blood, and the first thing I asked was if I still had my uterus. They had said that there was a slim chance that I would lose it during surgery. You know, one of those 1 in 100000000000 chance sort of things, but since things were already going swimmingly, I was just making sure. I also remember them checking my blood sugar and freaking out yet again because it was kinda high (not over 200, I don't think, but somewhere in the 160 - 180 range) and they were calling all over the place to figure out what to do with me. In my delirious state, I was thinking they probably shouldn't do ANYTHING because I wasn't pregnant any more and surely once my body calmed down from all the SHIT it had been through, the sugar level would drop. But there was no way I could communicate that at that time, so I'm pretty sure I got dosed with some insulin. I dozed in and out a bit, but finally was told that it was time to go to my new room.
We got to the room probably around 4:30am. They asked if we wanted to see Nathan, and I immediately said yes. I had chosen--and then been forced--to wait way too long. They brought him in, and put him in my arms. He was so incredibly tiny. I found out later he only weighed 5 ounces. I was so scared to touch him, or to unwrap him, so I just held him. I had Jeremy take a few pictures of me holding him, and then handed him to Jeremy. I took pictures of him holding Nathan. Around 5:00 we put Nathan down and tried to get some sleep. Jeremy's little pull-out couch wasn't very comfortable, but he definitely got at least some sleep based on how much he was snoring. I dozed in and out but a) had a catheter in and b) had those annoying little leg massage-y things on to keep my blood circulating, neither of which were very conducive to sleep. Thankfully the speaker for the TV was on the remote next to my head, so me watching TV didn't keep Jeremy awake. It seemed like every time I fell asleep or almost fell asleep, a baby cried somewhere. Talk about a punch in the gut.
The early part of the morning was a bit of a blur...frequent vital checks, my parents came back, finally given the go-ahead to eat, text messages and emails from friends and family, things like that. One of my diabetes doctors came to visit, and it was incredibly nice to see a familiar (medical) face as she was the only one to be had. We were told fairly early in the morning that if my labs came back normal, we would be discharged. Such wonderful news. Of course, the best laid plans....
My dad and Jeremy went to pick up my car from work and take it home so that we didn't have to deal with that when we got discharged. Mom and I hung out in the room, and a few folks from work and other friends came to visit. Doctors kept coming in saying we could leave if my labs came back normal, and asking me if anyone had come to draw blood. Well, yes, people have come and taken blood but no one's giving me any answers. The doctors always said they'd make sure the labs got done. More waiting. More hospital time.
My parents had to leave early afternoon to make it back home for an appointment, but since we were so sure that discharge was imminent, we didn't mind. In fact, we actually turned down a few offers to visit us because we didn't want them to get there and us be gone already. One of the only positive experiences was that the dining staff put together a snack basket for us (including some sugar-free items, which was an incredibly sweet touch) and delivered it. Incredibly sweet. (Hoping to not see it on our bill ;-)) We never ordered lunch because we thought we were going to be discharged any minute, so we basically lived off of that basket for a few hours. Afternoon turned into evening, and I was really starting to get frustrated. People came in and took my blood no fewer than 3 times throughout the day, and yet, my labs weren't back? Come on now.
Our day nurse came in at one point and it dawned on me to ask what would happen to Nathan when we got discharged. We were told that we could have something private done (which we couldn't afford), they could cremate him (but we'd never receive the ashes) or they could dispose of him as medical waste (no parents should EVER have to hear that). Our only real option was to have him cremated by the hospital, so that's what we chose. I shudder to think about the alternatives had we not thought to ask. We should not have HAD to think of that. Honestly, there should be some sort of checklist given to parents in situations like this. Pictures, yes or no? Footprints, yes or no? Autopsy, yes or no? We should NOT have had to remember that stuff on our own. In fact, we completely forgot about the autopsy, and I am absolutely kicking myself for not remembering. That could have given us some much-needed answers as to what happened. And the footprints? The memory box they gave us had a little card for footprints, and no one did them for us. Seriously, sorry to get all pissed, but I'm PISSED! People really dropped the ball--lots of balls--with us, and I do not ever, ever, EVER want it to happen to another parent. This shit is hard enough without all of this mess.
OK. I'm a bit calmer now. To sum up the rest of the evening, they finally un-cathed me (thank GOD), a dear friend drove a few hours to see us, bring us dinner, and then drive home (amazing!), we watched election coverage since that's all that was on TV (thank goodness for early voting), and tried to do anything but think of what happened. Around 9:00 we got the word that my labs came back fine and I'd be discharged. Let's just say I didn't get out of there until around 11:30. The discharge instructions were incredibly difficult to understand (I even called one of my doctors the next day to see what part of them meant, and she said "Yeah, that would have confused me, too"), and the night nurse really seemed annoyed when I asked for my IV thingies to come out. (I hadn't been hooked up to an IV in hours, but still had the needles and tubes in me) Jeremy, thankfully, thought to grab the (mostly useless except for the piece of paper that told us what time he was born and how much he weighed) memory box and teddy bear. We didn't think about the blanket he was wrapped in. We said our final goodbyes, just the 3 of us, (which is making me tear up now even thinking about it) and I was finally wheeled out. Aside from just being ready to be home, I was super-glad we were being discharged as there was a new mother in the room next to us whose baby was rooming in that night. That wouldn't have been painful at all. I know there may not have been anything they could do about that, but I've heard from a few friends who work in L&D that they always try to put parents of a dead baby as far away from living babies as possible. Definitely not the case with us.
The lady who wheeled me down (Jeremy had gone to get his car) was trying to be nice and encouraging, and told me she had lost a baby around the same gestation as Nathan, but said a few things like, "It wasn't God's timing" or "Maybe it wasn't the right time financially". Hmmmm. Thanks for trying, but please don't throw those things out to me right now. Keep talking about how your mother-in-law burned a turkey and still managed to get a refund from Wal-Mart because she insisted it was their fault. That's a much better subject.
We drove the 20+ minutes home, and began life without Nathan. At least, life without Nathan here on earth. I really hope I've done this story justice. And I really hope I have the strength to convey the missteps to the hospital in a polite way. I don't want to be a "complainer", but as I said before, I really don't ever want any other parents to have to go through what we did. I haven't talked to the hospital yet myself, but have a phone number and name and plan to call this week. Trust me, this situation is hard enough as it is, let alone compounded with all of the mess-ups we experienced.
I do feel compelled to say thanks again to everyone who has helped us through this. And especially to those who continue to reach out to us. This is the kind of pain that doesn't go away. It may dull, but there are always those "ambushes"...I can just hope they'll be fewer and farther between as time goes by.
I've been trying to write this story for more than a month. In fact, pieces of this have been written for about that long. But putting it all together has just been laborious, though so very necessary for me. So, I present you with the longest blog entry you've probably ever read. I decided to put it all in one post so that anyone who reads it can decide where they want to stop if they need a break, not me.
November 5th....I got to work a little before 7:30 and went into the bathroom. This is thankfully where my water broke. I mean, if it's gonna happen, I reckon that's one of the best places. I freaked out, and didn't have my phone with me to call anyone for help. I managed to flag down a co-worker to help, and proceeded to just freeze. I didn't know what to do. I knew there was another co-worker already at work who had 2 kids and 2 miscarriages, who better to ask? So, I sent co-worker one to IM co-worker two (who is in a different building) to see what we should do. She suggested the hospital, so co-worker one graciously drove me to the nearest hospital. My OB's office wasn't open because it was so early, so the nearest hospital seemed to be the best bet. In hindsight, I would have spent the extra time travelling to the hospital where my OBs are, but hindsight is 20/20.
My dear husband keeps the ringer on his phone off when he sleeps, so I knew he wouldn't answer, but it didn't stop me from calling and texting obsessively, almost as if I was trying to will him to wake up. It didn't quite work, but thankfully my co-worker was willing to stay with me until I could get a hold of Jeremy. I called my mom, slightly freaking out, to let her know what was happening. I could tell she was shaken, but she did a great job at helping me calm down a bit.
We got to the ER, and my co-worker went in to get me a wheelchair. Honestly, I could have walked in on my own, but I was so scared of leaking more fluid or, honestly, the baby just falling out that I didn't want to walk that much. Got into the ER, and thus began two days of "hospital time". I read that in a blog recently....hospital time....where everything just moves so much more slowly than in real life.
A couple of staff came in to get my basic information and take vitals (can I tell you how many times people said "You have a touch of tachycardia"? I mean....DUH! I'm worried that my tiny, incompatible-with-life-outside-of-the-womb baby is dead or dying. I think a little tachycardia should be the least of their worries. I think my blood pressure was a touch high, too. Let's move past the obvious.).
I did eventually get taken to a "real" room in the ER (read: separated from other rooms by real walls and not curtains) and the first person to greet me is the fella looking for my co-pay. Really? I mean, I know they've got to get paid, but it just seemed a little insensitive at the time. He was immediately followed by a nurse or doctor of some sort. I can't remember what person held what title. He was a nice fella, and did one of my ultrasounds, but my GOODNESS he was not gentle when it came to the internal exams. Geesh. But I digress.
The first ultrasound in the ER was a mostly silent affair. He didn't say much until he was done examining, at which point he did let me know that the baby's heart was still beating, but there was very limited movement. He didn't comment on the whole "my water broke, does my baby have any fluid?" situation, but instead said that he was going to let one of my OBs take a look at the ultrasound to see if they saw the same thing. This was the only time that any of my OBs were consulted since they don't work at that particular branch of the hospital. Made me happy for technology allowing those images to transmit between different parts of the city.
More waiting. Hospital time. Painful internal exams. Finally hearing from Jeremy that he was on his way. Making awkward small talk with co-worker, who is so young and naive that this probably literally shook her foundation a bit. Someone came in with a wheelchair to take me "upstairs" (I can't remember exactly where) to have a higher-level ultrasound done. Sat in the hallway outside of the ultrasound room for a while before finally getting wheeled in. The room was almost completely dark with the exception of a few dim lights. Another silent ultrasound. Was told I was done, and sat in the hallway some more, waiting for my "ride" back to my ER room. Got back there and, not too long afterwards, Jeremy finally got there. I can honestly say there's scarcely another time in my life that I've been so happy to see him. Co-worker got a reprieve, and Jeremy got introduced to my hell. I was finally able to cry a bit, after feeling like I had to be so strong for my co-worker's sake.
At some point, two doctors who looked like they were approximately 14 years old came in, male and female, to give us an idea of what was going on. It didn't sound good, not at all. They were doing tests to make sure the fluid I was leaking was indeed amniotic fluid. Things would certainly be better if it wasn't, and they wanted to make 100% sure that it was before proceeding. A third ultrasound took place, I think during these final amniotic fluid tests. This time, they asked me if I wanted to see. I did, but I didn't. I said no. I wish I could take that back now. I was afraid of what the baby might look like. Jeremy looked, but afterwards said he really couldn't tell what he was looking at.
We finally got confirmation that it was amniotic fluid, and that my OB (well, not the one I saw primarily, but I had seen him twice) agreed. The 14-year-olds gave us our options....go home and just wait for it to happen--which would pose a high risk for infection--or induce labor. Neither of those even remotely sounded like good options. At the time, the thought of birthing the baby just seemed horribly impossible, and, honestly, cruel. I remembered how painful the first miscarriage was, and little Jordan was only 6 weeks in size when that happened. I asked about surgery, and they told me the risk for excessive bleeding was pretty high (you'll see the irony in this later), and the safest option was to actually give birth. We decided that was the way we were going to go. Our teenage friends left us, saying we'd head to labor and delivery soon. (We had to go to L&D if there was even the slightest chance I might want an epidural)
And then began more hospital time. I'd be willing to bet it was 2-3 more hours in that room, just waiting for what we knew was going to be the hardest thing we had ever done. We filled the time with texts, phone calls, and emails to close friends and family to let them know what was going on, and to ask for prayers. The one small thing I found funny was that, even though we got the TV on, we couldn't get the volume on. Thankfully, someone in an adjacent room was watching the same channel as we were, and had the volume sky-high. This allowed us to hear a little of the dialogue. It's not that we actually cared what was on TV, it was just a welcomed distraction.
Here's where things first started to go downhill. So, as most of you DON'T know, I was diagnosed with diabetes at around the 8 week mark. Not gestational, good ol' type 2 diabetes. It runs pretty heavy and rampant through my family, so I was expecting it at some point, just not at 32, and not while I was pregnant. But all of that is a story for another day. Since I hadn't eaten since 6:00, and it was well after noon, I sent Jeremy to ask the nurse if I was allowed to eat anything, as I had a snack in my bag. We diabetics always have snacks in our bags. She said she'd find out. An hour went by. An hour. Seriously? It takes that long? I sent Jeremy out a few more times, and he could never find anyone else. I was on the verge of just eating something when I sent Jeremy out one last time, and he found the same lady he had talked to earlier. She said she'd find out. Come on! You've had over an hour to find out. Jeremy mentioned both times that I was diabetic, but I guess it didn't sink in. Someone finally came in to check my sugar, and it was only in the 80s, which is not terribly low for me. She asked me what I'd do if I was at home with a blood sugar in the 80s...I said I'd probably eat something. It was then she informed me that I couldn't eat. Great. So, she brought me some Gatorade. It was at least something. I asked if she could please check on us getting into a real room. She had told me earlier that L&D was really busy, and it might be a while for a room. She called up there, and was told that a room had been ready for a while. This was my first taste of the poor communication here. She paged someone to come wheel me on up, which took a while. I'd say we finally got to our L&D room around 2:30 or so. (I only remember this because we were in the room and settle in time for the NCIS marathon that started at 3:00.)
So, we got settled in to the VERY nice L&D room. Being fully cynical at this point, I honestly wondered if they would have put us in such a nice room if they knew we were dead baby parents. But, I wasn't going to say anything. I get a little confused at this point. I can't remember if our nurse came in immediately, THEN followed about an hour later by someone who came in and said "Oh! I didn't know anyone was in this room!" or if it happened the other way around. But, the truth is, someone literally did come in and say "Oh! I didn't know anyone was in this room!" Organization? Uncheck.
At some point after 3:00, though, our nurse did come in. Now, I have to say that I've found myself living in What-If land lately, and I really, truly think that if Nathan hadn't been born directly before shift change and we had had this nurse all night, we would have pictures and footprints and anything else we wanted, because this nurse was awesome. But, the last time I saw her was when I was birthing him. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
The nurse (I really don't remember anyone's names, sorry!!) asked a million repetitive--though I'm sure necessary--questions. Told me there would be (could be? this is again where I get fuzzy) pictures taken of the baby, we could hold the baby whenever we wanted after birth (IF we wanted), we would have the option of an autopsy, we could choose what would happen to the baby after birth, and all of these things. She assured us we didn't have to answer any of those questions yet. She really was awesome, and calming.
At some point (maybe 4:00ish?) a doctor came in to give me the medicine to start labor. I won't go into detail, but let's just say you don't get to swallow these pills. I was told that it could take up to 24 hours to have the baby, and they'd keep giving me doses every 4 (6?) hours until the baby was born. Great. So we were possibly in this for the long haul. At this point, I realized I really did want my parents to come, so I called my mom and she said when dad got off work they'd head down. We filled the time watching NCIS. The lovely nurse came in and checked my blood sugar a few times (finally, someone who was actually paying attention to my medical conditions), and gave me lots of tasty apple juice because my blood sugar kept dropping.
I probably started cramping mildly around 5:00 or so (and was thankful, because hopefully this meant it would NOT be a 24-hour process) and by about 6:15ish, they were getting too strong for my liking. I was not wanting an epidural, just something to take the edge off, so I used the call button to ask for pain meds. They'll come soon, I was assured. About 30-45 minutes later, still no meds. I used the call button again, apologized for calling a second time, but the pain was getting worse and I would really, really like some meds. Someone all in their scrubs came running in, asked if I was OK. I told her I would really like some meds, and she said that someone would be in shortly. *sigh* It wasn't until after 7:30 that super-awesome nurse came in to give me some morphine. She talked me through a few particularly bad contractions, and pushed in the happy drugs. Truthfully and honestly, it was less than a minute after she gave me the morphine that I could feel that the baby was on its way out. I told her I thought it was time, and she called someone in.
Within another few minutes, our baby was born. Super-awesome nurse told us we had a little boy, and asked if I wanted to see him. At that exact moment, I couldn't even bear the thought, so I said no. They took him away, and Jeremy went to look at him while the doctors examined me. When I opened my eyes (I had them closed during the entire birth, as if not seeing it happen would mean it didn't happen at all), I noticed there were no fewer than 8 doctors/nurses/residents/medical personnel of some sort in my room. Really? I had been told at the beginning that this would be a calm, peaceful, as-non-interventional-as-possible process, and I had 8 people watching me birth my tiny, dead baby. So, several strangers started looking at my junk, trying to get the placenta out. Because nothing could work out right this day, it wouldn't come out. They didn't seem too concerned, said they'd come back in later to check. At this point, I called my mom to let her know that he had been born, and she said they had gotten there just as I was giving birth so, of course, they weren't allowed in the room. (But 8 doctors/nurses/residents were? Digressing...) I asked one of the remaining staff if they could please show my parents where the room was, and she said sure. Jeremy and I spent a few quiet minutes talking about what to name him. Fairly quickly (at least it felt quick, maybe it was the stress or the morphine), Jeremy came up with Nathan. It seemed perfect. I picked the middle name of Jeremiah (since my dear Jeremy was supposed to be named Jeremiah but, due to an error on his birth certificate was actually named Jerimah, but that's another story for another day). (Turns out the name was perfect, we just didn't know at the time) So, it was decided.
After what felt like a long time, my parents still weren't in the room, so I sent Jeremy to find them. The staff person didn't get my parents like we'd asked and, bless their hearts, they had just been patiently waiting. They came in, took a peek at Nathan, and just hung out with us for a few hours. They gave Jeremy a break (and a $20) and sent him out to get some food. He hadn't eaten all day, and I'm sure he appreciated the break.
I felt like I was bleeding a lot more than I should be, and kept asking folks if I was. No one ever really gave me a straight answer, but no one ever did anything about it either. A few more attempts at getting that damned placenta out failed, even after more of the "you don't take this orally" medicine. A little while after the 2nd dose of medicine, I was getting crampy again and called for more pain meds. I was told I couldn't have any. Ummmm, OK. Thankfully, about 30 minutes after that, someone came in to check on me and when I told her I was in more pain and wanted meds but was told no, she said that there wasn't any reason I couldn't have any and pumped a bit more morphine into my system. The next couple of hours were a bit of a blur because of the morphine. But, I guess that's OK given the situation. I happily watched some mindless TV (because that's what normal people do after having a dead baby), and fell in and out of sleep.
My parents left, I would say, around 10:00ish (maybe a bit later) to get a hotel room and pass out for the night. I was waiting for the placenta to deliver before I held Nathan. I just wanted to have the pain done and over so I could really focus on our son. (Hindsight....) Sadly, around 11:00 or so, the doctors determined that I needed to have surgery to get the placenta out. I was still pretty out of it, but I remember having to sign papers saying that I consented to a blood transfusion if needed. I really think they knew all along that I was losing too much blood but just never said anything. Frustrating. Not long before midnight, I was whisked away to surgery, leaving Jeremy waiting. I just found out today that the waiting room they directed him to was the same one where friends and family were happily awaiting the news of the births of live babies. Seriously? Was there nowhere else they could have had my husband sit?
Got into the operating room, and they knocked me out. Of course I remember nothing, but the surgery that was supposed to last 10-15 minutes lasted hours. They apparently had to give me 2 units of blood during surgery, and 2 more units after surgery while I was in recovery. They brought Jeremy into the recovery room at some point, and he had to watch the hospital staff freak out because they didn't know how to use the new blood warming machines, and they were panicked about getting more blood in me since my heartrate was really high. Yeah. I'm sure that really made him feel awesome. I remember waking up and seeing the IV-looking bag with blood, and the first thing I asked was if I still had my uterus. They had said that there was a slim chance that I would lose it during surgery. You know, one of those 1 in 100000000000 chance sort of things, but since things were already going swimmingly, I was just making sure. I also remember them checking my blood sugar and freaking out yet again because it was kinda high (not over 200, I don't think, but somewhere in the 160 - 180 range) and they were calling all over the place to figure out what to do with me. In my delirious state, I was thinking they probably shouldn't do ANYTHING because I wasn't pregnant any more and surely once my body calmed down from all the SHIT it had been through, the sugar level would drop. But there was no way I could communicate that at that time, so I'm pretty sure I got dosed with some insulin. I dozed in and out a bit, but finally was told that it was time to go to my new room.
We got to the room probably around 4:30am. They asked if we wanted to see Nathan, and I immediately said yes. I had chosen--and then been forced--to wait way too long. They brought him in, and put him in my arms. He was so incredibly tiny. I found out later he only weighed 5 ounces. I was so scared to touch him, or to unwrap him, so I just held him. I had Jeremy take a few pictures of me holding him, and then handed him to Jeremy. I took pictures of him holding Nathan. Around 5:00 we put Nathan down and tried to get some sleep. Jeremy's little pull-out couch wasn't very comfortable, but he definitely got at least some sleep based on how much he was snoring. I dozed in and out but a) had a catheter in and b) had those annoying little leg massage-y things on to keep my blood circulating, neither of which were very conducive to sleep. Thankfully the speaker for the TV was on the remote next to my head, so me watching TV didn't keep Jeremy awake. It seemed like every time I fell asleep or almost fell asleep, a baby cried somewhere. Talk about a punch in the gut.
The early part of the morning was a bit of a blur...frequent vital checks, my parents came back, finally given the go-ahead to eat, text messages and emails from friends and family, things like that. One of my diabetes doctors came to visit, and it was incredibly nice to see a familiar (medical) face as she was the only one to be had. We were told fairly early in the morning that if my labs came back normal, we would be discharged. Such wonderful news. Of course, the best laid plans....
My dad and Jeremy went to pick up my car from work and take it home so that we didn't have to deal with that when we got discharged. Mom and I hung out in the room, and a few folks from work and other friends came to visit. Doctors kept coming in saying we could leave if my labs came back normal, and asking me if anyone had come to draw blood. Well, yes, people have come and taken blood but no one's giving me any answers. The doctors always said they'd make sure the labs got done. More waiting. More hospital time.
My parents had to leave early afternoon to make it back home for an appointment, but since we were so sure that discharge was imminent, we didn't mind. In fact, we actually turned down a few offers to visit us because we didn't want them to get there and us be gone already. One of the only positive experiences was that the dining staff put together a snack basket for us (including some sugar-free items, which was an incredibly sweet touch) and delivered it. Incredibly sweet. (Hoping to not see it on our bill ;-)) We never ordered lunch because we thought we were going to be discharged any minute, so we basically lived off of that basket for a few hours. Afternoon turned into evening, and I was really starting to get frustrated. People came in and took my blood no fewer than 3 times throughout the day, and yet, my labs weren't back? Come on now.
Our day nurse came in at one point and it dawned on me to ask what would happen to Nathan when we got discharged. We were told that we could have something private done (which we couldn't afford), they could cremate him (but we'd never receive the ashes) or they could dispose of him as medical waste (no parents should EVER have to hear that). Our only real option was to have him cremated by the hospital, so that's what we chose. I shudder to think about the alternatives had we not thought to ask. We should not have HAD to think of that. Honestly, there should be some sort of checklist given to parents in situations like this. Pictures, yes or no? Footprints, yes or no? Autopsy, yes or no? We should NOT have had to remember that stuff on our own. In fact, we completely forgot about the autopsy, and I am absolutely kicking myself for not remembering. That could have given us some much-needed answers as to what happened. And the footprints? The memory box they gave us had a little card for footprints, and no one did them for us. Seriously, sorry to get all pissed, but I'm PISSED! People really dropped the ball--lots of balls--with us, and I do not ever, ever, EVER want it to happen to another parent. This shit is hard enough without all of this mess.
OK. I'm a bit calmer now. To sum up the rest of the evening, they finally un-cathed me (thank GOD), a dear friend drove a few hours to see us, bring us dinner, and then drive home (amazing!), we watched election coverage since that's all that was on TV (thank goodness for early voting), and tried to do anything but think of what happened. Around 9:00 we got the word that my labs came back fine and I'd be discharged. Let's just say I didn't get out of there until around 11:30. The discharge instructions were incredibly difficult to understand (I even called one of my doctors the next day to see what part of them meant, and she said "Yeah, that would have confused me, too"), and the night nurse really seemed annoyed when I asked for my IV thingies to come out. (I hadn't been hooked up to an IV in hours, but still had the needles and tubes in me) Jeremy, thankfully, thought to grab the (mostly useless except for the piece of paper that told us what time he was born and how much he weighed) memory box and teddy bear. We didn't think about the blanket he was wrapped in. We said our final goodbyes, just the 3 of us, (which is making me tear up now even thinking about it) and I was finally wheeled out. Aside from just being ready to be home, I was super-glad we were being discharged as there was a new mother in the room next to us whose baby was rooming in that night. That wouldn't have been painful at all. I know there may not have been anything they could do about that, but I've heard from a few friends who work in L&D that they always try to put parents of a dead baby as far away from living babies as possible. Definitely not the case with us.
The lady who wheeled me down (Jeremy had gone to get his car) was trying to be nice and encouraging, and told me she had lost a baby around the same gestation as Nathan, but said a few things like, "It wasn't God's timing" or "Maybe it wasn't the right time financially". Hmmmm. Thanks for trying, but please don't throw those things out to me right now. Keep talking about how your mother-in-law burned a turkey and still managed to get a refund from Wal-Mart because she insisted it was their fault. That's a much better subject.
We drove the 20+ minutes home, and began life without Nathan. At least, life without Nathan here on earth. I really hope I've done this story justice. And I really hope I have the strength to convey the missteps to the hospital in a polite way. I don't want to be a "complainer", but as I said before, I really don't ever want any other parents to have to go through what we did. I haven't talked to the hospital yet myself, but have a phone number and name and plan to call this week. Trust me, this situation is hard enough as it is, let alone compounded with all of the mess-ups we experienced.
I do feel compelled to say thanks again to everyone who has helped us through this. And especially to those who continue to reach out to us. This is the kind of pain that doesn't go away. It may dull, but there are always those "ambushes"...I can just hope they'll be fewer and farther between as time goes by.
Saturday, December 8, 2012
Meaning
Nathan was never a name we had considered before our little guy was born. We had tossed a few names around for both boys and girls, but Nathan wasn't on there. In fact, Jeremy's not even sure where it came from, but it was his idea, and he came up with it fairly quickly after the baby was born. Jeremiah was one of my ideas fairly early on, but Jeremy wasn't entirely fond of it. I guess he was willing to concede after his wife had to birth a tiny, dead baby.
I finally decided today to look at see what the names mean. I definitely think we were meant to name this wee babe Nathan Jeremiah.
Nathan--God has given
Jeremiah--God will raise up; God will set free; appointed by God
God gave us Nathan, and He will indeed raise him, and has set him free, just not in the way any of us were expecting.
I finally decided today to look at see what the names mean. I definitely think we were meant to name this wee babe Nathan Jeremiah.
Nathan--God has given
Jeremiah--God will raise up; God will set free; appointed by God
God gave us Nathan, and He will indeed raise him, and has set him free, just not in the way any of us were expecting.
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
One month
I never really understood why some parents celebrated both a 4 week "birthday" and a 1 month "birthday" with their babies. I kinda get it now. There is a distinction, no matter how small. So here we are, at 1 month.
I started writing the story of it all tonight, but realized I was rushing through it, and wasn't doing it the justice it deserves. So I'll save that for another day.
We still don't really know much about why all of this happened, and it's seeming like we never will. We're not dealing with an incompetent cervix, and the pathology on the placenta came back normal. I really, really wish we would have had an autopsy done on Nathan, but after the nurse mentioned it to us as a possibility (a few hours before he was even born), no one else brought it up again. Ever. And though it crossed my mind a few times during my hospital stay, it wasn't ever when there was someone in the room.
I know some of you are probably thinking I'm an idiot...forgot to mention autopsy, forgot to take pictures....but please take my word for it....there are just things you don't think of when you're in such a horribly stressful and sad situation.
My OB (who is actually an NP, but she's the one I've seen the most since the beginning, and she's seen me through both losses) is going to talk to one of the doctors to see if she thinks I should undergo any testing myself. She's also just taken it upon herself to really be an advocate for us, and is trying to find out if there are any pics of Nathan, and if they have a blanket similar to the one he was wrapped in that we can have. She's also trying to piece together the notes from the day to get a better idea of what may have happened, if that's possible. We're really lucky to have someone fighting on our side.
I honestly don't know what else to say tonight, but I couldn't let the day go by without recognizing its significance. I just miss both of my babies so much.
I started writing the story of it all tonight, but realized I was rushing through it, and wasn't doing it the justice it deserves. So I'll save that for another day.
We still don't really know much about why all of this happened, and it's seeming like we never will. We're not dealing with an incompetent cervix, and the pathology on the placenta came back normal. I really, really wish we would have had an autopsy done on Nathan, but after the nurse mentioned it to us as a possibility (a few hours before he was even born), no one else brought it up again. Ever. And though it crossed my mind a few times during my hospital stay, it wasn't ever when there was someone in the room.
I know some of you are probably thinking I'm an idiot...forgot to mention autopsy, forgot to take pictures....but please take my word for it....there are just things you don't think of when you're in such a horribly stressful and sad situation.
My OB (who is actually an NP, but she's the one I've seen the most since the beginning, and she's seen me through both losses) is going to talk to one of the doctors to see if she thinks I should undergo any testing myself. She's also just taken it upon herself to really be an advocate for us, and is trying to find out if there are any pics of Nathan, and if they have a blanket similar to the one he was wrapped in that we can have. She's also trying to piece together the notes from the day to get a better idea of what may have happened, if that's possible. We're really lucky to have someone fighting on our side.
I honestly don't know what else to say tonight, but I couldn't let the day go by without recognizing its significance. I just miss both of my babies so much.
Monday, December 3, 2012
It's like an ambush
Yesterday was the first day that we have been to church since we lost Nathan. Our pastor and his wife, very sadly, went through a similar experience a few weeks before us, so he and I chatted a bit about it all. He started off by asking how I was doing, and I went through my typical "I'm mostly good, it just hits out of the blue sometimes" and he replied with something that really hit me...."Yeah, it's like an ambush". And it is.
I'll be doing fine for hours, sometimes even (almost) an entire day and then WHAM. It hits. Yesterday, while I had a few smaller moments, I did really well until we were done decorating the tree. Jeremy said that the top of the tree didn't look as green as the bottom, which made me worry that the tree may go brown and die, and I started crying. Ambushed. It then spiraled downhill into other sad thoughts ("I miss Nathan, he and Jordan will never get to help us decorate a tree..." and things along those lines). I rebounded fairly quickly for the most part, and thankfully Jeremy didn't call the mental institute. But still. Those ambush-y feelings are quite possibly the worst.
Today is 4 weeks. It feels like it can't have been that long while simultaneously feeling like it was forever ago. Sometimes the hours feel like days, and the days like weeks. Sometimes it's comforting to be around people who don't know...especially those who never knew I was pregnant. But then there are days where I just want to tell everyone what I've been through, as if it would excuse the fact that I'm unable to concentrate/participate/whatever.
I found this website today, thanks to a friend, and I spent way too much time during lunch and my breaks reading it today. I only say that because I was then on the verge of tears all day. It's comforting to see that there are women going through this too. Most of my friends who have been through a miscarriage have either only been through one, have only been through an early loss, and/or have living children also. Regardless of whether or not they had kids when their miscarriage happened, I still find it a little bit harder to relate because they did, in fact, end up with a living kid or two (or three). Now, of course that's fantastic for them, and I would never want anything else....but when I'm sitting here childless, it's nice knowing there are other women also sitting childless--though it breaks my heart for them, obviously. I guess the main thing is not feeling alone, which is how I feel so often.
So far, we still have no answers as to why this happened. Why my water broke at 17 weeks. I don't think I was ever EXPECTING answers, but just hoping. I've not given up yet, as my OB is still doing some investigating, but I'm trying to resign myself to the fact that I probably won't know until the good Lord tells me himself one day.
I'm running behind my self-imposed traditional 7:40pm posting, but I wanted to share a few pictures. The angel ornament was a gift to us from a sweet friend of mine from high school, and it has Nathan's name and the year. (We plan on ordering one for Jordan, too) Then yesterday at Target we found the "n" and "j" ornaments. We felt it was a nice way to include them in on Christmas, especially since Jordan would be here with us already if he/she had stuck around.
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I'll be doing fine for hours, sometimes even (almost) an entire day and then WHAM. It hits. Yesterday, while I had a few smaller moments, I did really well until we were done decorating the tree. Jeremy said that the top of the tree didn't look as green as the bottom, which made me worry that the tree may go brown and die, and I started crying. Ambushed. It then spiraled downhill into other sad thoughts ("I miss Nathan, he and Jordan will never get to help us decorate a tree..." and things along those lines). I rebounded fairly quickly for the most part, and thankfully Jeremy didn't call the mental institute. But still. Those ambush-y feelings are quite possibly the worst.
Today is 4 weeks. It feels like it can't have been that long while simultaneously feeling like it was forever ago. Sometimes the hours feel like days, and the days like weeks. Sometimes it's comforting to be around people who don't know...especially those who never knew I was pregnant. But then there are days where I just want to tell everyone what I've been through, as if it would excuse the fact that I'm unable to concentrate/participate/whatever.
I found this website today, thanks to a friend, and I spent way too much time during lunch and my breaks reading it today. I only say that because I was then on the verge of tears all day. It's comforting to see that there are women going through this too. Most of my friends who have been through a miscarriage have either only been through one, have only been through an early loss, and/or have living children also. Regardless of whether or not they had kids when their miscarriage happened, I still find it a little bit harder to relate because they did, in fact, end up with a living kid or two (or three). Now, of course that's fantastic for them, and I would never want anything else....but when I'm sitting here childless, it's nice knowing there are other women also sitting childless--though it breaks my heart for them, obviously. I guess the main thing is not feeling alone, which is how I feel so often.
So far, we still have no answers as to why this happened. Why my water broke at 17 weeks. I don't think I was ever EXPECTING answers, but just hoping. I've not given up yet, as my OB is still doing some investigating, but I'm trying to resign myself to the fact that I probably won't know until the good Lord tells me himself one day.
I'm running behind my self-imposed traditional 7:40pm posting, but I wanted to share a few pictures. The angel ornament was a gift to us from a sweet friend of mine from high school, and it has Nathan's name and the year. (We plan on ordering one for Jordan, too) Then yesterday at Target we found the "n" and "j" ornaments. We felt it was a nice way to include them in on Christmas, especially since Jordan would be here with us already if he/she had stuck around.
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