Oh, pregnancy (or, don't believe everything they tell ya)

This was my third pregnancy.  And it was different in every way from my previous ones. 

Charlie's was easy.  No sickness, no pain, just some aversions to food (chicken) and smells (everything).  We went straight to our 39 week schedules C (breech) without any problems, and not even a hint of a contraction, despite my working until the day before.

Isaiah's, if you know the story, was the same as Charlie's except I couldn't get enough spicy food, but he was heartbreakingly taken from us at 19 weeks, when I delivered him VBAC, stillborn, tiny and beautiful. 

Because of my loss, this pregnancy was under the microscope from day one.  Or, I should say, week three, because that's how early I found out.  We waited two full years for this to happen, and made a decision not to wait to tell people. 

We know first hand that the a pregnancy can end in a moment, and we'd waited until almost 17 weeks to tell people we were pregnant with Isaiah, and he was gone two weeks later.  Because of this, not everyone understood just how intense our loss was, thinking we were just barely pregnant (which, in and of itself is a big deal...), and we felt robbed of time celebrating with others.  So, as soon as I had an ultrasound to confirm, we told the world. 

Like my other pregnancies, I never got sick (Thank the Lord,) but I was constantly nauseous.  I had my food and smell sensitivities again, and anything spicy was intolerable.  I also wasn't big on sweets, which I was with Charlie.  Bland fast food, please!  What was really different about this pregnancy was:

1 - The fear.  I was crippled with anxiety that this baby would be snatched away.  As every week ticked by toward 19, I became more and more scared.  The day week 19 finally hit, I had a huge rush  of relief, still feeling the romping going on in my womb.

2 - The doctors.  I love my doctor.  I would recommend her to anyone.  But, because of Isaiah, she wasn't comfortable doing just the routine OB checks, she wanted me to see specialists.  By the time I was three months along, I'd had 10 ultrasounds and endless blood work, and was now heading to a Maternal Fetal Medicine clinic at least once a month to have intensive ultrasounds and lots of screenings done.  I wish we hadn't. 

First MFM ultrasound revealed a baby in one half of my uterus (I have a heart shaped uterus, basically confining the baby to one side.), and something unknown in the other.  Hmmm...the techs/doctors thought it was a twin that didn't thrive.  Great.  Then, they realized it's the Weston's hand.  Thanks for that.

Then there was the down's screening.  I had markers!  Cue ridiculously long ultrasound.  The ultrasound was clear, but in my blood the markers are low, but they're there, so they suggested we do an amnio.  (Side note, I'm way against amnio treatment for myself.  I've already had a one in 1000 miscarriage, I'm not going to do anything with those odds willingly.)  No.  Because I refused the amnio, I was offered the option of a Maternity21 test.  A blood test, just from me, no risk to the baby.  I agreed to that.  I scheduled that for the same day as the anatomy scan. 

Anatomy scan.  Two techs, two hours, regular and internal ultrasound reveals: Girl?  Girl.  we think it's a girl.  Probably.  80%.  Go ahead, tell everyone its a girl.  So, I told everyone it was a girl, had my blood drawn for more screenings, then waited a week for results.

(Now, about it being a girl - I knew in my bones that I was having a boy.  Tim thought it was a girl, was thrilled he was right, but even after the ultrasound I found myself referring to the baby as him and he.  I couldn't wrap my head around him being a girl - even though it would make preperations SO easy, since we already had everything we could ever need for a girl.)

A week later I got the call, the Maternity21 test came back clear for all forms of Trisomy, including Downs (the test checks for 21 different chromosomes, and is incredibly accurate, second to an amnio.  It also checks for X and Y chromosomes.)  But, hmm...they are seeing boy chromosomes in the blood work.  There is almost zero chance that this is wrong, so I need to schedule another ultrasound to confirm that it's a boy.

Next ultrasound:  Two hours, two techs, one doctor, one genetic counselor.  There was something between the baby's legs.  But, they had no idea what.  I saw what they were talking about, and I agree, it wasn't clearly a boy part, and it wasn't the lack of parts you look for with a girl.  It was an orb, just hanging out where something else should (or shouldn't) be.  This was when they started throwing horrifying suggestions at us.
Horrifying suggestion #1 - We have a baby with "ambiguous gender."  Externally, neither boy nor girl, we will have to wait and test to see if the reproductive system reveals what the baby is supposed to be, and if not, wait and see what the child identifies with waaaayyy down the road.  Either way, expect extensive surgery.
Horrifying suggestion #2 - Adrenal gland gone wild, causing girl parts to swell uncontrollably, resulting in much treatment and surgery down the road - possibly life threatening.
Horrifying suggestion #3 - Terminate the pregnancy.  Really?  Because this tiny human has a bit of mystique, we should end its life?  I look at my beautiful baby now, and am even more disgusted by the idea now than then.  How can someone do that over a perceived inconvenience?  Moving on.

Next ultrasound:  We found boy parts!  Measuring a little bit small, but we'll take it.*  But, wait, his heart was measuring too big.  So, naturally, the doctor jumped to the absolute worst possible conclusion - The baby might have Smith–Lemli–Opitz syndrome - basically extreme brain damage.  Again, an amnio was suggested, but since nothing could be done even if it confirmed it, we declined.  Instead, we got a fetal echo. 

Fetal echo:  His heart was measuring very slightly large, with nothing to cause it.  No visible holes, no structural issues, pumping exactly right.  Finally a doctor gave us good news, that the Smith-Lemli-Opitz suggestion was more than likely "much ado about nothing."  She had us schedule a follow up just to make sure it didn't grow more.

Next ultrasound:  Hmmm...One kidney is dilated.  Want to see a fetal urologist, or wait till he's born?  At this point, we're so over appointments we decided to wait.  (We had it done today.  Waiting for results, but not sweating it.) 

Fetal echo #2:  Same as the first.  She suggests we have an echo done after he's born. (We had it done yesterday, his heart is just right,)

I never had my last ultrasound, on account of the baby coming, and I'm so glad.  They probably would have "found" another "problem," and we were over it.  I think I'm even forgetting some of the things they warned us might be wrong with our son.  It was a non stop scare-fest.

I'm putting this here for a few reasons.  First, we're still frustrated by the emotional turmoil that was inflicted on an already emotional pregnancy.  Second, we discovered some doctors communicate the worst case scenario without telling you it's the worst case scenario.  There are a lot of reasons for a slightly enlarged heart.  SLO syndrome is insanely rare, and has a TON of other symptoms recognizable on ultrasound - none of which Weston showed.  This was the only thing he presented us with.  The only one.  It's ridiculous and angering that he put us under more stress than we were already under - then billed us for the "consultation."  If you're in a similar situation, get second opinions.  Ask questions.  We spoke with the genetic counselor after talking to the doctor, and she told us she didn't agree with him.  Ultrasounds are very open to interpretation.  It's not an exact science.

I'm not totally sure how to wrap up this post, but I felt that I needed to write it.  Carrying a baby within you is a wonderful thing.  I don't want anyone to have the joy of it stripped from them the way that Tim and I sometimes felt we did.  If we're blessed with another baby, we will not do  additional screenings.  Its too much strain for zero reward.

Despite All The Things doctors tried to stack against him, our tiny boy is very healthy.  And we are so grateful.

*There is a reason for the hard to read ultrasound, and its not ambiguous gender.  Weston has hypospadias, (the doctors never mentioned this as an option) which will require surgery, but its fairly common and routine.  And he is definitely a boy. 

And then my water broke...or, Weston's birth story

(Yes, I realize its been two years.  No, this isn't necessarily a return to blogging.  I just want to record Weston's birth story, and this seems like a good place to do it.  Maybe I'll blog more...we'll see.)

I was nearing full term in a ridiculously complicated high risk pregnancy.  35 weeks and 5 days, I had my routine OB appointment, the first of the every week appointments.  Everything was normal, and Charlie and I headed to Costco.  Two days before Thanksgiving...brilliant.

We got the few things we needed, ran into a friend, and got into the check out line.   When I was getting ready to pay, the Costco guy told me that something was leaking in my purse. I went to check and discovered my water bottle had opened and was pouring everywhere.  I closed the bottle, apologized, and turned to go back to the counter...and slipped in the water.  Naturally, I grabbed the first thing I saw, a little old lady.  Of course.  Amazingly she managed not to fall with me (thank goodness,) and I was suddenly surrounded by very concerned people.  I'd landed on my knee, my stomach spared all impact, so I assured everyone I was fine, apologized profusely and tried to make myself invisible as I paid.  I heard a Costco employee in the next line ask, "Um, what is that?" and realized it probably looked like my water had broken. "Ha ha," I thought, "Scheduled C-section, my water's not going to break."
 
We went home, put away the items we'd picked up for Thanksgiving, had lunch, and I considered packing a hospital bag.  This was quickly dismissed.  Maybe do laundry...nah.  The day proceeded normally, nap time, dinner, TV, bed.  For some reason, I decided to put a towel on the bed, just in case the impossible happened, but as soon as I laid down I realized it was uncomfortable, and threw it on the floor.

About an hour later, it happened.  An intense amount of water was pouring out of me.  I was immediately awake, and without thinking sunk to the floor where I knew the towel was and started yelling for Tim to wake up.  Eventually, he found me ( I was invisible from where he was, since I was huddled on the floor,) and we tried to figure out what needed to be done so we could leave.  He got my dad and set him up to take care of Charlie, I pulled dirty yoga pants from the hamper (why didn't I do laundry? why didn't I pack a bag?) then sat on the bed shaking for awhile.  The shock was overwhelming me, and I was terrified for the baby.  It hadn't occurred to me that he wouldn't follow Charlie's footsteps and go straight to 39 weeks without so much as a contraction.  We headed for the hospital around 11:30.

We entered the hospital through the ER - and no one was there. It was a ghost town.  I had to call the baby center to find out where to go.  We checked in, and went to triage, where the told me they had to confirm that the torrent of water still coming from me wasn't just pee.  In the meantime I was strapped to all sorts of monitors, an ultrasound was done to confirm the baby was still breach, and we were introduced to the doctor on call.  Now, let me just say, I'm sure this doctor is great.  I'm sure she's super experienced, and can do a c-section in her sleep.  But, we were tired, stressed, and scared.  So, Tim asked if my doctor could be called.  Well, this offended the doctor who was there so completely that I thought there was going to be a brawl.  She lectured, scolded, yelled...and finally agreed to call my doctor and see if she could do the surgery.  When she was unsuccessful and getting through to my doctor, it was clear she had washed her hands of us, so she told us we could just wait until the morning and try again.  We confirmed that there was no risk to the baby, and agreed.

We spent a long night monitoring the baby, my temperature, and waiting.  Around 9 am, a different doctor came in, and told us that my doctor wouldn't be able to be here until Friday, and would we like to wait?  It was Wednesday morning.  Obviously, waiting two days was not the best solution, so we told her we'd be happy to have her do the C-section.  We weren't trying to be unreasonable, we simply wanted to know if Dr. Brown could do it, and if not, get the party started.  We were going to have the baby that afternoon.  It was settled.  I was nervous, but we were happy with the situation.

A little bit later, my phone rang.  It was my doctor!  She'd rearranged her whole schedule, and would be there at noon to do my C-section.  Amazing!  We were more than thrilled, she'd done my C-section with Charlie, been there for most of my delivery with Isaiah, and I'd been seeing her for 4 years.  It meant a lot that she would do it.

We kept getting pushed back as emergency C-sections kept cropping up, but eventually we made it into the OR.  I was very anxious, remembering the last time I'd had this done.  Thankfully, this time around, I didn't react to the spinal block like I did before, and I didn't feel all the pressure and pulling that I did with Charlie.  And, at 1:41, on November 27th, Weston Peter was born.  A NICU doctor took him to the corner of the room to examine him, and Tim went with them, but it was positioned so that I could see him.  I stared, crying, and the tiny baby while they put me back together.  For some reason, I couldn't stop sobbing.  I was so relieved to hear him cry, see him wiggle, see that he was, indeed, a boy (something that had been up for debate at my later ultrasounds).

Weston tipped the scales at 4 pounds, 15 ounces, and they measured him at 17 inches, though we later found out it was closer to 19.  He had a lot of brown hair, dark blue-grey eyes, and the longest fingers you ever did see.

I was transferred to a hospital bed and wheeled back to my room.  I passed my pastor and his wife in the hall...since our C-section kept getting pushed back, they arrived before it was done, and as a result were sent away since I had yet to meet Weston, and the nurses were eager for me to start recovering.  Then my tiny boy was placed on my chest, we had our first feeding time, and he was whisked away to be evaluated.  His blood sugar was extremely low, so they started giving him formula, without my consent, which bummed me out, but I assumed it had to happen.  The rest of the hospital stay, I struggled to get him to latch, only succeeding about 4 times in three days, so I pumped and pumped and pumped, and we supplemented with formula as needed.

Charlie came to meet her brother, and received a special gift from him, and enormous Lambie doll from Doc McStuffins.  She got to hold him, and spend time with Tim and me, and was happy as a clam.

We left the hospital the day after Thanksgiving, despite Weston's low weight, and thankfully, as soon as we got home, Weston started latching again.

He's been here for about 5 weeks now, slowly putting on weight, slowly kicking jaundice, quickly stealing all our hearts.  We love our tiny tiny boy, and can't imagine life without him.

 Now, off the put the toddler down for a nap and feed the wee one again.

Tomorrow...

...tomorrow is the day we'd expected to meet our little boy.  The Lord had a different plan than we did, and after just 19 weeks of carrying this little life within me, he was taken to a Perfect Life for eternity.

How do you spend the day you thought you'd be meeting your child?  Tim and I decided that it would be  a day together...himself, Charlie and me.  We're going to hunt for our Christmas tree, decorate it while sipping hot chocolate and listening to Christmas music and enjoy our family, even though our little boy isn't joining us.

It will be bitter sweet, enjoying family time, while missing Isaiah on his expected birthday. 

We are so thankful for the little ball of energy we call Charlie,  who will keep us laughing, and, probably on our toes, as she seeks to destroy the baby proof ornaments I stocked up on.

We miss our little boy every day, and are thankful for God's grace and the knowledge that we will meet one day.

^{Psalm 139:13} For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
¹⁴ I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
¹⁵ My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place,
when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
¹⁶ Your eyes saw my unformed body;
all the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.

We look forward to meeting you, sweet Isaiah.

On hope, where it comes from and why we have it

I have been so blessed by the outpouring of support that has come from friends near and far. I was directed to a blog called 4 Day to Eternity, created by a family who lost their son Mason after 4 days with him. As part of their ministry, they send the book Safe in the Arms of God (truth from Heaven about the death of a child) by John MacArthur, to anyone who has lost a baby.

We know of the couple, Chris and Anna, because we briefly went to college together. If I remember right, Chris was a senior my freshman year. The college president happens to be John MacArthur. We were so happy to receive this book, knowing it was full of truths that would take us a long time to discover ourselves.

I think it's natural to wonder what happens to babies that die. I am so thankful for this book, which answers that question with biblical support, something vitally important to us.

We already know that God knows us from the womb. The passage assuring us of that was what we clung to as we waited in the hospital.

"For you formed my inward parts, you knitted me together in my mother's womb. I praise you for I am fearfully and wonderfully made....You saw my unformed substance, in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them." Ps. 139:13-14, 16

Excerpts from the book:

"You may think you 'made' your baby. Not so. God made your baby and breathed life into him or her. Your child is His creation." 19

"Your child has never been beyond the loving care and concern-or the watchful eye-of the Lord." 22

"He does not allow a conception that is beyond His sovereign plan and purposes." 23

Dr. MacArthur addresses the topic of the sin nature, inherent in all humans because of Adam's original sin. Having this sin nature means that eventually when faced with a choice between right and wrong, we will inevitably pick to do wrong. This begs the question, are babies condemned to hell because they are carriers of the sin nature, despite never having chosen to sin?

Because we are born with a sin nature; "we cannot say that babies who die go to heaven because they are 'sinless.' Rather, babies who die go to heaven because God is gracious." 72

Throughout Scripture, God refers to children as "The innocents." (See Jer. 2:34 and 19:4 for examples). "Though fallen creatures like all Adam's offspring, infants are not culpable in the same sense as those whose sins are will full and premeditated." 35

"The Scripture weighs very heavily toward the fact that innocent children are in heaven, redeemed and dwelling in the presence of God." 41

Though babies do not have the ability to accept Christ, Christ is gracious to accept them. Quoting John Calvin, MacArthur says, "Those little children have not yet any understanding to desire His blessing, but when they are presented to Him, He gently and kindly receives them, and dedicates them to the Father by a solemn act of blessing." 60

"The saving grace given to an infant who as no part whatsoever in his salvation is a perfect example of salvation, which is always wrought sovereignly by God through grace." 77

"If we understand God by His nature as a Savior (see 1 Tim. 1:1; 4:10), is it not the truest expression of God's heart that He chooses to save infants?" 79

I'll end with this:

"Yes, children are in need of a Savior.

"Yes, God has provided a Savior for them, Jesus Christ.

"Yes, all children who die before they reach a state of moral awareness and culpability in which they understand their sin and corruption--so that their sins are deliberate--are graciously saved eternally by God through the work of Jesus Christ. They are counted as elect by sovereign choice because they are innocent of willful sin, rebellion, and unbelief, by which works they would be justly condemned to eternal punishment." 89-90

These are small snippets of the comfort this book, written through searching of the Scriptures, can give. There is so much more, but I'll leave it here.

We know Isaiah is with Christ, free from all the pain and hardship, as well as the sin and temptation of this world. We do not grieve that he is with Christ, we grieve only for ourselves, for our empty arms, for the son we can't know until we are reunited. He has gone ahead of us...but we will be reunited in Perfection.

If you have questions, please let me know, I'll do my best to answer or direct you to someone who can.

On us, three weeks later

It's been nearly a month since Isaiah was taken Home. How are we doing? I don't really know.

Most of the time we're fine.

Physically:

I'm pretty much healed from the delivery. This helps a lot, I think, with the fits of anger I had the first two weeks after he left us. My appetite, after an initial decrease, is back to normal. Unfortunately, my hair, which has just started growing back from my post-Charlie-pardem hair loss, coming back in wild wings in awkward places, is now falling out again. This is very frustrating, not to mention disgusting. I can't pick Charlie up from the floor without then having to pluck obscene amounts of hair from between her toes and fingers...sigh.

I am still very tired. No one told Charlie that mommy's body is recovering from chaos, and filling to the brim with excess hormones, so she's being the busy 10 month old she is, and I'm doing my best to keep up on about 6 hours of sleep a night.

Emotionally:

Initially I had such a great perspective on this whole thing. The baby center we were in plays a little lullaby every time a baby was born, and as I labored to birth our stillborn son, I surprised myself with being happy for those mommy's who were marvelling over their new baby. I had expected to be bitter, but I was so glad that they were spared from my pain. I also surprised myself to discover that it's now that I'm bitter. I see pregnant women everywhere, and experience varying levels of jealousy, from slight (generally people I know) to extreme (strangers). I see people carrying newborns or playing with their baby boys and feel a lot of self pity. Why did this have to happen to us, is a common refrain in my mind.

I've learned the things that will set me off - some I can avoid (gazing at the baby boy clothes at H&M and thinking of what I would be buying had things gone differently), some I can't (pregnant women are every where. You can't dodge 'em.)

I often want to feel numb. I have a stack of cards and a dried rose from a flower arrangement waiting to find their place in the keepsake box from the hospital. Although the box is sitting in my line of vision most of the day, I dread opening it, and feeling the pain that, in a way, I've buried in it. As long as I don't open that box, see his tiny footprints, the notes from our nurses, the reminders of the son who went ahead of us, I can contain myself. I don't have to feel.

It's a really hard thing, grieving for someone who was such a large part of you, but whom you never knew. I don't really know how to do it. For 19 weeks he was growing in me, reminding me he was there first with cravings for salty foods, then spicy foods, then with the nudges that a mother can't get enough of. Then he was gone. In my arms for the briefest moment, then presented to me as ashes in a little wooden box. It's almost surreal. I told a friend recently that sometimes I feel like I'm recovering from a disease. I was hospitalized, sent home to recover, then sent a nice big bill as a reminder. There's no baby at my breast, no first smiles to wait eagerly for, just another bill to stress over.

Tim is experiencing this in an entirely different way. When he told his coworkers that we lost the baby, the reaction, for the most part was, "Oh yeah, I knew someone who had a miscarriage once. That sucks." and on they go with whatever work related thing they have.

To say "That sucks" to someone who actually held his dead child in his arms doesn't cut it. I watched my husband sob when the nurse sadly said, "A little baby boy," as she wrapped him up for us to hold. Tim clung to him, holding him longer than even I did, kissing his face, gazing at his hands, already missing the boy we'll never know. So, I'm beyond frustrated that his coworkers aren't more sympathetic, and even more so that some of them hold grudges over having to cover for him for those three days he took to be with me in the hospital and at home while we grieved.

Reading this through, it kinda sounds like we're a mess. Sometimes we (usually me) are. But day to day, we're doing really well. We have hope and faith that Isaiah is with Christ in Heaven, and that eases the blow of his loss immensely. It enables us to pull ourselves, or eachother, from despair. To seek strength in the Lord. To be better parents to Charlie, not taking her for granted. This post was written purely from my human response to my loss, but there's a lot more to it.

We have hope, and I'm going to tell you about it. Read on, friends.

What's Charlie Wearing Wednesday

Charlie is becoming a ham as she gets older. She knows what to do when the camera comes out (most of the time), though she's having more trouble sitting still than she used to.

This outfit was a gift from our friend Zib. It's a little Carter's ditty, complete with ruffle butt, and a bee embroidered on the front. Cute, easy on, easy off, what more could you want?

See what I mean about the ham? That third picture cracks me up. It barely even looks like her. This outfit is from our friend Laura, and she brought it back from a shop in Australia, called Charlie Belle, believe it or not. It's so cute with the patchwork elephant and super ruffle butt.

As for the rest of us, we're doing pretty well. Tim is back to more than full time work (but he has this weekend off to celebrate our 7th anniversary), I'm coming out of my funk a bit, even going so far as to clean two different rooms today. I'm blessed to have many friends willing to distract me or listen to me, depending on my mood. Charlie is ever moving, keeping me on my toes. She's still resistant to crawling, but the allure of things out of reach is getting to her, so I don't think her resistance will hold much longer.

Physically, I'm still dealing with contractions as my body returns to normal, which is emotionally challenging, because a lot of the movements I feel are so similar to baby movements. It doesn't help the yearning to hold my baby when I feel like he's still in there squirming around, and have to remind myself that he's gone.

Blessedly, Charlie has been a joy. The past two days she's woken too early, so I've given her a bottle and then laid her on my chest until she falls back asleep. Then, two hours or so later, I wake to a tiny finger tracing down my nose, and open my eyes to huge blue ones staring back and giddy laughter. It's been the highlight of my day. Tonight she woke up 45 minutes after I put her to bed, and as I held her and coaxed her back to sleep she gazed at me with heavy eyes and just grinned and giggled herself to sleep. She's also been extra cuddly, holding me together when I feel like I might fall apart. She's such a blessing. I love her.

In a parallel universe...

...I would be getting ready to go find out I was having a boy, instead of getting ready to pick our car up from the shop.

...I would be meeting my friend Meghan there, and she would play with and distract Charlie.

...I would be heading to the store to buy this, and putting it in a box with a blue balloon that would float out when opened.

...I would be driving to Tim's office to surprise him with said box.

It was going to be a great day.

Truthfully, I don't always have the holiest outlook on this situation.

Yesterday I sat down with my coffee, looked at Tim and burst into tears, complaining that my "human" summer clothes (read, not maternity) were out of style. He offered to take me shopping for new clothes, and I got even weepier, saying, "But I don't want to wear regular clothes! I want to be pregnant!" Poor guy. He couldn't win.

I wish, much to frequently, for a mulligan. Just a little trek back to a few weeks ago, and everything could go differently.

I continually scold myself for having complained about anything pregnancy related, and for worrying about logistics instead of enjoying the life within me.

Grieving is an unpredictable process, one I sometimes handle with grace, and other times with petty selfishness and whining.

If I'm being honest.

There's no real point to this post, just thoughts running through my head, needing an outlet.

For my birthday, I had a son

(This will be long, and hard...feel free to skip it. I just want to log it while it's fresh in my memory, and this is pretty much the only place I write...)

Wednesday July 6th, I went in for my 19 week OB exam. I was vaguely worried, because I'd been feeling the baby move for a few weeks, and the last 4 days or so I hadn't. I'd also noticed that suddenly things were too spicy...and impossibility the week before. I pushed these things out of my head and walked through the office doors. A half hour later, the fear I'd refused to acknowledge was confirmed as my doctor fruitlessly searched for the baby's heartbeat. She wheeled in an ultrasound machine, keeping it turned away from me, then took me to a bigger ultrasound machine and showed me my little baby, and its missing heartbeat.

I was given a few minutes to collect myself and call Tim, then was given an insane amount of information about how to proceed, most of which bounced right off of my ringing ears. I came away with the understanding that one way or another, I was delivering our tiny beloved baby on Friday.

Thursday afternoon I was given laminaria, a seaweed based induction agent. I went home to let the process start overnight. Friday morning, Tim and I checked into the birth center, were put in a secluded room (they were sensitive to keep us apart from evidence of live births) and introduced us to our nurse, Evie. I began sobbing as soon as the nurse entered the room, so she gave us some time to come to terms with the reason we were there. Soon after that, my OB came in and removed the laminaria and started me on cytotec, which would continue my dilation and kick start labor. For the next several hours I experienced increasingly stronger contractions while Tim and I researched names with beautiful and hopeful meanings. We tucked prospective names in the back of our minds, and read Psalm 139 for comfort. We discussed God's grace upon unborn babies, and our faith that He was already holding this little one I was cherishing in my womb.

Tim's parents brought Charlie in to see us, since it had become clear that this wouldn't be a quick process, and we would be spending our first night away from her. Unfortunately, this time was when my contractions started getting more painful, and I had to stop everything when I had one - about every 4-5 minutes. I hung in for awhile, but could tell I was grouchy and impatient, so we called for an epidural and said goodbye to Charlie and Tim's parents. It was about 4:00. The epidural was given around 4:45, and it hurt. A lot. I said "Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow," which surprised Tim, because I tend to be silent in my pain, but as soon as the medicine started I completely forgot that there was ever pain. Pretty soon I felt no pain, just a lot of heaviness in my legs. I was completely paralyzed, and my feet were hanging heavily off the bed (this is one time that long legs was not a blessing). I continually made Tim shift my leg to a more comfortable position, and was amazed that he could lift those 1000 ton things.

At this point I was given another dose of cytotec, and told how I was progressing. My dad came to visit after this exam, and just sat with us for a few hours. We talked a little, watched some How I Met Your Mother, and just whiled away the time. He left around 7, and Tim and looked at names a little more. Our nurses switched. Maria tended to my every need, almost seemed to know them before I told her. My blood pressure had been low and inconsistent ever since the epidural, so she called the anaesthesiologist in the adjust my dosage, and she checked on me constantly. I was given meds to bring my blood pressure back up, and then I tried to sleep, and Tim fell asleep immediately. A few hours later I felt the pressure shift, and I new I was about to deliver. It was about 11:00, and I started saying, "Tim." Nothing. "Tim. Tim. TIM. TIM!" Finally, he woke, and called the nurse, trying to explain what I had told him, ending with "but you should probably come talk to her, cause I'm half asleep." Maria came in, and saw that the water bag was coming, called the doctor and told me just to breathe.

My doctor came in, explained what she was seeing, and then told me she had an emergency c-section to do, and asked me to fight against the urge to push, she'd be back in a half hour. Another doctor was made aware, and a few minutes later I woke Tim again (he was tired) and told him it was time, and get the nurse now.

Maria, a doctor and another nurse came in. Despite my not pushing, the intact water bag holding the baby had slipped out with the help of contractions. I pushed to get the placenta out, though I couldn't feel if I was pushing, so I was constantly apologizing and asking if I was doing it. Eventually the doctor opened the bag, and the baby was cleaned.

The nurse told us "It's a little boy," and Tim began sobbing. They brought him to us, and Tim held him first. He was the size of my hand, not fully formed, but his tiny face already had similarities to Charlie's face, his hands, smaller than dimes had all their fingers, and the smallest fingernails you can imagine. His feet were the same way, tiny and beautiful.

I held my son in my arms just after midnight, as the day became my 30th birthday. He looked so peaceful, like he was sleeping, cradled in my hands. I looked at Tim, and, in my post delivery haze, I said, "I know we haven't talked about this name, but what about Isaiah, since we've found such comfort in the Isaiah 139 passage?" Tim immediately agreed that it was perfect, and seconds later we realized that the passage was Psalm 139, but we didn't care. His name was Isaiah. It came out of nowhere, but fit better than any of the other names we'd discussed.

We passed him back and forth between us, took pictures, touched his tiny hands, and talked with him. I told him I loved him, that I was so sorry he couldn't stay with us, and that we would always miss him.

Eventually we gave him to the nurse, sobbing. She carefully took hand and footprints, made a mold of his footprints, and called the photography company to schedule an early morning session. They told her that they only do pictures for babies 20 weeks or older, so this amazing woman bought a disposable camera, dressed our baby and took pictures in the studio for us. She was amazing, going above and beyond in every way.

It was about 2 am, and Tim and I went to sleep. I woke a few hours later, and Maria changed my bedding and whispered, "Next time, He will have a happier ending for you." She then told me Isaiah's measurements, 9 ounces, 7.9 inches. She told me she'd taken the pictures, and we could get them developed when we were ready, and put a fabric keepsake box on my bedside table, telling me to open it later.

In the morning I opened the box and found cards from the whole nursing staff, the mold of his footprints, cards with his hand and footprints, a tiny blue teddy bear, a journal, a sachet and a few other trinkets.

A few hours later we were discharged.

I was dreading sharing my birthday with this event. But, as it unfolded, I found it to be so much more peaceful and healing than I expected. If you can only hold your baby one time, it should be on a momentous and memorable day...I love that I share my birthday with him. It can't be overlooked or forgotten, it's a part of my life.

He will be missed and longed for every day, but we know that the Lord is holding him close. Isaiah's name means "Yahweh is my salvation," and that is where our comfort lies. His accidental name is perfect.

Psalm 139:13-16

For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother's womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there were none of them.