I went for my six-week check up and the doctor couldn't find the baby's heart beat. We waited a week and after my initial checkup were sent to the hospital for an ultrasound. I learned the term "blighted ovum" and was scheduled for a D&C. Two days later I was empty, again. It all sounds terribly clinical and cold, much like I am sharing something quite outside of myself; separate and detached, part of the grief process revisited. But it is not so. We moved and got settled into our home, I finished my dissertation and was granted my Ph.D., my husband's work continued to occupy his energies and by the end of the summer I was pregnant again, this time with the help of the high risk pregnancy team and infertilitycounseling. Fraternal twins, both attached well and at six weeks, strong heart beats, doing fine. Fall arrived with some bloody spotting and I passed a reddish blood clot. Called the doctor and had another ultrasound, both babies were fine. We left the hospital extremely relieved, we were told that some women experience bleeding during their entire pregnancy. Time passed and one chilly morning I awakened very early with my panties soaked through with bright red blood. I wasn't experiencing any cramping but was really frightened. I went to the bathroom, and as my husband was calling the doctor, I passed a clot the size of a fist and passed out, hitting my left eye and breaking the brow bone with the fall. We again went to the hospital and found that the babies were fine. We were so relived but I had quite a shiner (not much to pay for the joy of the babies). The following week I passed several other blood clots and had another trip to the hospital, this time the news wasn't good. One of the twins heart had stopped and the baby was curled up in a fetal position high in the sack, like a sleeping child with his arms wrapped around himself, but no longer alive. Fortunately the second twin continued with a vigorous heartbeat, seemingly unfazed by his siblings demise. The doctor was apologetic, optimistic and kind. We left the hospital with one less child and many more tears. I continued to bleed on and off for a total of seven weeks. I had a two-week stretch with no bleeding only to go to a gathering and on leaving our friend's home gushed so much bright red blood that it filled my shoes. Back to the hospital and everything was again fine with the remaining baby. Th doctors speculated that it bleeding was a result of the lost twin and that there was an internal bruise, which was continuing to bleed. One doctor said that as our baby grew larger, and took up more space in the womb, around the twentieth week the bleeding should probably stop. We had an amnio done, and at the end of November we waited for the test results. At this point I hadn't bleed for four weeks. The results of the amnio were excellent and we found out that our baby was healthy boy. For a month we were the happiest couple in the whole world, feeling like we had more joy in our lives then anyone anywhere had ever experienced. I imagine not unlike each of us who seriously desires a child, I felt like I was the only one in the world that had ever felt such happiness. Christmastime came and although I was still taking it very easy the house was decorated and there were gifts under the tree. I went to my regular doctor and was told that I could once again resume monthly visits, that everything looks great. I reminded him that I never had been on a monthly schedule due to the repeated visits to the hospital and office. We all laughed and we left so excited that things were going so well. Christmas was lovely and we couldn't have had a nicer day. The next day I seemed a bit tired and had been feeling a lot of movement from the baby. Toward the end of the evening I went to the bathroom and had passed some pinkish clots. I had experienced this so many times that although I was concerned I wasn't terribly worried. However, I did remember hearing from a doctor at one point during our pregnancies that reds to purple clots were old blood and that pink clots were a concern. I discussed this with my husband and we reassured each other that things were fine, we would call the doctor in the morning. During the night I continued to feel some pressure and movement, not realizing that in fact I was cramping and in labor. I the morning I call the advice nurse at our doctor's office and explained what was going on. I waited for the doctor to call me back. A couple of hours later I was called and scheduled for an office visit. On examination I was totally effaced and about three centimeters dilated and sent directly to the hospital. I called my husband at work and was so shaky on the cell phone I can't remember how many tries it took to finally dial the number. I told him there was a problem and to meet me at the hospital. It was difficult for me at admittance because I had to wait while they processed a full term Mom ready to deliver. My husband came rushing in and I explained what was going on. The hospital staff and delivery teams were great. Very encouraging and sympathetic to our needs. On assessment initially, with medication to stop the labor, tilting me backwards and complete bed rest we might be able to keep the baby. The next day I had an ultrasound with the high-risk team and viewed the screen with them. The sack was "hour glassing" and the prognosis inevitable. I would have to wait for my water to break and then deliver. At the stage of development of our son there was no chance of survival. At ten in the evening I knew my water had broken, called the nurse to confirm and waited for the delivery to ensue. At twelve thirty the next day Donnelly was born foot first, and dead. I held him in my arms and wept. There is so much more during those three days, the kindness of those around me, the tears, the nervous laughs, the wakefulness, the intense sorrow, the guilt, the dreams, the process, the feelings, the numbness, the medical and clinical support, the quiet, the angels and God. We went home with empty hearts and empty arms. The quiet in the house was extreme. No baby cooing, no baby crying and no excited energy to tap into. A hibiscus, a spring houseplant, had bloomed a single large apricot colored blossom and I know that was for my baby. A reminder that there is beauty amongst the sorrow. The funeral parlor was another hurdle, and we made arrangements for Donnelly's burial. We had begun the grieving process. My husband and I went to the ocean the following weekend and had a private memorial for our son. We placed dried flower petals and flowers from those who loved him too on the edge of the sand, a white rose, a yellow rose, a red rose, a silver rose and three baby red carnations, to be taken out to sea on the waves. I read the children's book "Guess how much I love you" to Donnelly. Big Nutbrown Hare settles Little Nutbrown Hare into a bed of leaves and leans over to kiss him good night, lies down beside him and whispers with a smiling face "I love you right up to the moon and back." We sent Donnelly's spirit to the sea and a piece of me went with him. I am floating on the sparkling crests of the ocean waves with my baby. Blessings, Melissa & Brian |
Melissa's story... Baby Donnelly, "our little man", died on December 29, 1999. At twenty-one weeks he was just too tiny to survive but what a sweet and perfect being he was. In spirit, I know he continues in a light of brilliance, surrounded by golden energy and mercurial sparkles, like those I see on a summer day bouncing off the waves of the ocean. We wanted him to be in our lives so very much, but it wasn't meant to be. Writing of our baby and our pursuit for a child makes me weep those silent tears that just happen, rolling down my cheeks, like tears, that unknowingly, have dampened my pillow after a nights sleep. Tears which come with sad times and then again uncontrollably at the most strange times, when I would least except them. Tears that I am crying now. Our story is not unlike many others, which have experienced the loss of their baby; babies which deserve to be called by their individual names. And although each of us has different and unique physical stories our grief is universal. Each of us will own and respond to our grief in contrasted behaviors but the commonality is the profound loss. No matter what we have experienced in our lives I know that for me this is the most penetrating and poignant experience that I have ever faced. I am lucky that I am not alone. The relationship I have with my husband reaches beyond the pain and almost unbelievably surfaces stronger and more beautiful. When I feel at the bottom I am lifted up through the waters of the ocean and surface on the crest of the waves and, we as a family, move closer to the firm sand of the beach. Occasionally sure that my footing on this earth plane will once again be solid. Our babies have died and yet our hope for a family continues. It is surreal at times to relive the losses and then to accept them as part of my life experience, still wanting, still hoping. Our first miscarriage occurred while I was the director of a youth shelter. It was an extremely stressful and dangerous job but a fulfilling one. To our joy I became pregnant, strong heart beat and attached well. At ten weeks a client hit me in the stomach at work, and although we will never know if this proceeded the loss of our baby, shortly after, I began bleeding at work. I went home notified our doctor and was told the "usual" bed rest, feet up, and if you are going to lose the baby at this stage there isn't anything that can be done. I had a painful and laborious miscarriage, followed by all the encompassing emotions. The following day I had an ultrasound and yes I was empty, yet full: of guilt, anger, sorrow, melancholy, desolation, questioning, despair and loneliness. Then later, much later, comfort and hope. The doctor's prognosis was good, after three months we should just try again. Several months later I resigned from my work and luckily was able to stay home to complete my doctoral dissertation. Schoolwork became my full time job. One year later we became pregnant again. We had purchased a new home, sold ours and were moving. Nothing could have looked brighter for us. |
"News Flash" On April 27, 2001 Hannah Ann Rossman was born weight 6 pounds 11 ounces Length 20 inches. Melissa & Brian are very happy, and are having lots of fun with baby Hannah. She has already been on several vacations. |