Seven weeks ago right now, I was starting labor, and waiting to hear back from the nurse at my OB's office to see if I should go in and be checked. By 1:30 p.m., I was in the hospital. It's odd - that time has both passed quickly, and the days have seemed like forever. I hate being overdramatic, but it was seven weeks ago that my heart broke.
I should provide some background. My husband and I were married on September 3, 2005, and started trying to get pregnant that very day. I'd been diagnosed in the past with severe polycystic ovaries and a light case of endometriosis, so we knew there might be some hurdles.
We went through reading temperatures, rounds of Clomid, artificial insemination, a laparoscopy. None of them worked. Finally, about a year and a half ago, we decided to try in-vitro. We started the process last fall, and my eggs were retrieved in November - I got horribly sick from having ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome, and so they had to freeze our five perfect little embryos until I was better.
We transferred two embryos on February 26, 2009. I couldn't wait for the blood test at the doctor's office - I had to take a pregnancy test. To my delight and nervous anticipation, the first one was positive. So was the second. And the third. The blood tests were so high in hcg that the doctor thought at first that we might be having twins - my little girl had burrowed that deeply into my womb that she released that many hormones.
The next five months were a whirlwind of nervousness at the thought of losing her, and such extreme joy and delight. I experienced the most amazing moment of my life when I first felt her kick, and my husband and I got to share in the joy of finding out that she was a little girl - our little girl.
Then, on July 7, 2009, at 21 weeks and 3 days of pregnancy, tragedy struck. My little angel, my perfect, beautiful girl was stillborn at 12:08 a.m. due to an incompetent cervix and an infection. We were blessed to be able to hold her for an hour and a half that night, and then an hour and a half the next morning.
Now, however, my arms are empty. My heart aches, and my womb has shrunk. My baby is cremated and is with us always, but I can never hold her again. I can never hear her first cry, I can never watch her sleep. I can't understand why something so beautiful and strong was taken, and why I'm left with this void. I just feel this aching chasm.
At the same time, I want to honor my little girl's memory. Maddie brought so much into my life. She taught me that my husband and I could be even closer than we were before. She sacrificed her life so that we could know about this condition and so that we might be able to give her siblings. Perhaps most importantly, she taught me about the capacity of love I have. I always thought people were just being cruel when they told me that you don't know what it means to love until you're a parent - I learned while looking at that perfect, beautiful face that they are right. I loved that girl when she was inside of me, but I learned through the pain of delivery and looking at her that I couldn't ever imagine what love is, or what pain is.
I just wanted to take a moment to share my beautiful, perfect angel with the world. I can't ever have her back, and all I can do is cry a thousand times, but I can make sure her story doesn't die.
Monday, August 24, 2009
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6 comments:
I'm so, so sorry to read of your loss. And what a lovely name. Infertility has a way of really tangling itself up in this grief mess -- go easy on yourself. A lot of the time you'll be grieving a lot more than your daughter, it will seem. Please know you're not alone.
Thank you for sharing your daughter here, and thank you for reading.
Thank you so very much - your kindness has touched my heart, just as your words did. It's horrifying to know that others have known the pain of infertility and subsequent loss - but it's comforting (in a horrid way) that I'm not alone. Thank you so very much.
You are not being overdramatic. What you have been through - loss and infertility - is beyond most people's scope of understanding. Make that way beyond!
Thank you for sharing Maddie's story. I know how hard it is...
the day you became pregnant with maddie is the day we found out we were expecting a girl. :)
That's so coincidental. It truly was a special day, wasn't it? :)
I just found your blog and I am so moved by your words about your sweet girl.
My mother lost my sister at 5 1/2 months gestation...
This was back in the early 80s and she delivered her at home with my father there...not knowing what happened.
To this day, she doesn't talk about it much.
She had her tubes tied a few weeks later because she couldn't imagine going through that grief again and there was no certainty that it wouldn't happen again.
My mother wished she had support back then...it was taboo to talk about.
I think about my sister often. In fact on the 30th is when she was "born".
God bless your family...
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