It has been three years since our daughter, Ava, was prematurely taken from us. And not a day goes by that I don't think about her and miss her. I frequently wonder how she would be with her sister Emma, how Emma would be with her, if Emma looks like her sister, how their personalities would differ, etc. So many questions...
For some reason I'm drawn to write about Ava's birth story. I don't know why I would like to share it with you - maybe therapy (it is her birthday). But I hope you know that you are not alone if you have lost an angel baby yourself; or maybe this post will give you some insight as to what your family member or friend has gone or will go through.
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Here is Ava's birth story:
Ava's pregnancy started out as any other normal pregnancy for first-time parents; Seth and I were nervous, excited, and scared. We found out while vacationing in New England (at the time we were living in California). We didn't know what to do, so we didn't tell anyone (looking back I see how silly that was). Instead, we went home and to the doctor to confirm the pregnancy (because peeing on two sticks wasn't enough?!?!), then told our close family. Everyone was excited, especially since we were moving east and would be closer to some of them.
When I was about 10 weeks pregnant and I started bleeding. My doctor could not find a reason and simply put me on bed rest and informed me "some woman just bleed during their pregnancies". That statement became routine during my weekly (sometimes more frequent) appointments over the next 9 weeks. I continued to bleed and they continued to give me and baby lots of attention and ultrasounds. Every time I visited they never found a reason for the bleeding and baby looked fine, so I was sent on my way. It became so routine, I started seeing the doctor on my own, without Seth by my side. Bed rest turned into "its okay to sit at a desk at work, just don't be on your feet for too long." During an ultrasound at 16 weeks, we found out we were having a baby girl. And that was when the hunt for a baby name began - everyone joined in! Ava was at the top of the list (a palindrome, just like Soos).
On Friday, March 27th, everything changed. I started having contractions at approximately 5 am. But I ignored the thought that they could be contractions and just thought they might be related to a tendon in my abdomen. Seth was timing them and as a result, I knew that he knew. We headed to the doctor's office to find out what is going on. Contractions were confirmed but baby's heart rate was good. We were sent off to a perinatal specialist. At the specialist's office contractions subsided, but we found out the prospects of having a healthy baby girl were not good due to a decrease in amniotic fluids that occurred since our last ultrasound (~1 week prior). Amniotic fluids were needed, especially at a 19-week gestational age for lung development. Our doctor and specialist had conflicting views on the reasoning, but the outlook wasn't looking good. The specialist told us there was nothing to be done and that we may want to consider ending the pregnancy before the "abortion window" closes. We were sent home blindsided, confused, sad, lost, and angry.
By some sort of miracle, that night my mother and sister were already headed over for a packing party / sleepover - Seth and I were departing in about a week for a cross-country move from California to Massachusetts. These two were/are angels and provided a lot of support after hearing the tough news.
At ~10:30 pm that night, my water broke while watching TV with my family. We headed to Hoag Hospital's emergency room. After an ultrasound showed that my water did break (no one believes a word you say in the ER), we were checked into the labor and delivery ward. There we meet two more angels, RN's by the name of Courtney and Gail, and a young, soft doctor we loved. Due to serious confusion and misdirection, my doctor wasn't practicing at this hospital and the specialist who told me to go there was vacationing and the on-call specialist had no record of our situation. Despite these issues, the staff at Hoag took care of us, remained in communication with my doctor (despite having no direct relationship or means to bill for it), and gave us the best treatment we could have asked for.
Seth and I were quiet (I was in denial) and could not believe this was happening. I had a hard time looking at my mother and sister who were so sad and even Seth who looked concerned (later I found out the doctor told him I had placenta previa and could bleed out at birth). I opted to just close my eyes and ignore what was happening. I even joked around with the nurses (who knows about what) when I had the opportunity. Then things got serious. Our nurses instructed us on what was happening in the most sensitive, caring fashion. They took the time to explain how our baby would be born but would not be able to survive given that her lungs had not fully developed yet. We knew that this was the case, but hearing it brought reality. And we were shattered.
After a long night of sleeplessness, waiting, and watching contractions, I was given an epidural (preparation for potential surgery - baby was in a breech position and concern about placenta delivery) and delivery started. At 9:05 am on Saturday March 28th, our baby girl was born. She was a beautiful baby girl born to two parent's who love her dearly. She had all the perfect parts a baby should have. We held her and admired her tiny hands, long fingers and toes (a trait from my family), her gorgeous face with a little nose that looked just like Seth's. She looked very peaceful, almost like she was sleeping with her mouth slightly open - something she must have learned from Seth. In addition, her Grandmother and Aunt had the opportunity to look after her and love her. Despite her perfect appearance, she was only given 19 weeks to grow which proved to be not enough time for her. We don't know exactly what time she passed, but we know that it occurred inside the only home she knew - my womb. That brought me comfort.
Our angel nurses took our daughter, wrapped her in a pink blanket, put her in a matching pink hat with her teddy bear, and took photographs of her. They collected stamps of her hands and feet. They also prepared a birth certificate for her. Before our release from the hospital, they gave us a precious box filled with photographs, her blanket, her hat, and her teddy bear. They did all this without me knowing and I am forever grateful to have these mementos!!! While grieving, I often turn to these and hold them.
We were finally released from the hospital. Despite them putting us into a room where we never heard a crying baby or saw a pregnant woman, we left the ward and had to walk through the L&D waiting room. There was our sad, broken family face-to-face with a joyful family celebrating their birth. It hurt my heart. I left the hospital in shock, I remember breaking down on the way home thinking this is not how we were supposed to leave the hospital - where is my baby?!?! Seth and I found ourselves at the beach that evening. We watched the sunset over the ocean while we cradled our daughter's teddy bear. There we said goodbye to our "California Baby" and named her Ava. Our own special farewell celebration.
24 hours later we were on our way to another hospital for surgery. This was the hospital that my doctor was associated with. We encountered several staff that were ignorant and had some very insensitive words to say. Our experience at the second hospital confirmed that we went to the right hospital (Hoag) for Ava's birth. I realized that the Hoag nurses had created a positive, healthy experience for us and provided tools for grieving that proved to be priceless.
We love Ava and continue to miss her dearly. She is our daughter; the one we never got to know. We grieved for Baby Ava then and will continue to do so for what seems to be a lifetime. We celebrate her in our lives. And understand that, for whatever reason, it simply was not her time. Luckily we have an amazing family that supports and grieves with us. Each of them has been touched by Ava's brief presence.
My grief consisted of the following during the various stages (healthy or unhealthy - all of it surprised me):
- sighing, a lot;
- yearning to hold a baby;
- emptiness in my abdomen;
- no appetite;
- numbness;
- self destructive behavior like not eating, poor nutrition, and reckless driving;
- insomnia;
- depression (temporary and long-term);
- not wanting to get out of bed;
- not wanting to stop - must keep busy;
- anger directed towards those closest to me;
- vulnerable and self-conscious;
- exhausted;
- out-of-touch;
- emotional during special occasions: birthday, christmas, mother's day, father's day, etc. (especially the first year); and
- hating pregnant people.
- Seth, Seth, Seth - he was and continues to be my rock;
- naming her;
- food delivery;
- receiving flowers, cards, notes, and other supportive forms of communication from family, friends, and colleagues;
- donations made in Ava's honor;
- having others address Ava by name and acknowledge her;
- reading about grief and pregnancy loss;
- reading blogs and websites with similar stories of angel babies;
- celebrating Ava with family;
- having my sister change her career path to become a L&D nurse (inspired by the ones we encountered during this journey);
- planting trees in Ava's honor;
- memorial tattoo;
- talking about her with Seth; and
- having my rainbow baby, Emma.
1 comment:
I am a bucket of tears and emotion right now. I'm glad you wrote about Ava. Her memory and our loss continue to be an inspiration to me daily. With every hope I have, I wish to carry that same sensitivity and up most professionalism for a family in a hospital experiencing the same sadness we did. Thanks for leading me down the nursing path, Ava. I love you. You have amazing parents and a fantastic little sister too.
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