The worst days of my life

It’s been really hard for me to even speak for the last week. I can’t talk much before the bitter taste of sadness fills my mouth and pours out of my eyes and on to my cheeks. Every ounce of happiness I have ever felt has been torn from my body. I’m left empty, lost and alone. I have so many wonderful people around me, offering me nothing short of everything. But what I want none of them can give me. I want my precious Everlee Rose back. I want her cooing and crying in my arms. Instead of waking up for middle of the night feedings like most new moms, I wake up to silence and a hole being dug through my chest. A crushing pain that keeps me from crying out in the nights. It leaves me scared, and vulnerable. Probably worse than that, it leaves me hating myself for something I know very well I have no control over. I may not have been able to do anything to stop what happened, but it it was still my body that betrayed my beautiful baby and didn’t keep her safe like it was supposed to. It may have been completely out of my control, but I still hate myself every second of every day for not being able to do the one job a mother should; keeping my baby safe.

Last Tuesday afternoon, February 12th would be only one day in a string of days that would culminate to be the worst in my life. I never thought I would ever have trouble pinpointing the worst day of my life, but that’s where it begins – I guess. I went to a routine doctors appointment, my 34 week checkup. I had been on bed rest for 3 weeks because of high blood pressure. A practice in torture for anyone who knows me, I’m not one to sit still for long. But I did. I ended up admitted to hospital twice in that time, but each time I was assured my baby was fine and that it was my health that was in jeopardy. I was having some mild cramping all afternoon. Like period cramps that were progressively getting worse. As my doctor and I went through our routine checkup I mentioned the cramping to her and she joked that it would be great if that was the start of labour because she was sick of seeing me already (in a joking manner, of course). I hopped up on her table, she measured my tummy and listened for the heartbeat – 154 beats per minute. I’ll never forget that number. She put me on blood pressure meds at that appointment and sent me on my way with an appointment for next weeks follow up.

As I waited at the pharmacy down the hall for my prescription to be filled the cramping got progressively worse. I thought maybe it was gastro pain and went to the washroom. The was little relief. My parents were in the parking lot to drive me home (unable to drive on bed rest) so I quickly got in their car and asked them to bring me home because I wasn’t feeling well.   By the time I got home (ten minutes later) the pain was unbearable. I tried to lay in bed to make it go away but I soon gave in to call my husband home for work to take me to the hospital.

About 30 minutes later we arrived in the case room where the nurses began asking me a barrage of questions as they took my blood pressure and hooked me up to monitors. I showed the nurse where our babies heart beat was normally found so that she could hook up the fetal monitor but it wasn’t there. She searched all over my round tummy and couldn’t find it. Another doctor soon rolled in with an ultrasound machine. The room was quiet. There was my beautiful baby on the screen. Hands to her mouth. I was in awe. So beautiful, too beautiful for words. But they couldn’t find the heartbeat. I was still either oblivious or in denial. I had heard the heartbeat not more than an hour ago. 154 beats per minute. She’s being stubborn again, I thought. I asked what that meant. And the doctor took a deep breath and looked at me, hand on my leg squeezing “it means your baby died”.

The world stopped. Time stood still.

What did she mean? How was that even possible? What happened to my beautiful baby? I could clearly see all ten fingers at her little mouth on the screen. But they weren’t moving. I don’t really remember what happened next. My husband left the room to go call my parents. I have no idea what he said to them, how he told them. I just lay there, staring into space.

Sometime later they wheeled me down to the ultra sound unit to a more sophisticated ultrasound machine to confirm the horrible nightmare, my beautiful baby, that the whole world had nicknamed McBaby, had gone. I was still in excruciating pain, and until this point had refused any sort of pain relief because I was sure they had made a mistake. But it was real, and I wasn’t waking up.   As they brought me back up to the labour and delivery room I was greeted by my crying family outside the doors, my mom dad and only sister. They were crying. That’s when I shed my first tears. They haven’t stopped since.  My husbands parents live 3000km away and when we called they quickly made the three hour drive to Toronto and hopped on the first flight to St. John’s tobe with us.  The doctors and nurses greeted me in the room with the news that I would now have to be induced and deliver my baby (it was much too risky to do a c-section). It could take hours but they promised to make me as comfortable as possible, there was absolutely no reason why I should feel pain. It was a cruel joke. I hadn’t ever felt this kind of pain, I was just told my only child, the one I loved and wanted for as long as I could remember and wasn’t sure I would ever be able to conceive, had died -and they thought the drugs would help me not feel pain?

4 shots of morphine, 4 doses of Ativan, an epidural, 4 minutes of pushing and 16 hours of labour later at 1:16pm on February 13th,  I heard the words, now tainted and sour, that I had waited almost nine months to hear – its a girl. My beautiful Everlee Rose was born sleeping, much too perfect for this cruel world.

I’m not sure what this blog will become, how long I’ll write here or what it will be a vessel for. I have a long road of healing ahead of me. Having children is not something that comes easily to my body, not conceiving, and not carrying. I know I want to make Everlee a big sister. That’s really the only thought that is keeping me the least bit sane. But we won’t be able to do it on our own. So this may become a place where I discuss that, or maybe just a place where I can discuss my road to finding a new kind of happiness again. My world is dark and lonely right now, despite all of the love I’m surrounded by I feel like I’m drowning. Drowning and all people can do is cheer me on to reach the surface, but nobody can reach down to pull me from the water.   All I know is that the one thing I want, the one thing I need to make this pain and this hurt go away is to hold my baby girl in my arms and see her big beautiful eyes looking up at me. How can I find happiness in a world without my little girl?

Advertisements

24 thoughts on “The worst days of my life

  1. Rhonda, I hope writing your blog helps you. I cried reading the whole thing. There is nothing that I can say or do, to make the pain ease. Just know I share you pain and I think of you often.

    Denise. H

  2. I saw this post and it broke my heart. I can only begin to imagine your pain. Four years ago today I went to an ultrasound appt to determine my dates only to discover that my baby had no heart beat. It was the most devastating moment of my life. Though I had only know this baby for a short time (I was about 11.5weeks) I had already loved him or her so much. My husband, older son and I as well as our families were heartbroken. I went through the torture of a medically (pill)induced miscarriage and finally miscarried two days later on Feb 24th. By some miracle, exactly one year later in Feb 24,2010 I gave birth to a beautiful boy who I cannot imagine life without. I wanted to share that with you because I want you to have hope. I know these are the darkest days of your life right now (and it’s so much worse because of how far along you were) but hang tight and don’t be afraid to grieve Talk with your family, share your heartache and with time you will know that love again. I will keep you in my thoughts and prayers. I hope you find the strength to heal and move forward with your family. Her memory will always be there but I have faith that you will make her a big sister when the time is right for you. Good luck and God Bless.

  3. Rhonda, I don’t know you and you don’t know me, however we have a mutual friend who I heard about your terrible loss through. I cried and cried. I let my kids see me cry. I look at them and cry, knowing how lucky I am. And I cry now. I have no idea what you must be going through, as I have been blessed with easy conception and birth. I did have a scare with blood pressure: bed rest, admittance, biophysicals and induction, but I was fortunate enough to come out with no complications and my little girl. Know that you have touched my heart and soul and my prayers are with you. I pray that you will somehow find comfort and peace to get through this, and that one day you will be able to have that child that you so long for, and be able to look into a set of big beautiful eyes looking only back at you. ❤

    • Rhonda… you and I have only met briefly on a couple of occasions, through my association with the School of Pharmacy. I had to write to tell you how profoundly you have touched my heart. As I read your story of loss and pain, I sat in the silence of my home and wept more tears than I have in a very long time. My friend went through a very similar situation last Fall having her new born child for only a few fleeting moments until he was taken by God to his eternal home. I do not have any children of my own, and so I cannot begin to imagine the pain you must be feeling; however, I know how powerful your words were as I read them and so I just felt compelled to let you know that you are being thought of during this difficult time.

  4. {{Hugs}} to you all. Talking about Everlee, your pain and your process will hopefully help you heal.

    Perhaps as you get stronger and start to look to the future (and you will), you can use this as a venue to help others dealing with loss and infertility. There are so many who go through both and feel so alone, because no one talks about the “sad” side of pregnancy.

  5. Rhonda, your blog is totally heartbreaking to read and I imagine heartbreaking to write as well. No one should have to bury their child. Maybe your words will help you to grieve as you need to and maybe they will also help others who face the same heartbreak. Hold close to Darcy and the two of you together will support each other through this. You and Darcy are in our thoughts.

  6. Thank you for sharing this deeply personal and difficult time in your life. You are helping others as you cope with such loss. Everlee’s mom is a beautiful, strong and giving person.

  7. Rhonda, your friend Terri shared with us what happened. I know there are no words that will ever make that horrible hole in your heart any wholer. I do though have some words of encouragement and a friend of mine that has been where you are now. We were pregnant together and her pregnancy ended an entirely different way than mine. It was so heart breaking to see all that she was going thru emotionally from loosing her beloved baby girl. But the uplifting side to her story is that a few months later she conceived twins and today she has two beautiful bouncing six month old girls that are thriving. So while this pain is not anywhere near being over, there can and will be happiness in your life again and my friend Norine is proof of that. This is her facebook page: http://www.facebook.com/norine.tuckringwalt , if you feel like dropping her a line. I already told her about you. Take it one moment at a time. (Hugs)

    • My heart is aching because of what you’ve been and what you’re going through. But Rhonda, you just showed a little bit of your optimistic self when you wrote, ‘I know I want to make Everlee a big sister.’ That sentence, that thought, that determination is what’s going to pull you out if the water! I know it’s easier said than done, but stay strong and determined and Everlee Rose will be the best big sister angel a sibling could ever have.

  8. I applaud you for sharing your story – I do believe in the therapeutic value of sharing, but also of sharing publicly where others who may have similar experiences can find a glimmer of hope in knowing they are not alone in the world with their uniquely excruciating pain.
    I will never know the pain you feel – I can’t even imagine what it would be like to want something so badly, so work so hard for it, and to be so close to having it and have your own body betray you. There is nothing else in this world that compares to a bond a mother feels for her baby. That you have survived this first week is admirable, but it will be ‘one foot in front of the other’ and ‘one day at a time’ for a long time – from what other friends have said, possibly forever. It will get easier, but it will never be easy. But you have shown great promise already – you can do this. You have the strength, and when you don’t, you have the support.

    Everlee will always be with you, and one day she will be a big sister and she will smile down on her little sibling from heaven. As long as you believe in that, and as long as the people who love you believe in that, there will be hope. We may never understand why something like this happens, and we may never be truly okay with it, but as long as we have hope we can learn to live again.

  9. Sometimes writing can be an amazing vessel to release the words, emotions and pain that nothing else can. I love you and believe this is a great step, though even releasing the anguish cannot begin to alleviate any of the pain you are feeling. I will always cheer you to the surface and know all of us, as well as Everlee, are your safety devices as you get there. She is going to be an amazing big sister and you are an incredible mommy. Be strong, love, though I know that is a task that requires immeasurable and seemingly impossible energy right now. You have proven to everyone that you are the most amazing woman any of us have ever been blessed with in our lives – your little girl, our little girl, is the strongest angel as she watches over us all and helps carry those who love her through this loss. I love you forever, to the moon and back. Always.

  10. It is so hard to find words to express the anguish I feel for you and Darcy. My only wish is that I could somehow take on some of your pain, even if only for a brief time to give you a moment of inner peace. I am amazed by your continuing strength as you begin to heal and I think this is a wonderful way to do so – releasing your pain out into the world, one word at a time. As you struggle to break the surface of your sea of pain, please imagine my funny-looking face staring at you through the murky water calling out to you (maybe even throw in an encouraging curse or two to make it more authentic). I love you dearly and think of all three of your daily. xoxoxo

  11. I would love to say something uplifting and spiritual like “god gives you no more than you can handle” but I simply can’t. This is a terrible tragedy. I can only imagine the pain you are feeling. It isn’t fair and no one should ever have to endure it. I’ll cry for you and hope that you can cope with this loss. I pray that you are able to have another child and soon. You have been in my thoughts and will be everyday for a long long time. Keep writing and I’ll keep reading. Mothers everywhere are weeping with you. You are a very strong woman to share this. X0X

  12. Oh Rhonda I am so sorry I cried for you and your Everlee Rose and for my old friend Darcy every day since reading of your tragedy. I only hope that writing this blog will help you heal over time. I can not imagine the pain and grief you are going through. I know your family will be there for you and that you find strength in them. Thank you for sharing these private and personal words.

  13. My heart breaks for you ,I can’t imagine the pain!!! Thanks for sharing your story!!!
    I hope your heart heals soon!! I really dont know what else to say,wish there was something to take that pain away!!
    Sending you” hugs’ and warm wishes!!

  14. Dear Rhonda I’m so sorry that you have to endure this heart ripping pain. I know that nothing that anyone will say will make you feel better all you want and long for is to hold your little Angel in your loving arms, your heart aches endlessly, your ears long to hear her cry, you long to smell that beautiful baby smell….. and you can’t understand how the world can go on while you are in such pain and feel such sorrow. I know all these feeling because I too am a mommy of a baby angel. It’s been 23 tears for me it dose get better (i hated hearing that in the early days) but I never forgot one detail of that day so many years ago. Cry whenever you want, talk about your beautiful girl to everyone, I kept my sanity by keeping my boy alive in my heart , every year I buy birthday cards and keep them in a memory box. You are so strong but you don’t know yet how strong you really are. keep writing , keep talking, and remember you will always be Everlee’s mommy no one can take that from you. I pray that your little angel will help you through this difficult time. Hugs

  15. Rhonda, I was deeply saddened to hear of the passing of your beautiful baby girl. I think it is very brave of you to share your personal thoughts and feelings during this time of unimaginable pain. It is hard to think of anything good coming out of such a situation but I think people who’ve gone through similar situations may find comfort in your words. You are a wonderful writer and I hope this blog brings you comfort and strength while also passing it along to others. Thank you for sharing.

  16. Rhonda, I know that we don’t know each other very well, and I cannot sympathize in the same way that someone who has gone through this can, but as a woman, My heart absolutely breaks for you. We as women wait our whole lives for the precious moment we can start planning for our precious angels. These are the times that should be the happiest and most fulfilling in our history as ladies. I cannot fathom having to let go of that dream to grasp the present which I’m sure is so torturous for you right now. I see you and Darcy as an outgoing, caring, funny couple who worked well together on stage and I bet that persona is a sure fire reflection on your personal relationship. I feel that this bond you have as friends and lovers will hold you guys together even when you feel like falling apart. I’m nothing and nobody to this situation, but just know that I am keeping you guys and your sweet little Everlee in my thoughts and prayers. Nothing but time will heal this wound but if you let it, it will be kind to you. My deepest, deepest condolences go out to you, lovely lady. I hope that you can find peace and maybe the strength, despite the sadness at hand and the discouraging feelings that come with it, to try and let another miracle happen. You guys deserve “nothing short of everything”. God bless, xxoo.

  17. You are incredibly brave to have shared this with the world. There are no words that a stranger can share with you to ease your pain…or any that even your best friend could. This is the most horrible burden that any one person has to endure. I wish peace and comfort to you in your time of need. xo

  18. Hi Rhonda, I work with Darcy and have followed your pregnancy though Dad’s eyes. It was always exciting and wonderful to see the love and concern in his eyes when he spoke of you and your precious Everlee. I was devastated when I heard this terrible news. Words cannot express how I feel for you, Darcy and your Precious Angel. I hope you get strength and comfort from the wonderful people around you, your loving husband, friends and family.
    My thoughts and prayers are with you.

  19. Rhonda,
    I don’t know you, nor do you know me. However we do have something in common. Our first born child, taken from us, before there time, before we could have realized their future, hold there hand while they took their first step, or even to see their first smile. My father has set up an endowment fund, called The Noah Awards in memory of my son, I came across your blog, because he told me of your story, as your husband was once the person in charge of this endowment fund.
    I am so sorry for the loss of Everlee Rose. It’s been just over 5 years since my Noah was born and died. And I can tell you, you will find a ‘new normal’ one where you will always miss Everlee, always celebrate Everlee, always grieve and pain for Everlee and always have the what ifs… But it becomes in some ways… Easier. Not easy, not ok.. But easier.
    I know all about, and still feel the awkwardness from friends, the hurtful things people say (when they think they are being helpful), and the difficulty of trying again in the face of difficulty to conceive (infertility) .

    I’ve had 2 children since Noah. Yet pregnant people, and newborn little boys, baby showers, and people who say stupid things about pregnancy/birth still get to me, scare me, and make me want to scream.
    My children grow up learning about their brother. He is part of our family, and always will be. Yes- family pictures will always not quite be the whole family, nor family vacations … But Noah’s special frog ‘Milton’ is always brought along with us, and is in photos. To remind us of his ever so present spot in our family.
    Having lived in Toronto area when We lost Noah, and knowing the amount of support there, then moving to Newfoundland a few years ago, I know the difference in the amount of support in Newfoundland. I have found very little here. Please feel free to reach out to me, to be a friend, an ear on the phone, or a person to vent over coffee. I blog, however recently very infrequently. I found it so, so very helpful at the beginning. And the support from the online baby loss world has been great support. My blog is. Letterstonoah.blogspot.com the earliest posts are the rawest, of course, and later become more hopeful, and even happy. You can see a bit of the progression of my grief journey. I also kept a blog during my pregnancy with my rainbow baby, Charlotte… Where earliest posts really show the fear of subsequent pregnancy, but also the joys of the journey. My email address is janesk8 (at) hotmail.com . If or when you ever want to say hi. Take care, and I hope that a sense of hope and peace will find you, if even for a moment, today!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s