29+2

29 weeks and 2. It was this day during my last pregnancy that my doctor called me into her office for a NST and blood pressure check, just to be safe. The nurse almost forgot to check my blood pressure and grabbed it right as we were about to leave. Two hours later they were born.
This past week my blood pressure acted up prompting my doctor to bring me in to labor and delivery while she was on call. The fear and nerves were high and I couldn’t help but think that we were heading down the same path as last time. I was grateful that my labs were great and an adjustment to my medicine has helped lower my blood pressure.

The anxiety and nightmares still haunt me. Last night I dreamt that I went into labor and when I woke us, pancake was kicking me so hard it felt as if my whole uterus was spasming. My anxiety was high and I couldn’t relax. I ended up getting out of bed at 3am and hoping into the shower to calm my nerves. It worked and I was able to crawl back into bed and fall asleep. My husband of course slept through everything, 😛

Tonight I took a picture with my surviving twin at 6:18, as a celebration of officially being pregnant longer than I have ever been pregnant before!


Hoping to add several more weeks to this record!

Infant and Pregnancy Loss Awareness Month

I have spent the past month starting and stopping several posts. We hit a major mental milestone at 24 weeks and reaching viability, and now at 28 weeks I am not on bed rest like last pregnancy and haven’t even had to visit labor and delivery. Our Doppler ultrasounds have been great, she even weighs more now than Joey did when he was born. She is super active and strong and sometimes her kicks stop me in my tracks. It is such wonderful news because at this time last pregnancy I was beginning to have symptoms of HELLP, and had no idea that my body was trying to kill us.

I keep starting and stopping because October is Infant and Pregnancy Loss Awareness month with October 15 designated as Infant Loss Remembrance Day. I feel that it is important to break the silence, because one in four mothers have suffered from miscarriage, stillborn, and infant loss. It is important for these mothers to know they aren’t alone and that it is okay to talk about their loss and honor their child. With child loss being such a taboo subject, many mothers are alone in their pain and feel as if they can’t talk about it. However, as a mother who lost her son, I struggle to find the words I want to write when discussing the day of remembrance.


The reality is, I don’t need a special day to take time and remember my lost son. For me, everyday is infant loss remembrance. It is the grief that hits me out of no where when I am reminded of my son. It is the sad smile I give to a mother chasing after twins because I wish that could be me. It is the tears I cry at night as I remember my son’s last moments. It’s the blue tint that shadows my surviving son’s milestones because I can’t help but wonder if his brother would have been running right next to him, followed quickly by the guilt that I need to refocus on the miracle growing up in front of me. It is the guilt I have when I breathe a sigh of relief at every prenatal appointment for my rainbow baby, because had Connor survived, we probably would not have pursued fertility. My baby is always there in my heart, on my mind, engraved in my soul.

This past Wednesday was our bimonthly ultrasound and our monthly growth ultrasound. I left the MFM office smiling, relieved it went well, relieved that she was still growing, relieved that it looked as if we would easily surpass 29 weeks and have a third trimester. Then I literally ran smack into one of our twins NICU nurses. We both apologized and she didn’t recognize me as she smiled and moved on, but the shock and grief that hit me when I saw her face stunned me from being able to say anything. This was the nurse who was giving Connor CPR and keeping him alive so I could say goodbye. The nurse who reluctantly stopped when the doctor told her he wasn’t responding and nothing else could be done. I was surprised and unprepared for the grief that would overcome me as I hurried to me car afraid the tears were going to pour out before I made it. I didn’t understand why I reacted the way I did considering I saw her and talked to her many times in the six weeks that followed our son’s death as she took care of our surviving son. It is these moments that show the rawness of the pain that can never heal.

October 15 is not a day to remember our angel babies. It is a day for mothers who have endured the worst to stand together and know we are not alone. It is an instant kindred spirit that develops from the understanding of that pain that only other angel mothers know. There is no getting over it, and while we do move on, we can never be the person we were before our child’s death.

A fellow angel mom posted this article earlier today on her Facebook.. This mother’s strength and courage inspires me everyday and the article about Pink and her song spoke to me which is why I wish to share it here as well:

A Song for a Miscarriage, Infertility, or Adoption Loss

Everyday I wish I could hold him just one more time, see his face, kiss his forehead, tell him over and over how much I love and miss him.

Statistics and Blips

Statistics have not been my friend. If there is a chance that something will happen during this pregnancy, we have to take it seriously and we have to assume the worst case scenario is a possibility and prepare for it. Statistics are REALLY not my friend.

When it comes to being pregnant, I’m learning that pregnancy really isn’t for me. My body couldn’t get pregnant without help and now we have needed help staying pregnant. It is frustrating because women’s bodies are made to have children. I’m grateful that there has been such success in the science of infertility and premature births to allow me the gift of motherhood, but for some reason if there is a very small chance that something will happen, it will happen.

After my last pregnancy, my platelets began to slowly rebound after delivering my twins. My red bloods cells were a different story. I was severely anemic and would need a few pints of blood to replace all the blood I had lost and was still losing. The chance of having antibodies transferred during a blood transfusion is very low. Like one percent low. I had not one, but two antibodies passed to me.

After discovering this possible isoimmunization issue, I was set up for an appointment with a Maternal Fetal Medicine specialist (MFM). During this consultation appointment, the doctor told me with everything else going on, the antibodies should be the least of my concerns. (Gee, thanks?) The doctor was very nice and had a way of explaining things that I knew was dumbed down significantly, but didn’t make me feel dumb. He was confident that he wouldn’t need to see me and recommended that my regular OB-GYN would monitor the effects of the antibodies through monthly blood tests. On the rare chance something were to happen, he would bring me back in to take care of it.

I had two monthly blood tests since this was implemented. After my first round, my doctor let me know at my next appointment that the labs looked great. I had no worries about the next month’s round and put the issue in the back of my head. Then I got a phone call from the MFM office saying that they added me to the ultrasound schedule and I would need to be prepared to come in every two weeks for Doppler ultrasounds from now until I deliver.

Considering the MFM office has never contacted me directly (they normal call my regular office and schedule through them, who in turn call me to explain what is going on and why I need to go in), I was pretty much Chris from family guy going, “Wwwwwwwuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhttttt?”

I hung up confused and debated what to do. They called me on a Monday and I happened to have an appointment on Wednesday. Do I wait and ask my doctor? Or do I call and ask what the (insert choice word here) is going on? The thought of worrying for two nights about this prompted a call and of course my doctor was off after being on call all weekend. Greeaaaaaaaat.

Fortunately I only had to wait about ten minutes before my doctor’s nurse called me back apologizing explaining that she was told by my doctor that if there were any changes on my labs to send it over to the MFM to advise. She was just as surprised as I was that they called and scheduled me so fast. She promised my doctor would call me tomorrow. I’m grateful that I didn’t have to wait long and was told that since there was a change in the labs, they needed to monitor the baby to make sure that she wasn’t severally anemic. Basically, check to make sure that my newly acquired antibodies weren’t destroying her blood cells.

The next day at my doctor’s appointment, my doctor told me that they won’t be able to tell if there is a problem unless they look. Everything could be fine, but they will need to monitor it every two weeks from now until delivery. I asked my doctor to explain the worst case scenario because if she didn’t I would go home and Google everything. She chuckled, but told me that in very rare and very extreme cases, to treat severe anemia they can give the baby a blood transfusion through her umbilical cord.

I looked at my doctor and told her I feel that with our luck, and everything that has happened in the past, we need to be prepared for the rare and most extreme case. She looked at me sadly and said, “I’m hoping that you had enough of the rare and extreme with your last pregnancy and this time we will get to the end and delivery a healthy baby. Just, until then, you are going to get sick of seeing us so much.”

Today we are 23 weeks. On Monday we have our 24 week appointment and Tuesday is our first Doppler ultrasound to check on the status of our isoimmunization issue on our baby girl. Next Saturday is my next big mental milestone of 24 weeks and viability. No one knows better than my family how premature is premature and anything early can be dangerous, but it is a relief knowing that we have gotten this far and besides a few blips in the road, our rainbow baby is healthy, active, and growing fast!

Neonatal Nurses Appreciation Day

Happy Neonatal Nurses Day! In continuation of my posts on NICA Month, I wanted to take a moment to say thank you to all of the neonatal nurses who have taken care of our babies when we were unable to be there. As a mother, it was hard to leave the hospital without my children. What made it possible was knowing that my sons were in great hands. The nurses at our NICU worked 12 hours shifts taking care of multiple babies, each with their own medical issues ranging in severity. Babies who can’t talk and say how they feel.  This is the definition of a super hero.

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With the sickest of children, it takes a special person who can devote their life to taking care of these special babies. I am grateful for the angels in disguise who have taken up the task of being a NICU nurse.

Neonatal Intensive Care Awareness Month Part II: Joey’s Story

 

Because of the rush into surgery and due to my platelets being dangerously low, I wasn’t able to have the full anesthesia normally given to a woman having a c-section. To help combat the pain, I was given a morphine button to press when needed. My memories the first several hours after surgery circle around pushing the button. I wasn’t out of the woods yet, and at one point my blood pressure apparently dropped dangerously low. I don’t remember that part, but I remember being told to stop pushing the button. A little while later I remember the doctor checking on me and when I told her I was uncomfortable, she told me to go back to pushing the button. Despite the strong narcotic haze, the clearest memory I have was seeing my boys for the first time.

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When they wheeled my bed by the two isolettes, Joey was the closest to me. I was shocked at how tiny he was. Only weighing 1lb 12oz, the one pound difference in the size of the twins was staggering. Had we gone longer into the pregnancy, Joey would have been given a diagnosis of intrauterine growth restriction. Whereas Connor continued to grow, Joey stopped roughly at 25 weeks. Ashamed as I am to admit this, had I been told that night that only one of my boys would survive, I would have assumed that Joey would have been the child I lost. I was scared of how little he was.

One of the transfer team nurses told me that I could touch Joey. Nervously I reached my hand through the isolette window and touched Joey’s little hand. He looked so frail I was afraid of hurting him. Joey’s tiny hand wrapped around my finger and squeezed it tight as if to say, I got this mom! Joey’s strength amazed me at that moment and would continue to amaze me throughout his journey.

Just shy of 27 weeks, my blood pressure started to rise. I was on spring break from teaching and had just come home from a trip to my parent’s house in Ohio with a quick stop at the beach. I pushed off my endocrinologist appointment to the last Friday so I could make the most of my vacation before spending the weekend prepping for the last quarter of the school year. The endocrinologist was not happy with my blood pressure reading and quickly called my OB. Since it was Friday, the office was closing early so I was told to go straight to labor and delivery to get checked out. The quick trip ended up being a weekend long hospital stay ending in bedrest. I would not be allowed to return to work after that weekend. I didn’t know it at the time, but a week after the twins were born the on call doctor confessed that she thought she was going to have to deliver the twins that weekend. She couldn’t believe that my labs were fine given the elevated blood pressure and the never ending headache. Keeping me in the hospital that weekend, she was able to give me two steroid shots to help with the lung development of the boys just incase they were born premature. Her actions that weekend allowed both of my sons, even itty bitty Joey to not be ventilated after being born. Joey’s tiny size allowed for the medicine to hit him hard and benefited him greatly.

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The twins were a week old when I was finally allowed to hold them. I held Connor first, and then went over to Joey. Our nurse warned us that based on Joey’s size, he may not be able to be out of the isolette for long. It would be necessary to check his temperature to make sure he wasn’t getting too cold. His little eyes blinked in surprise as he was put on my chest, then he quickly curled up and fell asleep against my heart. His temperature was fine and I was able to hold my little guy on my chest for over an hour. Tears of happiness fell from eyes as I sang softly to him.

Joey’s resident our first month was an amazing doctor just a few months shy of the end of her residency. We adored her. Such a big heart and we could tell that she will have a great career wherever she ended up. When we lost Connor, she came into the room and cried with us. We could tell his death impacted her very much. With doctors and nurses, I’m always amazed at their composure and ability to stay strong to comfort a grieving family. It takes a special person to work with sick babies and kids. As a mother, I am grateful for these angels.

When we lost Connor, there was a moment where it felt as if the walls of the NICU were closing in on me. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t see. I was afraid I would pass out so I turned to Dave and said I needed to leave. I couldn’t handle being there. So we left. I’m embarrassed that I ran out and left Joey. I know people will tell me that he wasn’t aware of what was going on, but I don’t know if I believe that. I think with twins there is a strong bond that can’t be understood. I feel that he was more aware of what was happening than anyone thought. The grief of losing my son was joined by the grief of abandoning my other son. That evening we came back to the hospital and I made a promise never to abandon my son again.

It would have been easy to fall into darkness after losing Connor. Tiny Joey reminded me that I needed to stay strong. He needed a strong mother to be there for him. His strength and will to live became mine. Not many people are lucky enough to meet a super hero. I gave birth to mine.

Joey’s resident nicknamed him ‘Nugget.’ About ten days after losing Connor, Joey decided to tell us he wasn’t feel well by not breathing. We were getting ready to leave the hospital for the night when his machines started beeping and he began to turn blue. Crying I watched as they revived him and the neonatologist on-call explained that to give his lungs a rest, they were going to put him on a ventilator until they could figure out what was going on. What didn’t help was the neonatologist on-call was the same neonatologist who told us that Connor wouldn’t make it. I began to cry harder as they hooked Joey up to the ventilator, started him on antibiotics, and ran several blood labs on him. Joey proved once again that I should never doubt him and after only a few hours on antibiotics his color returned and he was trying to pull his ventilator off. At about 11:30pm, we overheard a phone call at the nurses station. Our favorite resident was calling to check up on her nugget since she would breaking her programs rules by staying in the hospital. Soon we would learn that she called him nugget because she was convinced he was smaller than a 20 piece McNuggets at McDonalds!

After only two days Joey was able to come off of the ventilator and became a “feeder and a grower.” Despite the need for a few blood transfusions, the remainder of Joey’s two month stay was waiting for our kiddo to be big enough to come home. Everyday I would drive across town and hold my son, fortunate that our areas level III NICU was only a short drive from our house. Joey was super feisty and would get crabby when he was moved out of a comfortable position. His goal seemed to pull out all of his tubes and our night nurse nicknamed him ‘crabby and grabby!’ When Joey was able to take a bottle, keep his temperature stable, and breathe without support, it was time for Joey to get to come home. Weighing only 4lbs and 3oz, hooked up to an apnea monitor, and just one day shy of his two month birthday we were able to bring our nugget home.

Neonatal Intensive Care Awareness Month Part I: Connor’s Story

September is Neonatal Intensive Care Awareness Month. NICA month was created to raise awareness and honor families who have experienced extended NICU stays, and the nurses and doctors who work hard to care for and provide hope for the families of the sickest babies.

Let me introduce my NICU Warriors:

                                     Connor David                                       Joseph Thomas

When I started writing this post, I didn’t realize how long it would be. I’ve decided to split it into two post, the first focusing on my angel baby Connor. Sharing Connor’s story is still very difficult for me. It is not a happy ending and my heart craves to hold my sweet baby in my arms one more time. The NICU is a place of many miracles, as my little Joey proves. Unfortunately, it is also filled with pain and heartache. Not all mothers get to bring their babies home.

I started getting sick at 24 weeks with my twin pregnancy. My blood pressure began to rise and I developed a headache that would not go away and plagued the last five weeks of my pregnancy. At 27 weeks I was given a diagnosis of preeclampsia and put on bedrest. I was fortunate to make it two more weeks before developing HELLP Syndrome and having to deliver via stat c-section. The hospital tried to transfer me to another hospital with our area’s level III NICU. My little Connor had other plans. While the hospital was waiting to make sure I was stable enough to move, I went into labor. Connor was breach and trying to push his little butt out. He was not waiting to get across town. Due to my very low platelet count and due to Connor wanting out, we were rushed into the operating room and the twins were born 17 and 18 minutes later.

Connor was my first born weighing in at 2lbs 10oz. In my post operation haze, the staff at the hospital gave me the opportunity to see the boys before they were transferred. I am forever grateful for that moment because it would be two days before I would be able to see my babies again. Connor was packed up in his transfer isolette, ready to go. Even with a cpap and tubes all over the place, he was beautiful. Though he was small, he had a full head of red hair and the face of his father.

The next day I was transferred to the same hospital as the twins. Unfortunately I was still on magnesium and not in a position to where it would be safe to travel to the NICU. It would be another day before I would be cleared and allowed to visit my sons. That morning my nurse told me that my pulse and blood pressure were still too high to leave my room and it needed to be lower before I could see my sons. Upon hearing that, my pulse and blood pressure instantly shot higher, and I fought back tears as I tried to will my numbers to go down. My husband came to my rescue and promising my nurse that I would take it easy, he wheeled me to the NICU for the first time.

At that moment, I remember feeling jealous of my husband. He knew what to do. He had talked with the nurses and he had seen the babies in their isolettes. It felt as if he knew our boys better than I did. I remember thinking that the nurses must think I’m a terrible mother. My boys had been there for two days and I had not been able to see them. The postpartum hormones coupled with the guilt of my failing body made it very difficult to fight back the tears that were threatening to fall. I was scared if I broke down and cried, I would be wheeled away an would have to wait longer. For my sanity, I needed to see my babies . My pregnancy was starting to feel like a dream and I needed to know my boys were real.

In the beginning, the boys were in separate rooms due to lack of space. I remember catching my breath as I saw the rows of tiny babies hooked up to machines that were constantly beeping. Over a year later, I can still hear the beeps of the NICU in my mind. I was nervous I wouldn’t know my own children. Dave wheeled me over to Connor first, and I sighed in relief. Connor was hooked up to several monitors, a feeding tube, an oxygen tube, an IV and was wearing little sunglasses to protect his tiny eyes from the bili lights that were shining on him, but that was my baby. Of course I knew him and I couldn’t believe that I ever thought I wouldn’t! The bright lights shined on his little body and emphasized his skinny limbs and translucent skin, but he was so beautiful. I stared for several minutes before Dave wheeled me into the other room to visit with Joey.

After visiting with Joey, I asked to go back and see Connor again. The area between the beds was narrow and the wheelchair was not easy to maneuver. As Dave was pushing me back to Connor, he accidentally pushed me into his isolette. Connor woke up and began to scream and cry. I instantly started crying because I couldn’t believe I scared my baby! I was so afraid that we hurt him, but one of the sweetest night shift nurses quickly came over and pulled out the tiniest of pacifiers and stuck it in Connor’s mouth. My sweet baby quickly stopped crying and settled down into a nap. The nurse soothed me by saying he was okay and he had already quit crying! I would continue to cry for another 15 minutes before calming down. It was then that Dave decided that I had enough NICU time for now and pulled me away to head back to my hospital room. I vowed to try and control my emotions, but any postpartum woman knows that the out of control hormones come out of no where.

It would take a week after their birthday before I would be allowed to hold my children for the first time. Many mothers will say that their happiest day was the day their children were born. The day my sons were born was terrify, confusing, and filled with uncertainty. My favorite and happiest day is the day I was able to hold my sons for the first time. Our nurse unhooked Connor and stuck him in my shirt for skin to skin contact known as kangaroo care. My eyes welled up with happy tears as I said hello to my baby boy and softly sang lullabies into his tiny ears. I remember how fussy he was before calming down and curling up on my chest. I was able to hold him for several minutes before he would forget to breath causing his heart rate to fall. These spells are very common for preemie babies, and worried that I was somehow causing extra spells, I allowed for our nurse to put Connor back into his isolette.

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The next few days I would alternate between kangaroo time with Connor and Joey. That Saturday we walked in and learned that Connor was being administered medicine in an attempt to close a hole in his heart known as a PDA. Since they were also trying to get Connor to gain more weight, a human milk fortifier was added to my breastmilk. With all the changes and the medicine being administered, even though it was Connor’s day to be held, I didn’t want to disturb him. I skipped holding him believing that I would get him in my arms the next day. The boys were finally in the same room and right next to each other, so I held Joey instead and would talk to him and point out his brother telling him that they would be together again soon. Our nurse encouraged me to change their little micropreemie diapers for the first time and I remember thinking if I could do this, I could do anything. I took several pictures and when we left a six o’clock that evening, I agreed with Dave that we could take that night to catch up on sleep and not come back to the hospital. The next day was Mother’s Day and I wanted to enjoy every moment I could soaking in the love of my babies on my first holiday as a mom.

That evening I changed into comfy pajamas and curled up on couch and watched bad Saturday night tv. I was thinking of drifting off early when my phone rang around 9:30. My heart dropped into my stomach when I saw that it was the NICU. Remembering a nurse telling me that the only calls we should worry about are night calls, I was shaking when I answered. The nurse practitioner on duty was calling to inform us that Connor had blood in his stool and they weren’t 100% sure what was causing it. While they were waiting for tests and X-rays to come back, they needed my permission to give him a blood transfusion. Giving permission, I hung up the phone with the feeling that I needed to get back to the hospital. As I was getting dress, my phone rang again saying that they X-rays had come back saying that Connor developed necrotizing enterocolitis (NEC) and his intestines were quickly dying and he would need emergency surgery that night in an attempt to save his life. Driving quickly to the hospital, when we walked in my poor little baby was on a ventilator with an IV in his head being prepped for surgery. His little eyes found mine and he had this look as if to ask, “mama? What is going on?” I put my face against his isolette and tried to comfort my baby as best I could. I kept telling him it would be okay. The doctor was going to fix him and then I would get to hold you in my arms again and we would visit Joey and everything would be okay. The look of his eyes, wide open and staring straight into mine is a memory that is forever burned on my brain. Shortly there after he was wheeled away to surgery where we were told they would try their hardest to keep him alive.

During the surgery, I sat by Joey feeling as if I couldn’t leave him. Dave had to move and walk around, not being able to just sit and wait while his son was in surgery. Neither of us knew if Connor would make it. I begged God not to take my baby. We had already survived what was suppose to be the dangerous part of our story. About an hour after the surgery began, the phone at the nurses station rang saying that the surgery went well and they were bringing Connor back upstairs. I texted Dave and we watched as they wheeled our baby back into his spot. I nearly fainted in relief, because his color looked so much better than when he left for surgery. The surgeon was confident and we even joked and laughed thinking the worst was over. The nurse practitioner came over and told us that they would be keeping Connor sedated to help him heal and that the next 48 hours would be critical. Dave and I felt so confident that we ignored the 48 hour warning and headed home to catch a few hours of sleep before heading back in the morning to celebrate our Mother’s Day miracles.

After crawling into bed around 3:30, I instantly fell asleep. At 6:30 I woke up with a start to the buzzing of my cellphone. Terrified, I answered. The nurse practitioner was calling again. Connor had taken a turn for the worst and we needed to get back to the hospital as quickly as possible. As Dave drove, I prayed again for my son. I begged. I made promises. I asked to spare him and take me instead. After years of trying, we were blessed with twins. Giving us two beautiful boys just to take one back after 12 days wasn’t fair. The neonatologists met us in the waiting room and began to prep us for the worst. Connor would need another surgery and moving him to the operating room was too dangerous, so they would need to do the surgery right there. They allowed me to see my baby and my heart sank. My little boy looked nothing like he did the night before. He was lifeless, swollen, and bruised. I began to cry as I encouraged him to keep fighting. We were ushered into a private room to wait the outcome of the surgery. After only a short amount of time, both the on call neonatologist and the surgeon came into our room. I could tell by the look on their faces that they didn’t have good news. Both my husband and I sat in shock as we listened to the doctors tell us there was nothing more that they could do. I was asked if I wanted to hold him before they stopped CPR. I nodded and we followed the doctors to say goodbye.

As I walked into the room, I was surprised by the number of blue scrubs that surrounded my son. It looked as if every nurse in the NICU was watching my son and praying for a miracle. Connor was carefully moved into my arms as the nurse continued with CPR. I looked at the beautiful face of my son and kissed his tiny head over and over as I said I loved him. I remember the doctor leaning over and quietly telling the nurse that she could stop with compressions, my little baby was gone.

We were slowly pulled away back to a private room as they cleaned Connor, dressed him in a little angel outfit, and wrapped him in a blanket. As my husband and I sat there waiting, numb, our baby gone and our dreams destroyed, my phone started buzzing. Looking down I saw that I had several text messages wishing me a happy mother’s day. The holiday that celebrated being a mother was mocking me on the worst day of my life.

The baby photographer at the hospital took a moment to take several professional pictures and gave us a free CD to have as a memory of my beautiful son. As grateful as I am to have these pictures, I have never been able to look at them. The grief and pain I have from losing my child is still raw and sneaks up on me when I least expect it. As hard as it was to say goodbye, I am happy to have had twelve days with my beautiful son than having to go a lifetime without.

After that day I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and never get out. Life didn’t make sense to me anymore. All throughout my pregnancy, even knowing we were high risk, even with my blood pressure being out of control and developing severe preeclampsia and Class I HELLP, I thought everything would be okay. I lived in this naïve, innocence that nothing bad could ever happen to us. That optimism was shattered and I didn’t want to face the world again. It was so hard to force myself to get up, but in the isolette next to Connor, his twin brother was still fighting for his life and he had long road ahead of him.

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