Walking With You ~ Meeting Our Babies

Thank you for joining us on Walking With You. I have been so touched to read each of your journeys and to pray for you on this walk. If you are just joining us, we are mothers who have lost a baby and who are walking in different places on that path. We have joined together, that grieving moms may know that they do not walk alone. We will be meeting here to pray for and encourage one another each Thursday, sharing pieces of our journey, scriptures, resources, prayer requests, and more. This week, we will be sharing about the birth of our babies and the moments we spent with our children after they were born. If you have missed the first two weeks and wish to share the beginning of your journey, you are more than welcome to share what is on your heart.

Sharing the Journey

Faith and Grace
After spending a couple weeks in the hospital with various complications stemming from twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome, I was home recovering. I hadn't felt active movement from the girls in a few hours. It was late in the evening and something didn't seem quite right. I called my mom, and then Dr. C. I told Tim my concerns. Everyone was on alert in case we needed to go to the hospital. For some reason, that I have wondered since that day, I decided to go to bed and see how I felt in the morning.

In the morning, I was not feeling any movement. Tim was at work. So, my mother drove me to the hospital. We were not rushing. Not feeling a sense of urgency. We stopped to get gas. On the drive, I felt the sense of a slight flutter. Was it movement? It was hard to tell. Movements were hard to discern with all the excess fluid surrounding Faith and Grace.

They admitted me to the triage area and began to search for a heartbeat with the Doppler. I smiled and reassured the nurse that it was often hard to get a heartbeat on the Doppler because there was so much fluid. "They're in there", I said confidently.

She went to get an ultrasound machine to make sure. This is where everything gets blurry. I wish my mother was here for me to ask about the details, so that I could share them more clearly. But, maybe they aren't meant to be clear. I think the nurse may have begun with the words, "I'm sorry...". I don't know what else came out. Maybe that there was no heartbeat. Maybe that they were gone. I don't know, because at that moment all her words were drowned out with a choking sob, a twisted agonized cry that was coming out my mouth...in a voice that I didn't recognize. I saw the family on the other side of the curtain being escorted away so that my cries did not disturb the pregnant patient. The agony ripped through me with swift devastation. I heard that unrecognizable voice screaming, "No! My babies..." Through the blurs, I heard my mother talking to the nurse. Arguing. She was saying I could go home and wait or induce labor. My mother said I would not be sent home.

Labor. The word cut through the fog. And slowly understanding permeated. I don't know what I thought would happen...but labor was not on the list. It had never occurred to my twenty-one-year-old mind that I would have to endure labor and deliver babies that would never cry or nurse or fill our house with life. I guess I thought they would just put me to sleep and perform a C-section. But, labor. How would I do that?

Phone calls were made that I can't remember. I called Tim, and cried that they were gone. Our babies were gone. He sped to the hospital even though there was no need to hurry. I was taken to a private room that would have been lovely under different circumstances. I showered, and prepared to be induced. How, Lord? How will I have the strength to go through labor, knowing that I will not be rewarded with the glorious sounds of new life...but silence? How? Nurses spoke foreign words that had no place in the delivery room...words like stillborn and funeral. Burial. What were they talking about?

It was more than I could process. At some point in the early hours of labor, I looked out the window. There were giant, beautiful snowflakes...so perfect and beautiful...just like my Faith and Grace. Each one unique and created by God. They fell silently...peacefully...such a contrast to the turmoil in my heart. The peace washed over me, and I turned to face the next thing. The labor. It was long, lasting through the night and the better part of the next day.

Mom and Tim were there. On November 3, 1996, Faith was born first and minutes later Grace came. Silence. I held them in my arms, one in each. And although they were bruised and broken, I saw them as they were meant to be...beautiful. They looked like their brother, except a daintier more delicate version. Tim leaned beside me as I held them and we cried together, allowing the brokenness to wash over us...forever changing our once young and invincible hearts. I sang Amazing Grace and prayed over them. My mother also held the girls and said hello and good-bye.

Physically, there was relief, after all the struggles of carrying Faith and Grace. Emotionally, we were heart broken...lost without our girls. We were expecting the unique honor of parenting identical twin daughters. And we were leaving the hospital with nothing, except a little care package with a tiny baby gown, some mementos, and a couple polaroids. The emptiness smothered me and my arms ached with longing, as I was wheeled out of the hospital past the nursery where new babies cried.


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Thomas

My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in your weakness. 2 Corinthians 12:9

I had wondered from the time we heard the words "incompatible with life" how we would face another labor that ended without the sounds of a newborn baby cry. I had wondered if carrying Thomas was causing him harm. Wondered what we would be faced with the day we met our sweet boy. And my answers would come soon. I was admitted to the hospital to induce labor at about 38 weeks gestation. My labor was long and intense. Contractions came fast and hard but were not effective. I dilated slowly, as I labored throughout the night. I read scripture and prayed, reciting scripture when I could no longer read. The waves of pain were like nothing I had experienced before. I called the nurse telling her that I was going to throw up and needed a bucket. She gave me one of those tiny kidney shaped things that would hold a teaspoon, and said, "You're fine. You're not going to throw up."

No compassion. I felt the waves of nausea with the waves of pain, escalating as one. In a tangle of cords, I forced myself out of bed and drug the IV bag with me as I lunged toward the toilet, screaming in pain, I made it to the bathroom just in time. Tim had fallen asleep...and the nurse certainly wasn't going to help. But, I wasn't alone. I clung to the Lord, like never in my life. And He carried me through. He was my focal point.

In the wee hours of the morning on July 14, 1998, an epidural brought sweet relief and a little rest. I opened my eyes to see the compassionate face of Dr. M. and I was wheeled into a special delivery room with an adjoining room where they could work on sick babies. I prayed throughout the pushing, and then...weighing in at more than four pounds, he was born. Alive.

"He has red hair," were Dr. M's words as my boy was whisked away by the capable team. I prayed and tears streamed down my face. I was still asking for the miracle of Thomas' life. I had wondered all those months what would meet me in the moments of Thomas' birth...and the answer washed over me. The answer to the ugly question on that first day of the bad news..."Where is your God now?" The answer filled me with peace. I knew the sufficient grace spoken of in scripture, as it surrounded and carried me. And the answer to that ugly question: "Where was my God"...He was right here. He met me here in this place. His grace was waiting. He sustained us. And His presence filled the room.

I was taken to a room to rest while they still worked to stabilize Thomas. With prayers still on my lips, I fell asleep, exhausted. Someone came to tell me that Thomas was stable and we could go see him. I needed some help getting eagerly into the wheelchair. I was about to meet my baby. And, when I did, he took my breath away. His beauty was astounding. I was afraid for so long and what I may see when I laid eyes on him. And, I had nothing to fear. He was breath-taking. Perfect. One of the most beautiful babies I have ever seen. I leaned down and stroked his cheek, whispering that he wasn't alone, that Jesus was with him and his mommy was here. I held his hand and touched his head. I kissed him (although, I sadly cannot remember that anymore. But my friend Ginny assures me I did).

His lung collapsed and the machines that he was hooked up to...the ones sustaining his life beeped and blinked. Alarms went off. And the nurse rapidly informed me that they would have to work on Thomas and I would need to go back to my room. They would get me when he was stable again. I didn't know about comfort care or birth plans. I knew I wanted time with my son, alive, if possible. I knew that I wanted them to make sure that there was nothing that could be done, before we let him go. Potter's Syndrome is fatal, but I wanted them to make sure that he didn't have kidneys...that there was no way to sustain his life. Because if there was a way, I wanted them to save him.

They came to get me after some time went by and I held my Thomas for the first time. The machines made his little body shudder as they breathed life into him. I asked if it hurt him. The nurse assured me that they were making him comfortable. As I held him in my arms, a sweet nurse snapped photos with a disposable camera. At just the right moment, he opened his eyes and looked up at me...just as she snapped the picture. I talked to him and prayed over him with Tim beside me. I sang to him. And, after awhile, after all the tests concluded that indeed Thomas did not have kidneys...and his lungs could in no way sustain his life, we handed him back to the nurses. They took me to a room to wait as they removed the machines sustaining his life on this earth. The nurse laid him in my arms and I began rocking him and singing praise songs, and the most glorious peace and joy filled the room. "His grace is sufficient for me". His presence was so evident, so real. And, it occurred to me that I had been given a great privilege. I had been chosen to sing to this beautiful baby as he went straight from my arms to the arms of Jesus. I will never forget the gift of those moments. I was blessed among women that day...blessed among mothers. There was so much healing in the meeting of my Thomas. An unspeakable gift.











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There are many things that I wish I knew to do, or felt more confident to do during my short time with my sweet babies on this earth. So, I want to share a little with you, here. Please contact a NILMDTS photographer. You may not think you will want pictures. You may feel shocked or think it will be too painful. Please just get the pictures anyway. Because you cannot get these moments back once they are gone. Also, I would suggest a birth plan stating your wishes before going in to deliver your baby. Plan for memories. We have several memory-making materials that are helpful for this and there are other places to go as well. Get as much as you can. Do as much as you can to cherish the time you are given. Don't let anyone talk you out of it or make you feel uncomfortable for your choices. I wanted to give my sweet Thomas a bath and a nurse said, "We don't usually have our parents do that." So, I didn't. I immediately felt squished and like my request was strange. And I missed out because I let that nurse's opinion rob my confidence. Below, I will list the links again in case there is someone reading this who is in this place right now, and in need of guidance.

Be Not Afraid ~ Difficult Pregnancy Diagnosis
String of Pearls ~ Difficult Pregnancy Diagnosis
Perinatal Hospice ~ Resources for those continuing a difficult pregnancy
Growing Through Affliction~ Support and Encouragement
Sufficient Grace Ministries ~ Memory~ making materials
Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep ~ Beautiful photographs for families experiencing loss
A Place to Remember

Books for those waiting with a difficult diagnosis -
Waiting With Gabriel- Amy Kuebelbeck
Empty Arms - Sherokee Isle (secular book, but good practical answers for preparing)
In Faithfulness, He Afflicted Me - Lynnette Kraft
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Thanks so much for joining us again, and for allowing us the privilege of walking with you. Please take some time to link your journeys if you choose, and if you want to just read along, we hope that you will find comfort and hope here. Please take some time to visit those who link here, pray for them, and leave them a word of encouragement. Next week, we will be sharing about planning a funeral/memorial service...and sharing our memories of that day.