A life well loved...

[Prelude to the prelude:  This was written well over one year ago at the time of death of our third little baby, just prior to my eleventh week of pregnancy.  I remember that I had more thoughts to say at the end, but I never wrote them down, and I sure don't remember them now.  So, the end of the post trails off.  But, as I titled this, our little baby is "a life well loved," so I don't want baby's story to go without sharing.]


Super Bowl Sunday was not a day like any other.  I had been overcome with a variance of yucky symptoms, and all I could do was try my best to figure out what food item I had eaten was causing me to be stricken with such fervor.  These symptoms had been ongoing for a number of days, and many seemed to quickly be gaining steam.  Super Bowl Sunday, Mike made a startling 'discovery.'  He looked me straight in the eyes and said, "I know what's wrong with you.  It's not your celiac disease.  You are so pregnant."  Immediately, this started the classic-Suzanne-is-pregnant denial scheme.  "Mike, you are so wrong.  Why would I ever  be pregnant?"  He pointed out that there had been a long expanse of time between the one thing that would indicate I was not pregnant.  "Whatever, that just happened!" was my response.  He was adamant.  I checked the calendar, counted back my dates, and said, "oh, my."  This got me thinking, but I kept making excuses.  I ultimately rested on 'no, I'm not pregnant' but then would an hour later say, 'but, what if I am?'


After an all-day dialogue that headed its way into WalMart and back home, and into the game, Mike finally jumped up at half-time and declared... "I am going to settle this once and for all.  I am going to the dollar store to get you a pregnancy test."  I gave another classic, 'oh, brother, please' response and rolled my eyes.  But, there was no stopping Mike so I stayed home while Noël danced to the show.  Mike quickly returned and handed me the cheap, not dollar store, but Walgreens brand test.  


I snatched the test and went to the bathroom to prove how right I was and how wrong Mike was.  I took the test, and there it was... a negative response.  Ha!  I marched back out and declared, "Vertz, it's negatory."  He didn't turn around and look at me.  He just said, "really?"  


"Yep, I was right... oh, wait... oh, my goodness..."  I had just looked down at the box for this very cheap test and realized it did not work like the higher-priced name brand tests.  


"HOLY ****, Vertz, I was wrong.  It's a positive.  Oh, my goodness, I just cussed.  I'm so sorry... but, holy ****"


Mike jumped up and spun around and said "you're kidding me."  


I definitely was not kidding.  I misread the test and it was positive.


Mike and I looked at each other in amazement, then hugged, then I cried, then we both thought, 'oh, my goodness.'


You see, we had come to the conclusion that we were pretty certain we were done having babies.  Our pregnancy with Noël was so rough, and then coupled with Flara's early arrival, we just felt we had hit our max of what we could handle.  Also, Noël was only 2 years old, and Flara only 6 months old, but developmentally, was like having a 2 month old baby at home.


Wow.  Mike asked me to describe in two words how I was feeling at that time.  "Anxiously excited" was my response.  We did the math, and came up with an around- October due-date.  With my classic vertical c-section with Flara, we knew there would be little to no chance we would make it full-term.  So, figuring on a maybe September arrival, our babies would be 2 1/2 years old, 1 year old (developmentally like an 8 or 9 month old), and newborn!  Wow.  But, we assured ourselves that God is in control and that God was giving us this baby for a very specific reason, so we weren't going to worry about how we would handle anything, or find the patience, or be effective parents.  We were just going to keep on trusting.  


An interesting note to add to our decision to stop our family at two kids... I had also just maybe a week before said to Mike, "This might sound really strange, and I am probably completely crazy, but I kind of want another baby.  And, I could take another baby now."  God must have been preparing me for the news when it did happen.


It took me nearly a week to call my OB and share the news.  Thankfully, he was kind enough to take the phone from the receptionist and talk to me and pray extensively with me.  He reminded me that God is fully in control, and that it was no mistake that this baby was being placed into our lives at this exact moment.  It was a good reminder and confirmation that God was going to take care of us.


We scheduled our first visit for lab work.  All of those tests came back perfectly.  We repeated the labs and had an ultrasound a half-week later.  We were still too early in the pregnancy at that point to be given a due date, or to see a heartbeat on our baby, but our labs looked perfect again in comparison to the tests from a half-week prior.  We scheduled another ultrasound a week out with the hopes that we would be far enough along to see our baby's little heart thumping along.


And, there it was!  Our ultrasound showed a baby growing like baby should, with a nice steady heartbeat.  The baby measured correctly from our last dates so we were given a due date of October 14th.  We were given three pictures of baby.  Two of them were labeled for us.  "Hi, Mom and Dad" and "Hi, Noël and Flara."  We were really excited.  


We discussed what the risks were going to be with the quick turn-around in pregnancies, and when my vertical c-section scar would be of concern.  Surprisingly, our OB gave us the go-ahead to be 'normal' OB patients for a while and return in a month, rather than following our typical high-risk weekly to bi-weekly schedule.  Wonderful!


Over the next month, my stomach continued to QUICKLY grow.  I was surprised how fast the 'little' bump was expanding, and realized it would be hard to hide it for too long.  I suppose that's the beauty of back-to-back pregnancies and classic c-sections, right?  But, I sure didn't mind, and I was so excited for the littlest Veitz baby to be growing.  We were mulling over names, and laughing about being fairly certain we would have a third little girl.  We just couldn't wait!


Fast forward to our next visit.


This Monday, March 22nd was our next regularly-scheduled appointment.  We didn't have an ultrasound scheduled, so I knew it would be a quick visit to pick up our heartbeat, weigh me, and check a few other things.  I kept telling Mike all weekend that he didn't need to go because it would be so quick, and that it would be easier for the girls to stay home.  At first he agreed, but then as the weekend wore on, he decided he would come.  That morning, I still assured him that he wouldn't need to ride-along, although I would love to all be together.  Nope, he was coming anyways.

We arrived in Knoxville for our 2pm appointment a bit early.  Noël sat in a chair quietly like a good girl, and grabbed a few books to read.  Quickly, we were called back.  I stepped on the scales, and was a bit shocked that I was the same weight from a month prior, and possibly (I couldn't remember) a pound lighter.  "Hmmm, " I thought, but I quickly dismissed the idea because I lost weight for months with Noël, and struggled with Flara as well to move forward with the pounds.

I moved to the next station and peed in a cup and had my blood pressure taken.  I was 10 weeks, 4 days, so I wondered if we would pick up a heartbeat on the little doppler machine.  The gal who took my BP must've thought the same thing because she asked the main nurse the same question.  Her response was, "well, sometimes, but Suzanne is such a little bitty thing, you'll get it."

As I laid down and the gal began scanning, she kept picking up my heartbeat and couldn't locate baby's. It didn't bother me because I had remembered similar difficulties at later stages with Noël during our many hospitalizations.  As the scanning went on and on, I kept looking at Mike with a bit of a sense of doom.  He would smile back, so I would look up and stare at the ceiling tiles.  The head nurse came in and asked if she had got it yet.  "Nope."  So, the main nurse went and fetched a different doppler that she said sometimes worked a bit better.  This time, she scanned me, but she also wasn't finding anything.  "Well, let's just ultrasound you really quick to visualize your baby."

I was feeling pretty grim.  Mike was still smiling.

As I laid down for the ultrasound, I kept telling myself I wasn't going to look at the picture.  But, then, like any person passing a wreck, I had to peek.  There was our little baby, sweetly laying on baby's little side, beautiful spine intact, little arm buds... still a tadpoley appearance....  no heartbeat.  I gasped.  Mike strained his eyes and said, "that shows 8 weeks, 5 days" in a questioning way, then suddenly grabbed my shoulder, and then stopped.  I slapped my hand to my face and quickly covered my eyes.  The nurse practitioner walked in, looked, and said, "let's do a [more instrusive] scan really quickly."

We did that scan, and still the same.  We checked for blood flow.  My body lit up in reds and blues, but sweet little baby remained motionless, heartbeat-less, and gray... no blood flow.  "Oh, my gosh" was all I could say.  I covered my eyes again and started crying.  Silence filled the room.

Mike asked if we could pray, and the practitioner offered to pray for us, but Mike wanted to say that first prayer with us.  With me still on the table, Mike holding my shoulders, the ultrasound tech holding my other shoulder, the practitioner holding onto my knees, and me still grasping my face and sobbing, we prayed that God would carry us through such difficult times and that we would trust Him with the news we just learned.  It was a hard prayer.

I cannot describe the very instant I actually realized my sweet little baby had died.  I felt numb, I felt the room spinning, I felt my breath leave me in a quick gasp, fears, sorrow, extreme loneliness, a myriad of emotions, confusion... and, yet, peace.  Peace that only a loving God could provide in the midst of terrible, painful news.

I was silent.  We walked out of the ultrasound room and got the girls from the nurses.  And, that was it.  Our belongings were still in our exam room; a life interrupted.  We didn't continue the exam as we should have.  We were told our options and told to go home and take our time making a decision.  I remember thinking I felt bad for the office staff for having to handle bad news like that so regularly, and also how impressed I was with how compassionate they were to us.

Quietly we walked to our car and buckled in the girls.  I don't remember what we said.  I just remember numbness.  My thoughts were not clear.  As we were heading down the highway, I saw a McDonald's offering 2 for $3 filet-o-fish combos.  I thought, 'well, now I can eat a filet-o-fish.'  Then, I remembered it was not baby who made me unable to eat McDonald's.  It was my celiac disease.  I think confused was probably the best descriptive for the thoughts that passed my mind.

Probably before we arrived home, I made the decision that I wanted to have a D & C.  I was so fearful of going through losing baby at home.  I was fearful of the cramping, fearful of seeing the blood start.  It was too late to call the office back and let them know my decision, so I decided to call first thing in the morning.

I couldn't sleep that night.  I was afraid still of seeing blood... to me, that would validate the truth of what had happened to me, and I didn't want to face that reality.  I was up, down, up, down, all night... pacing, thinking, questioning... trying to pinpoint what went wrong.

But, I know I didn't do anything wrong.  I kept trying to rationalize the death from a nursing perspective, which would help, but then I would have the awful thoughts of 'was it this' or 'was it that.'  I counted back the dates on the calendar to see the day my baby stopped growing.  It was an ugly, vicious cycle of destructive thoughts.

Morning finally dawned, and I called the office on my way into a work meeting.  I couldn't pay attention, and I kept replaying the day over and over in my head.  I held my phone waiting for the call back to let me know if the covering OB (my doctor was out-of-town for the week) could fit me into his surgery schedule that day.

By 1:30 in the afternoon, I figured the D&C wouldn't be happening that day.  I was starving from having eaten nothing in anticipation of surgery, and I was getting fidgety.  Then, my phone rang.  It was the head nurse calling me back.  "Suzanne, are you still in Knoxville?"  "No, I'm back home."  "Well, we just got word that we can bump you in for a 3:00 surgery, but you'll have to get in your car and hurry here.  Is that okay?"  Of course, Mike and I jumped up in a fury and began grabbing things to drop the girls off with friends and get me whatever I would be needing for my surgery.

It was a sad drive, like heading into your doom.  To me, this was final.  Up until that point, even though baby was no longer alive, my sweet little baby was still with me.  I tried to not think about it.  This would be my last moments pregnant, and I didn't want it to end.

We arrived at the hospital and silently walked into the admitting department.  The waiting room was full of people, but thankfully, one girl at the desk took us in and took us to a closed office, checked us in, and bypassed a lot of the waiting.  We went to have labs done, came back, then were walked to the surgery department.

Thankfully, everyone was extremely sympathetic to the situation.  Several nurses quietly told me that they, too, had lost babies... and had never forgotten, forever imagined what 'could have been,' and struggled that others could  not understand the loss that a momma feels.  It was so true.  Later, as I was retelling Mike the things these kind people had shared with me, I stopped and said, "you know, Mike, I think this is the silent agony of women."  Yes, silent agony.  So many have experienced it, and yet so many other people are quick to say, "well, it was only x- amount of weeks" or "just a miscarriage" or any random non-sympathetic thing they could come up with.

As I mulled over my own loss and thought about all of these moms, I began to feel really apprehensive and doubtful and I don't even know what.  In perfect timing, the nurse walked in and gave me my first of two doses of versed.  Ahhh...  Even though I was still really sad, I could more effectively talk to Mike about what we were experiencing.  The finality of it all was really weighing on me, and I was struggling with the thoughts of waking up from surgery and for the first time in nearly eleven weeks, being childless.  Ugh.

Being my usual stoic self, I tried to suppress my emotions and be chipper as I was wheeled back for surgery.  I tried to avoid Mike's eyes every time we talked because I knew the sorrow in his eyes was a reflection of the sorrow in my eyes.  I tried to be my usual upbeat self to the staff and was having nice conversations... then began to drift off...

I woke up, and I remember thinking, "wow, that was amazing sleep.  I really needed that."  I could hear distant conversations, but nothing really made sense.  I heard a funny conversation, and I began to chuckle a bit.  "Hey, you're not supposed to hear that.  You woke up really fast."  I was really confused. Who was talking to me?  Where was I?  I saw bright lights and suddenly realized where I was and why. Instantly, hot tears began falling down my face.  I pulled the cover up over my head and silently sobbed. All I wanted to do was get back to Mike.  Immediately.

A nurse walked over and brought me a Kleenex.  She had a really sympathetic look on her face.  Silently, she did her job and told me she'd quickly get me back to Mike.

As I was wheeled back to my prep 'room,' which was a curtained off area, I caught sight of Mike's eyes. I quickly glanced down and half smiled at him.  We  both sat in silence.  Mike reached over and grabbed my hand.  I think we were both just too afraid to look at each other and acknowledge the end of our pregnancy.  I don't know who spoke first, but I remember some small talk.  We had a nurse who took care of us when I went into pre-labor with Noël, so that was a good distraction.  I realized I needed to pee... desperately... so our nurse helped me up and to the bathroom.  As I was in the bathroom, I looked down and realized that my bump was gone.  Gone.  Already.  I gasped, then started crying.  I walked back dazed to Mike and pulled my gown and said, "look."  He didn't look up at me, just silently said, "I know.  ---- said that would happen and it would be really hard to realize."  I sat down.  Angry.

We were discharged to leave after that, so we slowly walked out.  I was offered a wheelchair, but I refused.  A different nurse walked with us, then sat with me while Mike went and brought back our car.  While Mike was away, she shared that she had struggled with infertility, then lost the two babies she had conceived through in-vitro fertilization.  She told me she knew how hard it was to go through this.  She seemed to be another person placed in our paths by a loving God to further show that He loves us.

I realized when I climbed into the vehicle that I was starving, so we went to the Taco Bell next to the hospital.  I had to pee... again... so we went into the restaurant.  Mike ordered the food while I slowly made my way into the bathroom.  I met him as we were walking out.  He asked if I had seen the elderly African American woman who had waited on him.

"No, why?"
"Well," he told me, "she said, 'isn't it a beautiful day?'"
Which it was... I had noticed the perfection in the blueness of the sky and the birds chirping and the puffy clouds and the warmness of the sun... more than usual... a life that had screeched into slow motion.
"Yes," Mike responded.
"And, isn't God good?"
Looking up, Mike said, "absolutely.  He is so good."

It always amazes me the people that God will place to cross paths with us.  I've never had anyone say something like that at Taco Bell... and what a beautiful declaration it was.  She had no idea what we had just gone through, but she was rejoicing in our Savior.  Mike and I prayed, then begin eating... still tearfully, I acknowledged that God is good... so, so good.