July 24th was the worst day of our lives. I have struggled immensely with the grieving process and I have struggled even more with finding an outlet for my feelings, thoughts, and emotions.
At the advice of various people, I started writing in a journal — pen to paper. I only wrote one entry. What better way to start this blog than by sharing my entry:
August 19, 2014
19 days – it’s been 19 days since Colson’s heart stopped beating. Actually, no, it’s been 26 days– I have lost it. “It” = all concept of time. It = the ability to feel any emotion other than sadness, anger, or heartbroken.
I just don’t understand why this happened. I’m having such a hard time accepting that it’s true– that my baby is dead. We were at our 37 week appointment two days before this. TWO DAYS. His heartbeat was in the 130’s. Dr Fuoss said his head was down and he even joked about how he was laying. Everything was fine.
Colson and I had such a bond from the moment he was conceived and formed in my womb. When he became mobile, I was in tune to his schedules. He was super active in the mornings and also at night. He kicked me fiercely when I would have a snack, and when I would have my morning coffee.
But my most favorite time to feel him move is when I would drink a nice cold glass of ice water. Oh, how that would make him kick. I’m not sure whether he moved and kicked because he liked it, or if he was trying to say “Brrr, mommy, stop!”
That Thursday morning, I just knew something was off, though I had no idea that it was going to be the worst day of my life. I didn’t feel Colson moving. I sat on mom’s couch, working, and was getting nervous. I got some ice cold iced tea and chugged it. No movement. I layed on my left side and thought that I felt movement, but was unsure. I immediately called the doctor and was told to go to the hospital.
I thought that maybe he was just getting to be a big boy and moving less – that I would be scanned and put on a monitor and would get some relief. Little did I know that just a half hour later, I would give given the worst news– there was no heartbeat. Colson had died.
I’m not sure why I didn’t write more entries. I am not really sure, to this day, how to express my thoughts. I am pulling at strings here — threads, even.
When I got to the hospital that day, a nurse came down and escorted me up to L&D. She complimented my pedicure and we laughed and talked and she asked about Colson and if we had a name yet — she liked his name! She took me to my room and had me change into a gown. We actually had to switch rooms because there was something in that room that wasn’t working. I should have taken that as a sign.
We switched rooms. She tried finding Colson’s heartbeat with the doppler. Nothing. We could hear my heartbeat, but not his. She went and got a better doppler. Still nothing. She was so positive and upbeat– she was really trying to keep me calm and relaxed. Another nurse came in and tried — nothing. Then, they called in the doctor. Dr. Cirucci came in and could not find the heartbeat. She was visually upset. I, on the other hand, was in shock. She called the ultrasound people, who brought up a big huge portable ultrasound machine, and she confirmed it on the screen. Colson’s heart was not beating. She apologized to me– told me how sorry she was for my loss. Asked me if anybody was with me. I just looked at her in disbelief. I told her that this couldn’t have been true because I was just at the doctor for a checkup two days ago! I asked her what could have happened– she told me that unfortunately, sometimes these things happen and we couldn’t tell right now.
I started to cry. Started to shake. Called my husband. Couldn’t get a hold of him. I had called him when I was on my way to get checked out and told him that I would call him back once I got there and to keep working. I kept calling him. In the meantime, my sister got to the hospital first. She came in and she hugged me and cried with me. I called my mom. She and my step dad were on their way. By this time, I was hysterical. I got a hold of Matt and all I can remember is saying “He’s gone. Our baby’s gone! Please get here, please!” He got in his car and he got to the hospital as fast as he could. I kept calling him while he was on the way– telling him to please not wreck (although I was calling him and distracting him the entire time). He got to the hospital, and by that time, my parents and step-parents were there as well. As soon as Matt came into my room, we embraced. As parents, we were experiencing the absolute worst thing that parents could ever go through. How were we going to do it?
I Held You All Your Life 