May 17th: The day we found out I was pregnant with baby number 2. I remember taking the test in secret and then busting into the bathroom on my husband and sharing the good news. We were so excited.
June 25th: The day of my first ultrasound. The doctor saw something and suggested I go on and take an NIPT, which is a non-invasive prenatal screen for common genetic conditions in the baby’s DNA.
July 16th: I received the results. No abnormalities were found. Please remember that it’s a screening and although it’s 99% accurate, it’s still not a diagnosis.
September 4th: The day of my anatomy scan. The day that turned my life upside down. The doctor found heart abnormalities.
September 15th: The day of my cardiology appointment. The cardiologist confirmed two heart abnormalities – an AVSD and a vascular ring – both of which will require open heart surgery. They also mentioned his liver isn’t on the left but more in the middle. It’s apparently not a big deal since it’s functioning properly. But now they’re worried about genetic disorders since the combination of AVSD and vascular ring is a very unusual one. The NIPT test now means nothing.
September 10th: An umbilical vein varix was confirmed. It’s an enlargement of the umbilical vein. And although I’m not on my bed rest, I need to take it very easy. So no running and no working out for me, which are literally the only two things that keep me mentally sane.
The rest of my pregnancy will be full of doctor and hospital visits. I’ll continue to pray ❤️🙏🏼.”
I was going through old photos last night and stumbled upon this one. And it made me cry. It made me cry because I don’t know if I’ll get to experience this with my baby boy. I don’t know if I’ll be able to rock him. I don’t know if I’ll be able to carry him. I don’t know if I’ll be able to breastfeed him. I don’t know anything.
Be strong sweet boy. I’m begging you. I promise I’ll never complain about a sleepless night. I’ll never complain about not having a second for myself. I’ll never complain about anything. Just live. Please live.
I woke up in the middle of the night and looked at the time. It read 3:33. I’ve never really been a spiritual person, or a religious one, but I’ve been seeing those angel numbers quite often these past few days. When I woke up this morning, the first thing I did was google the meaning of 333. It said: 333 is a reminder that the Divine, the angels and the ascended masters are working with you on a number of levels to make your dreams a reality.
And today, while I was working, I checked the time and it read 2:22. Seeing 222 means this: Stop worrying. Everything is working out just as it’s supposed to. Trust that you’re on the right path.
What’s your take on these angel numbers? Is that God’s way of sending me messages? I need something to hold onto.
Yesterday, we lost our baby boy. Please keep us in your prayers during this difficult time 🙏🏼
“I’m lying on the couch crying. I’ve been crying every day and I don’t know how to stop. I feel so sad, so angry. I’m in so much physical and emotional pain and I don’t know how to begin a self-healing journey.
I know I have to be strong for Luna, but there are days when I feel I can’t go on. When will this pain go away? When will this guilt go away? It’s hurting so much and I just want it to go away.”
“Postpartum after loss.
Another day of being on the couch. Another day of crying. Just another day.
Every day, I cry because of many reasons, but today, I cry because of breast engorgement. I cry because it’s extremely painful physically. But mostly, I cry because it’s extremely painful emotionally. These breasts are full of milk that was meant for you my sweet boy. But instead of nursing you, I’m here, alone, applying ice packs to my breasts and feeling so empty.
Please, God, take my pain away.”
“It’s been a week since you left us to go to heaven. And now, every time I look at my body, it’s like you’ve never really been in there.
My belly is no longer round.
My bleeding is almost gone.
My breasts are slowly getting smaller and getting rid of all the breastmilk.
Soon, there won’t be any physical signs of you ever being here… of you being under my heart.”
“Will we ever be a family of four? That’s a question I keep asking myself constantly.
When our baby boy passed away, one of the first things I thought about was when would I be able to get pregnant again. I know it sounds insensitive, trust me I know, but that’s just where my mind went to. I started calculating and whispering to myself, “OK, so now you’ll bleed for about a week or two. Then your menstrual cycle should return in about a month or two. So if you get pregnant quickly, you could be giving birth sometime next July or August.” It sounds horrible, doesn’t it? I feel so ashamed. I know that deep down another pregnancy will not take away the pain of losing my baby boy. Another pregnancy won’t just erase him. He’ll be in my heart as my second child forever.
But will there be another pregnancy? I hope so with every fiber of my being. But that’s not something I can’t control – and I still haven’t made peace with that.”
“You’ve been gone for almost two weeks and all I keep thinking is: What if it was my fault? What if it was my fault that you had heart defects? What if it was my fault that you had your liver on the wrong side? What if it was my fault that you had a crooked leg?
I know it serves no purpose to blame myself, but I can’t help but wonder if I could’ve prevented this.”
“I feel like I’m drowning.
I can’t stop reliving September 17th, the day when my sweet boy passed away and went to heaven.
Every time I close my eyes, I’m at the hospital. I’m curled up in bed. I’m crying. I’m shivering. I’m gasping for air. My baby is still in me but not really there.
The nurse comes in and asks me if I want an epidural. I say yes because my body can no longer tolerate pain. An hour later, I’m told to push. And although I don’t feel any physical pain, my heart is bleeding.
I pushed a couple of times and you were out. I didn’t even look at you. I couldn’t look at you. I couldn’t look at your fragile little body. I just couldn’t. I wasn’t strong enough. And I’m so sorry. I’m so incredibly sorry. I’m so sorry I let them take your lifeless body away without saying goodbye. I’m so sorry I let you down. Please forgive me. I beg you.
I love you and I’ll love you forever.”