Hope H. Dover

Navigating life after loss with hope

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He Didn’t Make Me a Mother

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A little after Samuel was born, someone made a comment that I would get to celebrate my first Mother’s Day this year. While it was an innocent comment not meant to hurt me, it was simply untrue. This year I will experience my fourth Mother’s Day. I don’t say celebrate, because the first three weren’t exactly celebrations.

My first Mother’s Day was on May 13, 2012. This fell six days after we learned our baby would not live and five days before our baby went to Heaven. I’m pretty sure I was in shock by this point and don’t remember anything about that day.

My second Mother’s Day was on May 12, 2013. I was in the middle of preparing myself for the one-year anniversary of our loss and waiting to see if our first IUI was successful (it wasn’t).

My third Mother’s Day was on May 11, 2014. By this time I was grieving the loss of two babies, I had just learned that our fourth IUI in six months did not work and I had no idea of my job situation for the coming year. I had planned to hide from civilization that day. I was succeeding until my Mama showed up at my house that afternoon with a flower. A few others acknowledged my motherhood on this day, but not many.

Samuel is my first living child, but he didn’t make me a mother. The second I conceived my first child I became a mother. The fact that I never got to hold that child didn’t take that title away. Mothering children that you can not hold is a very difficult thing to do. But we do it. Every single day we do it. We talk to them. We dream of what they would have been like. We remember them. We ache for them. We love them.

“Is he your first?”

This is a question that was asked many times during my pregnancy and continues to be asked now that Samuel is here. It is a very difficult question to answer, mainly because of the reaction people give when I give the honest answer. It just has the potential to get awkward.

Samuel is my third child. I have two babies in Heaven.

Many people do not know how to react to that answer. I get it. No one wants to think about death, especially the death of a child. So sometimes it is easier to just say yes and move along. And every time I do that, every time I don’t acknowledge my other children, I feel an extreme amount of guilt.

Samuel didn’t make me a mother. I became a mother in February of 2012. Samuel is not my first child. This year is not my first Mother’s Day.

Mother’s Day has been a tough day for me over the past few years. In fact, the entire month of May just stinks. Yes, this year may be a little easier in some ways because Samuel is here, but in other ways it will still be tough. I’m still missing my babies. I’m still smack in the middle of the anniversary of the worst period of my life. I’m still a grieving mother. 

Mother’s Day is hard for the bereaved mother, especially if she has no living children. If someone in your life is a bereaved mother, take a minute to remember her on Sunday. Send her a card. Give her a call. Acknowledge her motherhood. I promise you won’t be making her sad, bringing up painful memories (those are with us every day anyway) or hurting her. You will be showing her that you care and that you remember and it will make the day a little easier.

Dr. Joy and the Thumb

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All of my scans through 24 weeks were conducted at the office of the Maternal-Fetal Medicine specialists. This is the same office where we received the bad news about our first baby. It was not always easy to go in for these scans since that place had the potential to trigger memories of that horrible day. We were not assigned a specific doctor. After the scans, a doctor would look at the scan and, depending on that doctor’s preference, may or may not have seen us. We had not seen a doctor after the two NT scans. The doctor who was there on those days just looked at the scans and told the tech that we could leave.

We were scheduled to have an early anatomy scan when I was 16 weeks pregnant. This was a little over three weeks after “the birthday scare” and our second NT scan. I was my usual anxious self for a few days leading up to the scan. As we got started, things seemed to be going well. The tech was talking to us and explaining what we were seeing on the screen. As the scan progressed, she got quieter and quieter. This started to make me feel a little anxious. Then she started asking me about health problems and past pregnancies, which left me feeling a little more anxious. A few minutes later she stopped the scan, told us that she was going to show the doctor and that he might want to repeat the scan. As she walked out of the room I was in full panic mode.

What did she see that caused her to get so quiet?
Why was she asking about past pregnancies?
Why was the doctor going to come in and repeat the scan?
What was wrong with my baby?????

My outward appearance must have mirrored how I was feeling inside, because as soon as the doctor entered the room he asked me what was wrong. I explained how nervous and anxious those scans made me feel. He immediately explained that nothing alarming was found on the scan and that he liked to repeat all of the scans himself. He repeated the scan and told us that they were not able to see some things because it was still early, but what they were able to see looked good. Then he captured this image:

I saw this little “thumbs up” from the womb as a signal from the baby and from God that everything was okay in there. I made this picture the wallpaper on my phone so that every time I used my phone I saw that little thumb. I would look at it when I was feeling anxious and remind myself of God’s message – you don’t have to be afraid.

And the doctor that day – his name was Dr. Joy. In the 11 1/2 weeks that I knew I was pregnant, I had been fighting to find joy in the pregnancy. By capturing this image, Dr. Joy brought me a little bit of joy that day and every time I looked at that picture. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that he was the doctor who saw me that day. God orchestrated that, just as He orchestrated little Samuel sticking up his thumb at the exact moment the doctor was doing the scan. I think it was His way of telling me that it was okay to choose joy over fear. I certainly left the office that day with a little more joy in my heart and a sense of peace that everything was okay.

The Birthday Scare

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August 6, 2014 – On my 36th birthday I was thirteen weeks pregnant and had an early morning appointment with the obstetrician. It was my second prenatal appointment. I had never made it to a second “normal” prenatal appointment with my previous pregnancies, so I didn’t know what to expect. My weight and blood pressure was checked and the requisite questions were asked before I was taken to an exam room. A few minutes later a nurse came in the room with a fetal doppler to listen for the baby’s heartbeat. We had heard that glorious sound less than a week earlier at the NT scan. After squirting out what seemed to be a ridiculous amount of gel, she placed the probe on my belly and began moving it around searching for the heartbeat. Nothing. She moved the probe. Still nothing. After what seemed like an eternity of her rubbing that probe all over my belly there was no heartbeat found. The nurse left the room and the doctor entered a few minutes later. She tried to find the heartbeat for about five minutes and still nothing. She wanted me to have an ultrasound so I went back to the waiting room while the nurse checked the schedule. They couldn’t fit me in until later in the afternoon. We had our repeat NT scan scheduled for the following morning so I told the nurse I would just wait until then. She handed me the paper to give the lady at the checkout desk. It had a post-it note attached – NO HEARTBEAT.

    I didn’t wait around for the scan that day because it was my birthday. If my baby had died, I didn’t want August 6 to be the day I found out. Then that day would no longer be my birthday. Instead it would forever be the day I found out my baby died. There are dates from my previous pregnancies that I’ll never forget – May 4 (the day we first knew there was a problem), May 7 (the day we received our fatal prenatal diagnosis), May 10 (the day we got a second opinion scan with Dr. P), May 18 (the day my baby died), June 20 (the day my second baby died). 

    I spent the remainder of my 36th birthday praying that August 7 would not be remembered as the day I found out my third baby died. Keith was great. He reminded me that they couldn’t find the heartbeat on the doppler at about the same point in my first pregnancy but found it on the ultrasound. That reassured me a little bit.

    The next morning, August 7, we repeated the NT scan. We had an awesome ultrasound tech. As we were walking back to the room, I explained to her what happened the day before. She immediately found the heartbeat and let us hear it. She talked to us during the entire scan and explained everything she was seeing.  We had three more scans with the Maternal-Fetal Medicine specialists and I requested her every time. Unfortunately she was only there to do our final scan.

    I believe that God placed her on my path that day. He knew that she was the tech that I needed to help calm the anxieties that had built up during the twenty-four hours prior to that scan. Once again, He showed me that I didn’t have to be afraid.

The Message

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Have you ever received a message from God? Not a feeling or a nudge, but actual words that you knew without a doubt came from the Lord above. I have – once. It happened on July 25, 2014. The following week we were scheduled to meet with the geneticist and have the NT (nuchal translucency) scan. This is the point during our first pregnancy where we learned of the fatal anomalies that plagued our first child. Needless to say, my anxiety leading up to this day was high.
God’s message on this day didn’t come to me through a burning bush or in a dream. It came to me while I was sitting on the toilet of all places. You see, throughout the pregnancy, every time I went to the bathroom I looked for blood.
Every.
Single.
Time.

If you know anything about the bladder of a pregnant woman, then you know that’s a lot of trips to the bathroom.
So, on this particular day, after not finding blood, God sent me a message. I heard these words (not audibly, but in my head):

You don’t have to be afraid.

Those six words provided me with enough peace to get through the days leading up to the genetics appointment. I didn’t interpret this message as “everything is going to be okay with your baby.” I interpreted as “No matter what happens, you don’t have to be afraid because I am with you.”

We went to the appointment on July 31 and met with the geneticist. It was a bit excruciating because I had to recount the events of our previous pregnancies (even though she had my file right in front of her). This happened a lot throughout the pregnancy, but that’s another blog post.  We then had to sit through her explaining our risks of various genetic disorders (mainly due to my age). We declined any genetic blood testing and proceeded to the NT scan. I just needed to know that this baby didn’t have the same issues as our first sweet baby. During this particular scan, the tech is measuring the clear space in the tissue behind the baby’s neck. Extra fluid (resulting in a larger than average clear space) could indicate a problem.

Samuel wasn’t cooperating and would not move into a position that would allow the tech to get a good measurement. We had to come back the following week to repeat the scan. We were assured that day that Samuel’s heart was located in his chest cavity and there did not appear to be any abdominal wall defect or cystic hygroma. That was all I needed to hear. The anomalies that took our first baby from us were not present. My biggest fear was quenched with this news and we were praising Jesus. I didn’t have to be afraid.

I wish I could tell you that those words – “You don’t have to be afraid” – were able to take away all of my anxiety for the remainder of the pregnancy. I wish I could tell you that I clung to those words and faced the remainder of the pregnancy without fear. I wish I could tell you receiving this message from God made the remainder of the pregnancy easier. Unfortunately, pregnancy after loss is so very difficult. This baby didn’t have the same problems as my first baby, but what about all the other millions of other things that could go wrong?

Looking back on the pregnancy, I was scared, actually terrified a lot (read that as MOST) of the time that something was going to go wrong and we wouldn’t be bringing this baby home either. Looking back I can tell you that God was with us every step of the way. This message from Him was just one of many little ways that He revealed Himself to me throughout the pregnancy.

I Made the Doctor Cry

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Isaiah 61“I’m so sorry.”

I’ve heard doctors and nurses speak these words to me so many times over the past several years. Only today, they weren’t being spoken to me. I heard my OB-GYN saying them through the wall to another patient as I waited for my postpartum check. Moments later, she entered the room with a big hug and “Congratulations.” I flashed back to an appointment nearly three years ago. It was the post-op appointment after our first loss. As I sat waiting quite miserably, I heard Dr. P offer congratulatory words to the patient next door. Then, moments later, she spoke those words,

“I’m so sorry,”

to me.

Everything went well with my check up. I have healed from childbirth, my blood pressure is good and I weigh less than I weighed at the beginning of the pregnancy. After Dr. P answered all of my questions, I took a minute to thank her for the excellent care she has provided over the years, but especially the care she has provided during this pregnancy. As I talked about what a blessing our sweet Samuel is, my eyes filled with tears and so did hers. Dr. P has been my doctor for a little over ten years. She has seen me through a lot, from unimaginable pain to exceeding joy and everything in between. Having this moment with her was very special.

So much happened during this pregnancy that I wanted to write about, but didn’t. Sometimes it was because I didn’t have the time. Sometimes it was because I didn’t have the energy. Many times it was because I didn’t have the courage. Now that he’s here, I’d like to go back and share some of the amazing things that have happened over the past ten months. So I’ve started here at the end, describing my final pregnancy related doctor visit. Over the next few weeks, or possibly months (I do have a newborn to take care of), I am going to show how God has used my situation to create beauty from ashes as I share my pregnancy journey with you.

This Year Will Be Different

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For the past three years on New Year’s Eve when the clock struck twelve, I have silently told myself that this year will be different. And for the past three years the “different” that I had imagined has not come to be. As 2012 arrived we had finished up the necessary rounds of testing with the infertility doctor and were ready to come up with a plan for getting pregnant. 2013 came and we were mourning the death of our first child while in the midst of more infertility treatments. When 2014 got here we were grieving the loss of two babies and trudging through even more invasive infertility treatments. Every year I dreamed of something different, something better, and every year I was met with more and more pain and disappointment.
So what do you do when the year you were hoping for doesn’t turn out differently?

You keep pushing through. You keep hoping and you keep believing. Yes, the past three years have been the most difficult of my life, but every second hasn’t been miserable. I have learned to seek out moments of joy in the midst of the pain. I have learned to appreciate the little things, because they really are the big things. My faith has grown, as well as my relationships.

Tonight we will ring in 2015. When the ball drops and the clock strikes twelve (if I’m still awake), I will be able to say with absolute confidence that this year WILL be different. In six short weeks or less, we will welcome our third child into the world. We will get to see this one, to hold this one, to raise this one. It took a little over halfway through this pregnancy for me to fully believe this. After we were released from high-risk care at 24 weeks, I said to Keith, “I think we’re going to get to keep this one.” This baby will change our lives, just like his or her siblings in Heaven did.

If you still find yourself saying “this year will be different,” don’t give up. Keep pushing through. Keep hoping. Keep believing. Look for the joy. Appreciate the little things. And most of all, thank God for giving you another year.