Eleven Angel Babies

Every single baby I lost holds a place in my heart. My little ones who didn't survive are no less loved than the ones who did and they're a part of our family in every possible way. Each of my angel babies has their own story with their very own sad ending. Each of them deserves their own telling because each baby was loved, hoped for, prayed for, grieved. But for the sake of keeping this blog a reasonable length I’m sharing a general overview of my losses. I've written individual detailed accounts about each loss in my personal journals. Grouping them together is not meant to lessen the pain that came with every single one. Here's my story... Like most teenage girls, I had big plans for my future! Not least of which included a picture perfect family with a handsome, hardworking husband, and as many perfect and well behaved children as we could handle. Growing up the 5th of 12 kids, I was born to handle children. I LOVED my big family! I loved my 7 crazy brothers and my 4 angelic sisters. I loved hearing the pride in my dad’s voice when he talked about us. I loved watching my mom laminate schedules, meal charts, chore charts, family rules charts (even our weekly calendars were laminated and placed on the fridge) pretty much any document she felt was necessary for the successful maintenance of her large brood was laminated. Once it went through that vinyl oven it was permanently implemented into our daily lives. Every closet was spotless and stacked with labeled storage totes. Underneath each bed was also examined. There was no hiding a mess from mom. Our days began at 5:00am with piano practicing, 3 kids at a time on 3 different pianos. Then it was scripture study, breakfast and cleaning each area of the house before school. It was a rigorous routine that kept us on our toes, AND I LOVED IT! When I headed off to college I had my big dreams in my mind when I declared my major, child psychology. On my first date with my husband we fired questions at each other. The chemistry was there, the mutual interest and shared passion for life was uncanny, we just “fit” and we both knew it! When I asked how many kids he wanted his face fell and he hesitated, I held my breath. When he responded with “I don’t like answering that question. I think it scares girls away,” my heart sank. This guy didn’t want kids and I REALLY liked him, but that was a deal breaker for sure! Thankfully, to my shock and delight he said, “I want at least 10!” He was equally blown away when I grinned so big and said “You’re kidding?! ME TOO!” I knew he was the one for me! Fast forward 8 months and we were engaged. A couple months before our wedding he self consciously and nervously asked me to consider not getting on birth control but rather letting children come to our family whenever the Lord chose to send them. He thought I’d tell him he was crazy but for us, it just felt RIGHT! So that’s what we did. 3 weeks into our marriage I knew RIGHT AWAY that I was pregnant. I had literally every symptom the pregnancy books described. Sure enough, I got a positive pregnancy test, a honeymoon baby! My husband was shocked! He’d been sure it would take a few months at least. But we were both happy that infertility wasn’t going to be a struggle for us. We told everyone right away because… WHY NOT??? Unfortunately, we learned the hard way why not. After that miscarriage I was so deeply sad and so confused! A little voice in the back of my mind said “something is wrong with your body”, but the doctor and every person I spoke to, including my husband, had consoling words. “It happens and it sucks, but it’s common.” When the next pregnancy also ended in miscarriage I was devastated! My husband was sad too but it wasn’t the crushing blow it was for me. He was sure time and patience would pay off. Fast forward 20 years and 11 miscarriages later… Yes, ELEVEN. The glorious news is my husband and I have been blessed with 7 children. They are even more wonderful and “perfect” than we could have hoped. BUT WE HAD TO FIGHT FOR EACH ONE! Doctor’s appointments, tests, treatments, diagnoses, missed diagnoses, ultrasounds, shots, procedures, blood work, prescriptions and bills upon bills upon bills were all part of the fight. I’m pretty sure I’ve peed on over 50 sticks hoping for a positive pregnancy test, but also knowing my odds of miscarriage were much greater than 50%. I’ve lain on medical beds with my legs in stirrups WAY more than I care to remember. I have scars on my arms from needle marks where HCG blood draws were taken over and over again to see if my levels would double, but more often than not, eventually they would barely climb, then they’d level off, and finally drop until the inevitable phone call from the doctor would come. Then the spotting would start, then the cramping, and even when that was happening I would still pray and plead that this time could be different and this baby would hold on. I believed in miracles. I still do! And any physician who knows my medical issues and my obstetrical history would tell you that my 7 children are miracles that defy the odds! I’ve miscarried in every place imaginable, usually at home, where I could stand in the shower and sob as blood pooled around me and I gripped the shower walls in agony. It was easier to cry in the shower, easier to turn the water on as hot as I could handle, nearly scalding my back, to distract from the physical pain of delivering a baby that I wouldn’t get to hold. It was easier to let the fetal tissue gather in a pile on the shower floor rather than digging it out of the toilet. For my first few miscarriages we were told to keep the “products of conception” so they could be taken in for testing. Thankfully that became unnecessary when repeated tests turned up nothing. Yes, the shower was always my first choice. But that’s not how going into labor works, you don’t pick the best day and time; and contrary to what some may think, I never got to pick when and where I miscarried. SO…. I’ve miscarried in a hospital, at the dentist, in a Wal-Mart bathroom, in a hotel, on a crowded commuter train between Hartford Connecticut and New York City, in a hotel, on an airplane and at a movie theatre. There isn’t a time that I didn’t bawl my eyes out and think, “This can’t be happening to me AGAIN”. Oh man, even writing it down makes me cry AGAIN. So much physical and emotional pain! I’ve had ultrasounds where my baby’s heartbeat was strong and I was assured that the baby was fine despite the cramping and bleeding. I’ve had ultrasounds where I wasn’t showing physical signs of miscarriage but I saw the heart wrenching absence of a little heartbeat and I knew it was inevitable. And I had two pregnancies… two of my miracle babies, who showed every sign of not holding on, but who kept their little hearts beating through blood loss and cramping and low HCG and progesterone levels and being told “I’m sorry Mrs. Thomas but there’s nothing we can do”. Those miracle babies are now 17 and 14 years old. My last 5 pregnancies ended in miscarriage, and that’s when my body finally gave out and it became necessary to address the physical issues that my body was dealing with as a result of my 18 pregnancies. A hysterectomy and other hernia repair surgeries were necessary. When I awoke from my hysterectomy I felt like I was in hell for 3 hours. I couldn’t stop crying… more like uncontrollable sobbing, while my husband held me. I kept saying “no more little babies, no more wrinkly purple baby ankles, no more cute little gulps as my babies nurse, no more little booties and baby baths, no more soft baby skin and baby soft hair, no more first smiles and coos, no more singing and rocking a little one during the night.” I swear I sobbed as I went through EVERY element of mothering a baby that I love most. My husband said he’d never been more worried about me than he was in those hours. But God is good, and those hours of mourning gave way to a feeling of contentment and joy that I didn’t think possible. Since that time, I’ve never looked back! I don’t get “baby hungry” (but I do get grandbaby hungry ;)). After those 3 hours of grieving the end of child bearing I was 100% accepting of the outcome; another tender mercy from a loving Heavenly Father. I have no regrets and nothing but peace in my heart and gratitude in my soul. I know I gave literally everything I had, both physically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually, to bring those little ones into the world. During my years of miscarriages my doctors, though able to treat some symptoms and problems that were causing my miscarriages, were never able to provide answers about why it kept happening. It wasn’t until a couple years ago (when my youngest was 3) that I received a confirmation of what I’ve always known in my heart…. there is something wrong with my body. I have an autoimmune disease. My body doesn’t know the difference between what’s “good” or “bad” for me. I can get very sick and my immune system won’t kick in and fight off an illness, or I can be perfectly fine and my immune system goes into overdrive thinking there’s a problem. Thus, a fetus was often seen as a foreign and invading entity and my body would “protect” itself by expelling it from my body. My body was killing my babies, that was a hard concept to wrap my mind around. But knowing the problem wouldn’t have helped. There is nothing that could’ve been done to change the outcome of those pregnancies, and perhaps knowing about my auto immune disease would have made me give up long before all my beautiful children joined our family. So I’m not upset that no one could help me, even if there were times in the past that was I was REALLY upset about it! I heard many harsh things from people during those childbearing years. As we were trying to grow our family I’d hear things like “At least you can get pregnant, you should be more grateful” (this was said to me by a nurse in the hospital during a miscarriage, before I even had kids). I also heard things like “aren’t you satisfied yet?” (Was I giving the impression that trying to have more kids made me unhappy with the ones I had?), “why are you ruining your body” (dude, we’re all getting old and if having kids accelerates the aging process just call me driving Miss Daisy because my kids are WORTH IT!), “you and your husband should watch more TV and spend less time in bed together” (wow, I feel bad for your spouse if you think sex is just about procreation), “Maybe it’s time for you to be done and get over it.” Guess what??? I’ll NEVER “get over” it!! I hope I never do! The pain of my miscarriages still stings, and as long as it does I know what empathy feels like. Please, dear Father in Heaven, PLEASE don’t let me forget how much it hurt! Let me be a listening ear to any woman who needs to cry! Every baby lost to a family deserves to be mourned. The moment I forget how hard it was is the moment I stop being “me”. I’m proud of my 18 babies. Every single one of them; the ones I get to hold and talk to AND the ones who never made it into my arms, leaving me to go home, empty handed. I’m proud to have given so much of myself to little spirits in heaven who wanted to come to earth. I would do it again and again and again if that were asked of me. A wise woman once said “Find Nobility in Motherhood and Joy in Womanhood”. Whether we become mothers in this life, or live childless; whether we lose one baby or a dozen; whether we miscarry in the first trimester or have a stillborn baby; no matter what our fertility journey looks like, women are born with mother hearts! That yearning to hold a little one, it’s a universal feeling that most women understand. And although my losses were painful, I’m blessed to have eleven angel babies in heaven who are always in my heart.