I was almost seven moths pregnant last December. It was the 11th and a full
|I was almost seven moths pregnant last December. It was the 11th and a full week before my regularly schedule appointment. I was swollen. Feet, hands, face, you name it. And I just didn't feel right. I called my doctor and told his RN that I had many symptoms of preeclampisa, which I had briefly read about. And as it was my first pregnancy, I thought I'd better check it out. The nurse told me to drink water and take more vitamins. One week later to the day I went in for my appontment feeling horrible. I looked horrible, I was so swollen I looked disfigured. The nurse immediately understood what I had called her about. She took my urine, not good. My blood pressure, even worse. And my doctor quickly listened for my Gracie's heartbeat, not there. He sent me to the emergency room. Not by ambulance, or even someone in the office. He couldn't be inconvenienced. So I drove myself hysterical with a dangerously high blood pressure and water on the brain to the emergency room. When I arrived alone, confused and frightened I was sent in to have an ultra sound. There she was, my baby Gracie--dead. I had her entire life planned, and it was already over before it began. My mother was the first to arrive at the emergency room. Soon my husband, father, brother and other family members followed. I was already in labor and in horrible pain. But when they told me I would have to deliver my dead baby I knew it had just begun. They had to try to give my the epidural (sp?) five times. I was so swollen they couldn't get a vein. I was throwing up, restrained against seizures, in labor and my child was dead. Try explaining that to your worried husband. Where was my doctor? No where to be found. He showed up fresh and showered the next morning at about 10:00 a.m. while I was still waiting to deliver. He told me that my marriage was in trouble and that I could expect to have to work to save my relationship with my husband. Then he turned and shuffled out the door. It was the last time I saw him. His name is Dr. Mark Brachfeld in Phoenix, AZ. If he's your doctor, get a new one. I delievered my baby Gracie that evening. My mother, husband and aunt were at my side. they kept asking me if I wanted to hold her, but I couldn't. I just couldn't face such total horror, grief and failure. I held her while she died, that was enough. The journey over the last 10 months has been a difficult one. I try not to be angry, at God, at my doctor, at myself. I know now that the pain I feel is all I have left of my beautiful baby girl. We put her ashes in with my sweet grandfather who died three months later to the day. She is with him now. I'm trying to get pregnant again. A pretty scary proposition. But I'm stronger and tougher than ever. The entire experience taught me more about motherhood than any other I could imagine. Motherhood is as much about bearing the pain of your children as it is about the joy. I know now that my experience has prepared me to be a better mother and a better person to everyone. My marriage is better than ever. We have never needed each other more. I hope that other women that read this and have gone through this kind of horror can take comfort in my survival. If you can get through that, you can get through anything. I now know that each of us has our own pain to bear and this is mine. I will use my child's life, however brief to be strong, to make this all mean something to me and to my life. The difficult thing for me is that no one can tell my why. Why was I sick? Why did my baby have to die? But those are useless questions. I was and she did. Will it happen again? Maybe. I now know what to look for, so that will have to be enough. I pray and weep for other women who have suffered the same fate. And hope that we can all turn the pain of loss into strength.|
I hadn’t been feeling well for a few days. I decided I would go in to work super early and give directions to the staff and then go home and go to the doctor. I got home and lay on the couch un...