4.22.10

For whatever reason, I feel like telling Lyra's story. I'm not a writer. If my college would have had minors while I was there, I would have minored in English. I really only took those classes because I love reading. I don't do grammar, and I am terrible at punctuating correctly. I'm also good at rambling. Toss in the other faux pas of writing, and I make up a nice big mess (although I am conscious of spelling and capitalization). That's why this blog was intended for my artwork...my goal to be creative everyday...my accountability...my grief. I have abstained from apologizing about my inexperience in the various art mediums I try out...or the poor quality...or whatever else my critic tells me is awful about it. But writing is not my medium. So I must apologize now for that.

I intended to have very few children. And they would be a long ways down the road of our marriage. 5 years maybe? I wanted to travel and do my art and career. Husband was generally more open to the thought of children, and when we moved back to Kansas after completing school, we decided to try doing the trifecta of “the most stressful things in life”: moving, starting full time jobs, and getting pregnant after 3.5 years of marriage. We're pros at flying by the seat of our pants, so we just went with it, and told everyone from the moment we knew we were pregnant.

Despite being utterly scared and ignorant about pregnancy and birth, we were also very excited. Husband poured over cloth diaper options, and we bought clothes very early on, even without knowing the gender. When we found out we were having a little girl, we immediately decided on her name but decided to keep it to ourselves so we had a little secret between the two of us. It was a picture perfect pregnancy. No issues, no concerns.

Once we made it to the third trimester, I started to breathe a teensy bit easier. It was all easy from here on, right? One week makes up the final moments of our time with her. Three specific days though (15th-17th), stick out in my had in which I look back on and wonder if we could have known.

Saturday, the 12th:

I hadn't felt her move as much, so I called my doctor's on call nurse at the hospital and she recommended coming in to hook me up and check out everything. Everyone was reassuring that it's better to come in and find out, than to wait and have something bad happen. Lyra was moving just as she should – with her heart rate right where it should be. They sent me home with a list of things to come back in for, but otherwise everything should be ok. I told Husband that we wouldn't worry so much. That my body would tell me if something was wrong – either by bleeding or cramping or pain.

Tuesday, the 15th:

I was a part of a county program to help educate families about pregnancy and labor. I figured I could always learn more, and plus I'd get to hear the baby's heartbeat each time we met. The nurse had a hard time finding the heartbeat because Lyra was moving around. Once she found it, it was lower than average, but was still within the safe range.

Thursday, the 17th:

I have my routine appointment with my doctor. I lay down and he can't find her heartbeat. He asks me when she last moved, and I think I felt her that morning. I do remember telling Husband the night before that she was sitting funny though...heavier. I question when I did feel her move last. I hadn't done the kick counts as often as I should have. He brings in the sonogram machine, and there's obviously no heartbeat. I have to call Husband at work, and we are sent straight to the hospital to induce.

Friday, the 18th:
I have an epidural. She's born breach. The cord is around her neck and we think that's why she died. We don't get an autopsy. So many decisions to make. So many things we didn't really have time to think through - and it's like our brain is lagging behind.


Saturday, the 19th:
We bury her.

Fast forward to April, and we recently found out she died from placental abruption. I'm still processing that answer to her death. When did the placenta fully pull away? Why did it happen? I should have had pain, and bleeding. I had nothing though. Why didn't my body tell me? We could have done an emergency c-section and we could have our little girl with us. Sometime between Tuesday and Thursday she died. And I should have known.

Of course I'm not supposed to think it was my fault. That I couldn't have done anything different. But when my whole role was to watch out for my little girl, I could have done things different. I hope that Lyra knew how much we loved her – oh how we loved her! We had to write down the ways we prepared for her so we had something to hold onto – some tangible evidence that we were good parents.

And we are parents. It doesn't feel like it. I share the first half of the birthing process with other moms, but that's where it ends. Parents bring their kids home, and worry about them getting sick and hurt. I worry about weeds on her gravesite and if her tiger is still there. Someday I hope to share in those other worries, but for now this is how I take care of my daughter. Because I'm her mom.