Angel Babies

 

“Angel Babies”

by Kristy Ralphs

 

 

 

My name is Kristy and I am a wife and mother of ten, who is having the wonderful opportunity to of raising four beautiful children on this earth while waiting eagerly for the day when I get to raise my other six, my angel babies.

 

Almost twelve years ago I stood with a plastic stick in my hand staring at that double pink line and feeling my heart race and I tried to wrap my brain around the idea that I was going to be mother for the first time. Fast forward to last week when I suffered my sixth miscarriage and had to toss the same plastic stick in the garbage wishing desperately that those two pink lines could have been enough to make it work. What has taken place in my life between these two polar ends has been a journey of love and learning, of hope and loss, of rage and tenderness, of questions and faith, and of pain and awe for the sheer magnitude of what it has meant to me in my life to be a mother.

 

My road to motherhood has definitely been a winding one starting with my first, my daughter Rachel. I was 24 and over the moon to have a little girl and she was my whole world. Then my son Jason came about two years later and I wondered how I had ever gotten by without him; I was so proud to have a son. For a short time, life was perfect until two months later when my dissolving marriage came to an abrupt end when my husband left us and moved to California shattering our little world. For the next two years we were the Three Musketeers, battling to get through the day-to-day life. Being a single mom was so difficult and having to rebuild myself emotionally would have never been possible without those two sweet babies and I can say without a shadow of a doubt that they were the reason I made it through those dark times.

 

Eight years ago I met the love of my life, Ryan, who came in and scooped up our little family and made us his own and we were married in 2005. My third child, Austin was born a year later and made his BIG entrance into the world at 9.6 oz. and 23 inches. I was so thrilled to be starting this new chapter in my life and continue building my family. By now I was well into my child bearing and far past what I perceived to be the “risk zone” of any potential problems. Unfortunately, I was wrong.

 

I suffered my first miscarriage in fall of 2007 at 13 weeks. It was like the someone had ripped the tablecloth out from underneath an elegantly placed dining set. With no warning or cause for suspicion, I went in for a regular first trimester check to hear a heartbeat and when he couldn’t find one I figured my little one was just hiding so I wasn’t even alarmed to have to walk into the next room for an ultrasound. But nothing could have prepared me for what I would see. Instead of a lovely sac of fluid and vibrant little baby moving around, I saw a little image like a tiny squirrel all curled up and sleeping in a cozy burrow. A still, small, black spot glared out at me where I knew the heart should have been fluttering away. “I’m so sorry” The doctor said. “You’re baby has died.” Those words will resonate with me forever. After three pleasantly uneventful pregnancies I was not at all prepared for the onslaught of feelings this would invoke. My husband stood wrestling with our impatient one year old while we both sat there in shock. “Random miscarriage happens to a lot of people,…sometimes these things just happen” my doctor told me…it was a blur of things I didn’t care about.- My baby had died and nothing would ever be the same. To add insult to injury, I found out that my body does not follow suit when the loss of pregnancy occurs and I suffered a what is called a “missed-miscarriage” So now, not only was I incapable of supporting this tiny life, now my body wouldn’t even properly let nature take its course. He gave me the option for an induced labor but said it would be much more involved and painful and that because of early gestation and the demise, it wouldn’t be “pretty” to see. I so badly wanted to be passed all of this horror as soon as possible and so I opted for a D&C. I have often regretted that choice and wished I would have been able to see my baby. Today, ironically, is my would-be due date for that first baby, and even five years later I think about that little child and who they might have been. It’s still hard to think about, even today.

 

The following months were very difficult, sad times, filled with explanations to the kids about what happened to our baby and where babies go when they die. Conversations that for me, were very hard to have. The months came and went and January of 2008 I found out that we were pregnant again. I was so very nervous about everything, of course thinking and worrying about all the possibilities for heart ache. Everyone, friends, my husband, the doctor all reassured me that this time around would be different and that odds are things would be fine. Sadly again, they would not be. At my 8 week ultra sound we had a cute little gummy bear. At 10 weeks we had arms and legs everything was growing fine, with a good steady heartbeat. In March at 12 weeks they had me go into the maternal fetal medicine to have a high resolution ultra sound to make sure everything was still doing fine. I remember feeling sick to my stomach as I waiting in the lobby. Ryan held my hand as I sat trembling from head to toe. I went in, laid on the table and they started. I could tell immediately that something was wrong. No movement, no tiny flutter….there, in larger-than-life form on a sixty-inch plasma screen I stared at ten little fingers perfectly formed, two cute knees, ten tiny toes, elbows, and cute little wrists, even a profile…but no heartbeat. This could NOT be happening again…It felt like some hellish nightmare where you know you’ve been here before but you can’t get out and you feel like your heart is going to explode out of your chest from the wrenching inside.

 

They ran tests, 26 viles of blood from me, tissue samples from the baby, nothing. No answers. I had to have another D&C but this time I opted to stay awake because the last recovery experience was horrible from the anesthesia. Plus I don’t know, I just wanted to be more a part of it somehow. I had felt such a disconnect from the last time. Going into the doctor in the morning being pregnant, then leaving the hospital that night empty. It was too weird so I wanted to be awake, which was so hard but somehow gave me a measure of closer. That summer I spend grieving the loss of my babies and trying to understand why this was happening to me. Was God mad at me? Had I done something wrong? How can He let babies just die like this when there are babies being born into all kinds of terrible situations all over the world?? Lots of questions with no answers. Months passed and I finally decided to name the babies because it was too painful to continue referring to them as “the first one” or the second one” meaning miscarriages. I wanted them to be remembered as babies, not losses. So I chose Autumn and Spring to represent the time that we spent together.

 

That summer I did a lot of research and based off all my lab information my doctor had given me .Apparently, I had a had a thing called MTHFR which stands for “methylenetetrahydrofolate reductase ” Sounds fun doesn’t it? The MTHFR gene provides instructions for making an enzyme called methylene-tetra-hydro-folate reductase . It’s a super complicated topic but basically it is a mutation of a gene that prevents my body from adsorbing folic acid and B vitamins from absorbing into my system like they should which, as everyone knows, plays a crucial part of a healthy pregnancy. Variations in the MTHFR gene increase the likelihood of neural tube defects by messing with a person’s homocysteine levels. There is a single mutation and a double, where both the genes have it. Blood work showed that I had the homozygous mutation, which meant I had both and proved to be a very likely reason why I had these miscarriages. So, after beginning a strict regimen of a daily mega-dose of foliate and B vitamins, I got pregnant again in September and this time, despite the medications I was not expecting anything. It was too hard. I had done everything in my power to correct what problems I could, but when the dreaded 13 week appointment came, I braced myself for the worst and expected to be receiving bad news. BUT IT WASN’T! There he was, moving around and full of life! I was so thrilled yet so confused at my powerlessness to make any difference between this and the previous pregnancies. I had prayed and pleaded with the same immense passion on all 3 pregnancies but this one had worked. It was obviously in God’s hands and in June of 2009 our sweet little Samuel was born…and he was our miracle. Unfortunately, at the time, we did not realize how true that statement would become with four subsequent losses on the horizon.

 

A year later, I was more optimistic as I stared and the two pink lines on the little plastic test. After all, we had gotten Sam so we had hopefully fixed the problem. Obviously it was a glitch and now we were back on track. We were moving at the time so I didn’t have a doctor yet and was just going to go in once we got settled. We were staying with my sister and brother-in law at the time while my husband was still working down in Las Vegas and she had recently found out that she was expecting too so it was a fun time to be able to share in the coming excitement. At 10 weeks I decided to go with her to her appointment because she was a labor and delivery nurse and her doctor had agreed to check me and just make sure everything looked good. However, once again…it did not. This time as they looked at the ultra sound they were barely able to make out a fetus. It was there but very small as though I were only 6 or 7 weeks along instead of almost 11 weeks. “It’s like a it’s made out of paper, there’s no depth to it.” He kept saying. My heart sank. “It looks like things stopped progressing about three or four weeks ago.” SERIOUSLY??? Stupid missed-miscarriage. I hated my body at this point for all its inabilities and ways it was letting me down. Already having too much unresolved guilt and lack of closure with having the D&C’s, I told him I would opt for the pill that would induce me. He told me it would be “considerably uncomfortable” but it shouldn’t be more than some tissue and “heavy bleeding”. He was wrong. That evening when I was back home at my in-laws feeling completely deflated and utterly terrible. I started cramping, and then it got worse and worse until finally I realized I needed to run to the bathroom. And contrary to what I thought I would feel, I wasn’t horrified by what I found I had passed. There in my hand, I was able to hold a yolk sac very similar to in size to chicken egg yolk (weird I know) but it the fluid inside was perfectly transparent and in the middle I could see a tiny fetus about the size of a grain of rice. It looked just like the pictures I’d seen for a 6-7 week gestation. It was tragically beautiful. I was in awe of the beauty of creation, yet wept for the loss of another dream. I carefully wrapped it up in pink tissue paper and buried it under a red rose bush in my late mother-in-laws garden. I decided I would call her Trinity because she was the third of my sweet angel babies.

 

Because it was such an easy recovery, the doctor told us that we could begin to try right away if we wanted and sure enough in August of that same year we found out again that we were expecting… “Expecting what?” I’ve often asked myself. I had a fabulous doctor at the maternal fetal medicine. I was on all the right vitamins, and eating all the right things, exercising, no stress, good sleep. I went through every check point possible. Ultra sounds at 5wks, 8wks, 11weeks, it came and went and we started to breathe a little easier. Then at 15 weeks we went in and they were able to tell us that it was a boy! He was progressing beautifully and it was then I let my guard down. My same sister-in-law also found out that she was pregnant again at the same time and a few weeks after that, my other sister-in-law also found out that she too was expecting. We were all due within about a month of each other so once again we all talked about the possibilities and my confidence in the success of this pregnancy reluctantly grew as I let myself believe that I could get my happy ending just like everyone else. In the following weeks Ryan and I talked about names as I began to feel him moving for the first time. My soul came alive knowing that this sweet little boy was actually in there and it was working, I could not wait to hold him and kiss him and love him with every fiber of my being. Unfortunately, I would not have to wait long enough. At 18 weeks I was concerned about the lack of movement I was feeling and so at my regular check up my doctor put the Doppler on and we listened….nothing. My own heartbeat could be heard racing as she was gliding it across my belly… then nothing; only silence; Deafening silence that I knew all too well. We took the long walk to the ultrasound room and I got on the table. All the past feelings of fear and panic came flooding back. “Dear God, please don’t….please don’t let this be what I think it is.” It took only took a mere moment of seeing that familiar image up on the screen to know that our little man was gone. “I’m so sorry” she said. I felt faint. For five appointments my husband had come with me until finally we were comfortable enough with this pregnancy that today, I had come by myself. “Why today?? Why had I let my guard down?!” They took me into the “sad-mothers-who-just-got-bad-news “ room and I cried and cried until I felt human enough to drive myself home and muster the strength to tell Ryan. I sat in my car in the parking garage staring through the huge wire cords that strung between the concrete slabs in front of me; the only thing that stood between me and a beautiful green field below. If I hit the gas, it could all just be over. Three stories up I contemplated my pathetic options to assert control over my own life and feelings and questioned my ability to end all my pain. My world was crumbling around me and I was helpless to stop it. But bringing more pain to all my family would only make things worse and I could never leave them like that. I numbly put the car in reversed and backed out to head home. To this day I still don’t even remember driving home, I just remember Ryan’s face when he saw me…he knew. “Oh no.” He said as his face fell. We held each other and just cried.

 

Two days later, I was admitted into the hospital and induced. Every other time I had been to the hospital to have a baby it had been a time full of excitement and anticipation for this new little life that would be shortly joining ours…but this was different. I knew I was going there to say goodbye. They put a little red heart on my door to let the staff know that this room was different than the others and to tread lightly. Everyone was so kind and wonderfully sweet which was such a comfort. I didn’t have an epidural since they said I would only need to dilate to a 4 to have him. Looking back that was a mistake; I stuck at a just a few centimeters for hours until finally I progressed from a 2 to a 10 in about seven minutes. Those were by far some of the most terrible, unbearable minutes I’ve had to live through.

 

Finally after a traumatically painful and long induction, our precious Morgan was born at 5:24 p.m. weighing 4 oz and 7 inches long. He looked like a Ralphs boy, long legs and had his brothers same cute toes, my long skinny feet and Rachel’s perfect ears. Everything we wanted and had waited for in perfect form; the grief was palpable. I was lost in a warped realm of pain and confusion, anger and sadness,…so much sadness. As we held him I felt a terrible severing from something that had been so much a literal part of me so shortly before. I ached at the loss of who he would be and all the kisses his soft cheeks would never feel. We held him and kissed him and took pictures of our tiny boy. I held his little dime-sized hand on my finger and wondered how something so perfect could not work. Right when he had come out the doctor was able to determine the cause of death; an extremely rare cord defect where there is an absence of wardens jelly in the base of the cord as it forms and it simply twists up like string and shuts everything off instead of staying nice and plump. It was heartbreaking to see our perfect little boy and know that his life was cut short but something so trivial. In one way it was such a relief to finally have a reason why we lost a baby after all the unknowns. It was still extremely difficult yet encouraging knowing that it was completely random and unrelated to any of our other losses. Just simply, “terribly tragic luck” as the doctor put it. After spending a few hours with our little boy came the unthinkable moment of handing him back to the nurse and saying goodbye…it was probably the most anguishing moment of my life. Sitting on the edge of the bed I sobbed and sobbed and as she walked out then reached quickly for the pale pink basin as I purged everything from inside me until thought I would turn inside out. We went through the awful process of having a grief councilor come and talk to us and help us decide what wanted to do with his remains. I didn’t want to have to visit a cemetery and I felt like he was so small that he deserved to be free somewhere in a place where we could always know he would be happy so we had his remains cremated and we took his ashes and scattered them on the shores of a remote cove off the Oregon coast by where we lived. We now call it Morgan’s cove and have since visited many times to let balloons go on his birthday and sometimes just to say hello and feel near him. ~I will miss him forever.

 

The following eight months was spent grieving and trying to heal. I let all thoughts of babies and pregnancy go and just wanted to have my brain back for a while and find some sanity. But still, the nagging feeling that our family was not yet complete lingered and I felt a need to fix that. We had thought very seriously about adoption but finally came to the cautious conclusion and that we still wanted to try given the fact that the cord defect was such an anomaly and the fact that the doctor had told us that he had no reason to think that particular problem would affect any subsequent pregnancy again. So…we tried again and in November of last year I got a positive pregnancy test once again. It was the weekend and so I used up the rest of the tests in the box testing each day and became concerned Sunday when the second line began to show up less and less each day. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what that meant. Monday I went in, they drew blood. By 5 p.m. they called to confirm that I was pregnant and that they wanted me to come in Wednesday for beta testing to see if my levels were going up. But they would not need to test again; I started my period the next day. I went in on Wednesday and the doctor told me that my progesterone levels were as he put, “severely low”. And he thinks that is why the pregnancy didn’t stick….like it was a magnet on my fridge. Sigh. A short time later my same sister-in-law called to tell me that she was once again pregnant, it was a happy accident for them and she was a little overwhelmed at the thought of five kids, five & under. It was a cruel twist of fate for me and left me feeling incapable of empathizing with her. This was the third time that we were pregnant together and three times she got her baby and I did not, which was so painful. It’s been an ongoing struggle for me not to let that affect our relationship. She has been so sweet in her dealings with me and always sensitive to my pain. I love her dearly, I know it’s not her fault, but it’s still so very hard to brush aside knowing that she has three children the same ages as mine would be. We don’t live close together anymore so I am able to just push the thought away, but I feel guilty that I am not a more supportive sister-in-law. But it’s not just her; it’s not being able to stomach going to baby showers. It’s trying to steer away from every pregnant woman or glowing mother with a sweet little bundle in her arms. It’s agonizing to see the happiness on their faces and know that for me, the same experience that brings them joy, feels like a tortuous game of Russian Roulette. The aching and longing for each child has been so acute and there is such a frustration that comes with each loss because it seems that every time there is a seemingly fixable reason to why I miscarry which is comforting, yet infuriating.

 

So, after visiting my doctor he put me on a high dose of progesterone and a low dose of Clomid to boost my ovulation in hopes of success. Three months passed and nothing. Through this entire time and all our struggles, getting pregnant was never the problem but now I had to wonder. I decided to take a month off due to the fact that I felt so incredibly miserable on Clomid and we were taking our first family trip to Disneyland and I wanted to feel good. Of course,…I got pregnant. Got home, plastic test, two pink lines, three days in a row over the weekend just like last time. Monday appointment confirms the pregnancy but with weak numbers I already knew the outcome and four days later I said goodbye to my sweet number ten. It was only for a moment in time but I know those babies will be mine again someday so I try to take comfort in knowing that.

 

Unfortunately, my story is one of unresolved perseverance; the outcome is still unknown. There is no happy ending to write yet which I struggle with every day. My life has gone much differently than I thought it would and chronic heartache is something that I have learned to live in and around over the past decade. The cumulative effect of being in an ongoing state of grief has been a trial to say the least and one I am eager to be done with. Trying to figure out how to still allow myself to “feel” and not just succumb to the numbness of it all has been a day to day struggle. I don’t always succeed at that but fortunately, I have been blessed with a loving husband and four amazing, wonderful, brilliant, healthy children that I am so unbelievably thankful for and that gets me through the hard days, of which there are too many. The last two losses haven’t taken the physical toll on me that the others did but emotionally they have been more difficult just because it would seem that everything I am experiencing is leading me to believe that things are coming to an end which makes me sad. I don’t talk about my losses to people very often because there is a certain guilt that comes from telling my story and expressing my feelings of sadness and grief because of the fear of seeming ungrateful to those less fortunate and not feeling understood in my unique situation. There are so many women and couples out there who have suffered losses far more tragic then mine. Thousands of baby-hungry, childless women hoping and praying to be mothers that I have a hard time talking about my feelings of longing or sadness because, who am I to talk? Shut up and be thankful I have ANY kids right? But I have had to learn that everyone has their own story and experiences and this is mine, regardless of how it measures up to others’.

 

Motherhood so far for me has been a wonderful, spectacular experience laced with enough grief and heartache to be very all-consuming. Thankfully my children remind me every day why I started on this journey and that was to me a mother. They remind me to be brave, and courageous in the face of fear and uncertainty. I don’t know what the future holds for us, obviously we seem to be coming to a crossroads of decision and adoption might very well be the answer. If so, then I am eager to embrace it and know that it will be meant to be because in the end, despite my moments of rage, I DO have faith that God will make it all right at some point. I truly believe that someday, on a distant shore, I will get to kiss those sweet faces and hold them tight. I know that He can see the big picture and I just try to believe in that and be strong until I have the answers for all my questions. It’s just one foot in front of the other each day and for now, I will wake up every day knowing that I have been incredibly blessed to be the mother of angels.~

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