For Jacob

April 7, 2004

Today is a sad day for me. It was 12 years ago today that we lost our first son, Jacob. I debated upon whether or not I should write about it. I don’t want to upset anyone. As you know, I try to keep things pretty light-hearted here. But, it just didn’t feel right to let this day go by without honoring him in some way. I have told you his story in the extended entry. If you don’t want to read it, that is fine. I understand that there are some things you don’t want to read about in a normally upbeat blog. I guess this entry is more for me. For Jacob.

I don’t think anyone was more shocked by the fact that I was pregnant than I was. Okay, maybe Clint was too. We certainly weren’t trying to get pregnant. I was on the pill for crying out loud. We lived in a tiny one bedroom apartment the size of a shoebox (or so it felt!) To say that we were unprepared would be an understatement. However, we began to get used to the idea of our baby. We didn’t have 2 pennies to rub together, but we managed to get me some pretty decent maternity clothes. We took walks everyday. We even gave into my frequent cravings. The pregnancy was pretty textbook. Morning sickness the first 3 months and then feeling great!

At the time, Clint was working a lot of hours and I was working part time as a receptionist. With crazy schedules, he rarely was able to go to any doctor’s appointments with me. I eagerly shared everything with him the moment I got home. We must’ve watched our sonogram tape a hundred times. We were officially in love with this baby…this boy (as we came to find out about halfway through the pregnancy.)

So finally, as I reached my seventh month, Clint was able to go to the doctor with me to hear the heartbeat and just share it with me. It was a normal appointment. I was measuring smaller than I should, but the doctor didn’t seem worried. I asked if he could use the doppler so that we could hear the heartbeat.

The doctor rolled it across my belly. Nothing. Again. Nothing. He began to look worried. “I’m sure everything is fine, but procedure says we need to do a sonogram to ensure we can see the heartbeat.” But I knew. I knew everything was not alright. If I close my eyes and remember, I am right back in that room with that sinking feeling of all innocence and joy being sucked out of me.

As soon as the image popped up on the sonogram screen, we knew. No heartbeat. Everything in my world stopped in that moment. I don’t remember a lot of the next few moments. I remember the nurse trying to comfort me. I actually punched her to make her go away. If she comforted me, that would make this real. I didn’t want it to be real.

We were scheduled to go home and come back the next morning to labor and delivery. I begged the doctor to either do it right then or do a c-section or something. He said it was safest for me to go through labor. I was devestated.

I don’t know how I made it through that long night. It was the most torturous, agonizing night of my life. The next day, my parents and Clint’s parents came to the hospital to be there for me. They did one final sonogram to make sure and then began the pitocin to start my labor. Eight hours later, Jacob was born. I never got to hold him. I never got to see him. I just gave into the strong medicines they had been giving me all day and passed out into a deep, sad sleep.

We didn’t know what had happened. An autopsy showed nothing was wrong with him. It wasn’t until later, when we were brave enough to talk about someday trying again, that I decided to go through testing to see if it was something preventable in future pregnancies. The most amazing doctor ever (one of my heros) took me into his practice and ran a number of tests on me when I was not pregnant, to compare to when I was pregnant.

Many months later, when I I found out I was pregnant again, my doctor ran the same tests. We had found our culprit. I had a condition known as antiphospholipid antibody syndrome. Had we not lost Jacob, I may never have known about it. Had we not tested me, we probably would’ve lost Kidlet Sr. too. However, since we knew, we could help this pregnancy along. In order to save the baby I was pregnant with this time, I took one baby aspirin a day. One. To save his life. And it worked. Kidlet Sr. was born healthy and safely. Each pregnancy became harder and harder on my body. By the time I was pregnant with Little Diva, I was taking heparin shots and on bedrest too keep her safe.

I’m often asked about whether or not I still think about Jacob. I do. I still hurt for the baby I wanted so badly and loved so much. Days like today, his birthday, I think about the “should’ve beens” and the “what if’s”. I don’t stay there too long. It would hurt too much.

So today, by sharing his story with you, he goes on. Now you know Jacob and will remember him, too.

The Dance

Looking back on the memory of
The dance we shared ‘neath the stars alone
For a moment all the world was right
How could I have known that you’d ever say goodbye

And now I’m glad I didn’t know
The way it all would end the way it all would go
Our lives are better left to chance I could have missed the pain
But I’d of had to miss the dance

Holding you I held everything
For a moment wasn’t I a king
But if I’d only known how the king would fall
Hey who’s to say you know I might have chanced it all

And now I’m glad I didn’t know
The way it all would end the way it all would go
Our lives are better left to chance I could have missed the pain
But I’d of had to miss the dance

Yes my life is better left to chance
I could have missed the pain but I’d of had to miss the dance

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Posted by Jenn @ 12:08 pm