A Trigger

I woke up this morning to snow, snow, snow. Lots of fresh, beautiful, glittery, cold snow. Snow that Aidan wanted to touch, and when he looked up as I held him, he laughed at all the fat snowflakes falling on his face.

We actually braved the snow today because I had another pregnancy appointment. I'm always nervous for when they come up and part of me wants to avoid them, but at the same time I was excited to see the baby on the ultrasound screen. It's also good to have reassurance that everything is going well. And if not, then I know I'm in good hands with whatever happens.

Thankfully I was able to line up a babysitter (thank you my sweet visiting teacher!). Aidan just cries and screams if I bring him with me, so it was nice leaving him with my friend and her son, where he would most likely be happier. Aidan caught sight of the toys and didn't look back. Glad he's okay I made him stay in my arms long enough for a kiss and a hug before I left. I have to take advantage of it while I can.

At the beginning of the appointment, the wait time wasn't bad. Within five minutes, I was with the ultrasound tech looking at my cute baby boy. After taking down all the stats, the ultrasound tech printed off a profile picture for me and sent me back to the waiting room to uh...wait some more. Again, within five minutes, I was called back, did the routine weight check and whatnot, and was led back to a room to wait for the nurse practitioner.

As I followed the clinician aide, we walked down a hallway I wasn't familiar with. I told her, "I don't think I've been in this room before."

She glanced back and said, "Yeah, a lot of women get concerned because it says 'Procedure' on the outside, but we don't always use it for procedures."

I was a little curious, but once she led me into the room I realized that I had been there before. And I wanted to back right out again.

The clinician aide said a few more things and then walked out, leaving me to sit down on the little bed and experience a flashback from a little over two years ago. It was the same room Jayze and I were led to after we found out Alma had died. I hadn't been in it since that day, and I didn't want to be in it today.

Memories came flooding back. Memories I wasn't prepared to remember in that moment. Blurs and mumbles and instructions coming from the doctor and nurse practitioner, being handed tissues, holding Jayze's hand, calling family and work to let them know what happened, trying to grasp onto this new reality, realizing the baby wasn't going to move again...

I remembered last year when I was pregnant with Aidan having a trigger at the clinic and how the nurse practitioner came back in sooner than expected. I didn't want the same thing to happen. I wanted to be strong. I didn't want to explain why I was having a breakdown at 11:00 in the morning. But then I thought, "I don't have to be strong all the time." And I cried.

This time, the waiting period was longer and I took my time trying to gain control of my emotions again. Trying to distract myself by looking out the window at the long, thick icicles hanging outside. I didn't want to be there anymore...it reminded me too much of that day, of the hospital, of details I hadn't let myself think about for awhile.

I hugged myself, trying to get some warmth back into myself - loosen up the tight feeling I had in my chest. It was then, in that moment, I was reminded that I can do hard things. I have done hard things in the past, I do hard things now, and I can do hard things in the future.

Sometimes it seems like progress just isn't happening. Day-to-day happenings aren't always spectacular. Sometimes it seems like I'm just waiting for another day to be over so that hopefully the next one will be better. And life is like that at times, which is okay. But what's empowering is actually looking back. The small stuff that doesn't seem like much really does add up. Looking back, I've come so far. Through all the times I didn't think I would get through, I'm still here. Me, a stronger me, hopefully a better me.

There are still hard days, grieving days. Hard moments, grieving moments. And that's okay. Even though the memories that came flooding back today were hard, they were also special and sacred because they are of my Alma and the events leading up to meeting him and knowing I'm his mom forever and always. What an honor.

I'm also grateful I don't have to do hard things alone. The Savior has never left me alone in this trial. I may have pushed him away a few times, but every time I come back, He's there to welcome me with open arms. The love I have felt from Him is overwhelming and sustaining. He has walked with me every step of the way. Looking back, I can see His hand leading me and guiding me in moments I may not have noticed him there. But He was! And He is there for each of us as long as we are willing to reach out and grasp His always outstretched hand. How thankful I am for that.  

Holding Back

The other day I was out running some errands after my class. Jayze and I had just baby-swapped, so Aidan was in the backseat.

When I was in and out of the car between errands, I checked to see if Aidan was awake or not, and thankfully he was asleep. I felt a twinge of guilt. The poor little guy, it seems like he's always in the car seat these days. Thanks to me being in full-time school and Jayze in part-time school and work. 

I finally got done with my last errand and was on my way home when at the most random time, it hit me. I was waiting for the stoplight to turn from red to green when I realized that I missed Alma. When that thought hit, grief was right at its heels. 

I tried to trace my mind back to a specific moment that caused the trigger. Why was I suddenly angry and bitter? Why did I suddenly miss him when I hadn't felt that way for the past few weeks? Why did my heart suddenly hurt so much?

I thought about one of my appointments that day where I was in contact with a lot of other women and their babies. Then I thought about the conversation I had overheard between two other women as I was in the waiting room:

"Are you in school?"

"No, I'm graduated, which is so nice. My sister has two kids and is still in school I don't think I could do that!"

It wasn't anything super significant. In fact, as I was half-listening I agreed with her. Going to school with two kids would be hard. It's hard doing it with one baby. 

But it must have been a delayed reaction because when the grief hit me, I realized why the conversation bothered me a little bit. It's because I have two kids. I'm supposed to be going to school while raising two children, too. 

Once that thought hit, memories came flooding back into my mind. Being pregnant with Alma, finding out we lost him, giving birth in a silent room, holding him in my arms for less than 24 hours, walking away from his graveside, going back to work the week after, starting school less than a month later, finding out we're pregnant with his little brother, 9 months of trying to find and have hope and faith after such a tremendous loss...

I realized that the trigger hit me so strong in the car that day because I have been holding back my feelings for Alma. 

We had Aidan, and with him, the grief was even stronger because I truly knew what I have missed out on losing Alma. But I didn't really have too much time to think about it. I started school four days after we had Aidan, which kept me crazy busy. Christmas break came, but Jayze and I just enjoyed spending as much time as we could with Aidan before school started again. School started, and it has ended up being even harder and more stressful than last semester. 

I still read other women's blogs who have gone through a similar experience as me. They help me know that I'm not alone in this trial and that some of the feelings I have are normal. The past few weeks, though, I would read them and move on. I felt like I didn't think or feel the same way anymore, but I found out that's not true. I found out that ignoring my loss will not make it go away. Busyness will not make it go away. Repressing it will not make it go away. No matter what I do, the loss will always be there. 

I can move on. I can look back at our experience with Alma and smile now, but with tears still behind my eyes. Because for me, he will never be forgotten. 

So if you have loved ones who have experienced a loss, please be patient with them. We can still be happy and at peace knowing our loved ones are with our Heavenly Father, but that doesn't mean we still don't miss them. 

27 Weeks: Contaminated?

At my six-week check up, I was scheduled to not only make sure my body was healing correctly, but also to make an appointment to get my blood drawn. 

"Fifty percent of the time we know what happened, and the other fifty percent we'll just never know or understand why," the doctor told Jayze and me at the hospital when he advised that our baby get an autopsy.

"There's a chance we'll find out the reason why when he's born.  But if there's no visible reason, then it would be good to get the body, placenta, and blood checked out."

When Alma was born, there was no visible sign of something gone wrong.  There wasn't a knot in the cord, the placenta looked normal, and Alma's body was perfect.  So, hard as it was, Jayze and I opted for the autopsy.

As we awaited the results, Jayze and I went back into the doctor's office the morning after my six-week check-up and had my blood drawn.  This time, they weren't just looking for any abnormalties in the placenta or in Alma, they were also looking for anything wrong with me - with my blood.

 Later, as I was on campus soaking up the warm sun in the late afternoon waiting for Jayze to get off work, I received a call from the doctor himself.  Usually it was a nurse who called me, but this time it was the doctor.  I answered, and he let me know that the autopsy results had come back and there was nothing wrong.  The blood work was normal, Alma's body was normal, the placenta was normal - something just went...wrong.  "Again, it's a 50/50 chance we know what happens, and this is just one more case where we won't ever know what went wrong."

I said thank you and hung up the phone, not enjoying the sunshine as much as I had been before.  It seemed odd that I was getting phone calls from the clinic, from the doctor personally, about my non-living baby.  Hardly anyone I was in contact with on campus (except those from work and from my Church ward) knew about Alma anymore, and there I was on campus getting a phone call about him.  It didn't seem normal.  What used to be my normal was cheerily walking on campus, people taking second glances at my bulging belly, and me feeling excited about expecting a baby boy in September.

Now my new normal was that there was no baby with me.  He was in Snowflake, and I was in Rexburg taking a full load of classes again.  I had the stretch marks to prove I had had a baby, but like my broken heart, that evidence was hidden.

My new normal was walking around with a weight on my shoulders, constantly blinking tears from my eyes, and knowing that going to work and full-time school should be my old normal.

When the doctor told me the results of the autopsy, the weight on my shoulders got heavier, the tears behind my eyes weren't as easy to blink away, and the reality that I wasn't living the "expected" normal - raising a baby after giving birth to him - set in once again.

I wish I knew why.  Why, if everything was normal and my baby should have come out perfect AND breathing, he had died.  Later, my blood results came back normal too.  There was no explanation, and I was going to have to live with the fear of "I don't know how to prevent it because I don't know what to prevent."

With this second pregnancy, I have found myself longing even more to know the reason why.  Was it because I craved and ate only corn dogs during my first trimester with Alma - because it was the ONLY thing I could eat without throwing up?  If it was, well, then I won't eat any corn dogs this time.  Was it because I missed taking my prenatals once in a while...then no matter how sick or tired I feel, no matter how much I hate swallowing pills, I'm going to take them every. single. day.

But I can't do that.  I can't hard-core avoid anything.  I can only guess, which makes it harder.  I feel like doing so many things, and then I think, "But what if that's the reason why it happened last time?"  Then I find myself doing nothing and then I think again, "But what if I do nothing and it still happens?"  I have no control.

At the beginning of this pregnancy I got my blood drawn again so they could test me and my second baby for anything wrong.  Panic would set in every time I saw the clinic's number on my caller ID.  Was something wrong this time?

And every time they said, "The results came back normal..."

But they were normal last time....

I feel like there is a trigger inside of me waiting to go off and take this baby's life too.  And sometimes I feel like other people are watching me, other pregnant women, waiting for something to go wrong.  Waiting to see what they can do to prevent their baby from dying too.  

And I find myself wondering, "Is there something wrong with me?"

I was looking at this one girl's blog who went through a similar thing, and one of her posts really stood out to me about how she can't relate to other pregnant people.  First she quotes another angel mom who said:

“Around other pregnant people I felt, ‘Well I’m not really pregnant the way you are.  I’m sort of pregnant. I might be having a baby.'"

And then the girl followed up with:

"Then I laughed out loud at how absurd the comment sounded, a full belly laugh, while my brain screamed, 'THAT’S IT!' That’s what if feels like this pregnancy, like I might be having a baby or that I’m only a little pregnant. This whole time while pregnant with baby No. 2, I have felt distant from the child growing inside me, almost in denial that I am actually pregnant.  This denial stemming from fear that this baby, too, might not come home. The quote I found put my denial into words perfectly.'"

And that's exactly how I feel!  Like I'm not really pregnant.  I look down at my belly sometimes and think, "It's not going to last long."  Sometimes it surprises me when people give my swollen belly a second look, or when someone congratulates me on my pregnancy.  I think, "Oh yeah, I guess I am pregnant.  But don't they know I'm not really pregnant?"

Can't they see that I'm broken?
Can't they see the big, gaping hole left in my heart that no earthly doctor can ever heal?
Can't they see that one simple question they may ask might set me over the edge?

Can't they see there is something wrong with me?

Insecurities talk loud and clear.  They fill my mind and days with darkness.  They give me the desire to feel no connection towards the baby.

I was having a particularly rough day a few weeks ago.  Jayze and I like reading books out loud together, and that night, he was in the mood to read one of our books and asked me to pick one.  I wasn't really in the mood, but I looked over our books and picked the shortest one, "You Are Special."

Even though the book is mostly about not caring what other people think about you and not judging other people, one quote in particular ended up being the perfect source of comfort for all of my pent-up feelings of hurt, anger, frustration, loneliness, insecurity, panic, depression, worry, and exhaustion.

"'Remember," Eli [the woodcarver] said as the Wemmick [one of the wooden people he had made] walked out the door, "you are special because I made you.  And I don't make mistakes.'"

I don't know the outcome to this pregnancy.  I don't know why Alma died.  But I do know that I am trying my hardest to be okay.  To be happy.  To find hope.  To cherish every moment I have with this second baby.  That same girl who wrote about only being a little pregnant was reminded by her therapist that she would only be pregnant with her second baby once.  The same thing applies to me: I'll only be pregnant with my second baby once too.  He is his own person with his own personality and character traits, and he deserves to be celebrated. 

Dark days still come.  Disconnection from the baby is still there from time to time.  Panic, worry, exhaustion, and sleepness nights never quite go away.

But it's so nice to know that I am special to my Savior.  That I am not a mistake because He doesn't make mistakes.  That Alma is not a mistake.  We were supposed to have him, and we are supposed to have this baby too.

That, despite Satan trying to make me feel otherwise, there is nothing wrong with me.  My Savior loves me no matter what.

As I keep trying to grasp ahold of my Savior's love and support, I know it's still going to be hard.  It still is hard.  There are days when I still can't look at a baby.  There are still moments where grief hits me hard and leaves me feeling even more discouraged than ever before.  There are still flashbacks of when we had Alma, of how hard that was, and how hard it would be if it happened again.

But, again, like that one girl reiterated, all Jayze and I have are moments with this baby - and I want to hold onto those moments for as long as I can.

Let me tell you a story...

Things have been really hard for Jayze and me for the past few months.  We lost our baby boy when I was 37 weeks pregnant.  I am hoping that by telling my story, I can reach out to others who are going through a hard time too.

I don't believe we are meant to go through our trials alone, so I hope that I can help someone somewhere out there who has also lost a baby, a loved one, or just needs a little hope.  I do believe we are meant to be instruments in our Heavenly Father's hands.  Jayze and I have felt the many, many prayers said in our behalf, and so many earthly angels have helped us, as well as angels beyond the veil, including our Alma.  This is my small way of hopefully giving back...

On Thursday, August 29, 2013, we gave birth to a beautiful baby boy.  He was 6 lbs. 2oz and was 20 inches long.  His fingers and toes were just like Jayze's, and his nose, ears, and mouth were just like mine.  He had dark hair, which I absolutely loved and was hoping for because all of the grandkids at that time on both sides of the family had blonde hair.  We named him Alma Jayze Flake.  He was perfect in every way except that he was stillborn.

It all started in Fall Semester 2012 at Brigham Young University-Idaho.  Jayze and I took a religion class together called "Eternal Marriage."  Our instructor was amazing, and we both learned so much from him, me in particular.  It helped me look at marriage, families, and life in a completely new way.  All the doctrine I had been learning about my whole life finally sunk in and made complete sense as our instructor taught in a simplified, yet profoundly deep way.

When Jayze and I got engaged, we talked about our future and decided I would be on birth control for a year and then we would start trying to have children.  Jayze was more hesitant to do it that way than I was.  I wanted a year with just Jayze and me - no kids!  In fact, I was sooooo worried the birth control wouldn't work.  I remember working at the office after our honeymoon, and this couple came in and talked to some of the employees who worked in the office right next to the one I work in.  I could hear them excitedly announce they were just 8 weeks pregnant and, even though it wasn't planned, they couldn't wait.  I sat there and thought, "Are you kidding me?  I would be SO angry right now if the birth control doesn't work and Jayze and I end up with a honeymoon baby.  There's no way I would be okay with that."  Seriously, I would have been livid.  Looking back now, I can see how sadly wrong I was.  I needed to repent, but I didn't know that at the time.

One of our assignments in the Eternal Marriage class was to read about birth control and what the prophets and apostles have said about it (quotes here and here).  A few quotes in particular stood out to me:

God has a plan for the happiness of all who live on the earth, and the birth of children in loving families is central to His plan. The first commandment He gave to Adam and Eve was to “be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth” (Genesis 1:28). The scriptures declare, “Children are a heritage of the Lord” (Psalm 127:3). Those who are physically able have the blessing, joy, and obligation to bear children and to raise a family. This blessing should not be postponed for selfish reasons.

 “Supreme happiness in marriage is governed considerably by a primary factor—that of the bearing and rearing of children. Too many young people set their minds, determining they will not marry or have children until they are more secure, until the military service period is over; until the college degree is secured; until the occupation is more well-defined; until the debts are paid; or until it is more convenient. They have forgotten that the first commandment is to ‘be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it.’ (Genesis 1:28.) And so brides continue their employment and husbands encourage it, and contraceptives are used to prevent conception. Relatives and friends and even mothers sometimes encourage birth control for their young newlyweds. But the excuses are many, mostly weak. The wife is not robust; the family budget will not feed extra mouths; or the expense of the doctor, hospital, and other incidentals is too great; it will disturb social life; it would prevent two salaries; and so abnormal living prevents the birth of children. The Church cannot approve nor condone the measures which so greatly limit the family” (Teachings of Spencer W. Kimball, 328–29).

“The Lord has told us that it is the duty of every husband and wife to obey the command given to Adam to multiply and replenish the earth, so that the legions of choice spirits waiting for their tabernacles of flesh may come here and move forward under God’s great design to become perfect souls, for without these fleshly tabernacles they cannot progress to their God-planned destiny. Thus, every husband and wife should become a father and a mother in Israel to children born under the holy, eternal covenant” (in Conference Report, Oct. 1942, 11–12). -Heber J. Grant, J. Reuben Clark, and David O. McKay

“I am offended by the sophistry that the only lot of the Latter-day Saint woman is to be barefoot and pregnant. It’s a clever phrase, but it’s false. Of course we believe in children. The Lord has told us to multiply and replenish the earth that we might have joy in our posterity, and there is no greater joy than the joy that comes of happy children in good families. But he did not designate the number, nor has the Church. That is a sacred matter left to the couple and the Lord. The official statement of the Church includes this language: ‘Husbands must be considerate of their wives, who have the greater responsibility not only of bearing children but of caring for them through childhood, and should help them conserve their health and strength. Married couples should exercise self-control in all of their relationships. They should seek inspiration from the Lord in meeting their marital challenges and rearing their children according to the teachings of the gospel’ (General Handbook of Instructions [1983], p. 77)” (Cornerstones of a Happy Home, 6). - Gordon B. Hinckley

These statements are very bold, and they spoke straight to my heart.  Where before I thought there was nothing really said about birth control, here there were multiple quotes about having children and how family is the most important thing.

Our instructor also taught us the doctrine behind having children that totally opened my mind.

The reason we have children and families is because it is central to our Heavenly Father's plan.  It gives us the opportunity to practice becoming even more like God.  Even though that is stated in The Family:  A Proclamation to the World, I had never looked at families that way before.  Family is central.  It is the whole reason why we are on this earth.  Ultimately, in the end, it doesn't matter what kind of car we drive, how much money we make, or how big of a house we live in.  What matters is where our priorities are.  We won't be able to take any material things with us, but we can take our families and our knowledge with us.  (D&C 130:19 and D&C 132:15-20).

I would like to say that after I read the quotes and learned the doctrine behind families I was sold on going off birth control, but I wasn't.  My heart was still stubborn and wasn't willing to change.

Jayze kept feeling like we should start trying to have a family sooner than we had planned.  I had a harder time with feeling the same way because I knew our whole lives would change once we got pregnant.  Our lives had already changed just by getting married!  I guess I thought that we would be married a year, then BAM! we would have a baby.  But the baby has to bake for 9 months, and I didn't really think about that length of time.  I was selfish and had worries and doubts.  I didn't feel the desire to have a baby.  I wanted to finish school, exercise without having to worry about hurting a baby inside me, worry about a crying baby outside of me, be able to go out whenever I wanted, save more money, and have more alone time with Jayze.  It never occurred to me that I could still do all of those things with a baby. 

Jayze and I talked more about it, and he helped me work through all of my feelings.  He gave me a priesthood blessing (learn more about those here), which helped immensely.  We made the decision to go off the pill and see if the Lord wanted us to have children at that time or not.

What happened in the following weeks really strengthened my testimony of taking a leap of faith and not seeing the miracle until after the trial of faith is over.  I began to desire to be pregnant.  I made a complete turnaround.  We went off the pill in October, and I was sooooo disappointed when I wasn't pregnant by November or December.  I finally missed my period in January and took a pregnancy test.  It came out positive!  I wanted to be sure, so I ended up buying two more pregnancy tests, and they came out positive too!  I was pregnant!

I wasn't as happy when the morning sickness came.  I tried to be as happy as I could because I know how many women are not able to get pregnant, and I wanted to be positive throughout the whole nine months.

Everything went as perfectly as can be expected.  Despite having a hard time gaining weight at the beginning of the pregnancy, my belly still measured right on appointment after appointment.  The baby's heartbeat was right on, and he kicked and stretched quite a bit.

It was such a special moment when we found out we were having a boy.  Jayze and I both thought we were going to have a girl for some reason, so I eagerly anticipated the ultrasound technician to say, "It's a girl!"  Instead, she said, "Well, you ready to hear what you're having?"  Jayze and I nodded, and I kind of smiled like I knew what she was going to say.  "You're having a boy!"  What?!

But the cool thing is that Jayze and I both wanted a boy first, so it was just perfect.

I kept growing and growing and was getting nervous about starting school again, having a new person in our house, and quitting my job (I love my job soooooo much).  I knew a piece of my heart was going to break when I left work, but I had developed a testimony of being a stay-at-home mom and it was worth it to me.  This was my new desire - my new dream.

About 25 or 26 weeks

28 weeks

31 weeks

36 weeks

37 weeks and 2 days - August 26

On August 27, it seemed like my new dream had shattered.  I had an 11:00 appointment.  I left work, eagerly anticipating hearing my baby's heartbeat and seeing if I was at all close to going into labor (even though I was only 37 weeks - somehow I felt like he was going to come early, and I ended up being right).  It was just going to be a routine check-up with the nurse.  I was nervous because I was seeing a nurse I hadn't seen throughout the whole pregnancy, but I had loved all the workers at Madison Women's Clinic so far, so I figured it was going to be just fine.

It was the day I had to wait forever.  Seriously.  I don't think going to the doctor is a great idea in the middle of the morning, right before the afternoon, right before lunch, when it's so stinkin' busy.  For some reason, as I kept waiting, I was getting more and more nervous. I was anxious about the upcoming birth because I had no idea what the birth was going to be like, and I didn't like waiting in the lobby or the doctor's office for so long.  I just wanted to hear my baby's heartbeat and ask the nurse some questions I had on my mind and then make the routine call to Jayze to let him know the baby's heartbeat was "perfect" and my tummy was "right on" again. 

The nurse finally came in, and she put the heart doppler on.  Usually the nurses found the baby's heartbeat within seconds, but it took longer that time...

"I'm sorry, but I can't find a heartbeat."  The words hung in the air, but I don't think they quite sunk in.  No heartbeat?  How could there be no heartbeat?  He was perfect just last week!  I felt him moving last night.

"We're going to do an ultrasound and see if we can find it on there."

As we waited for the ultrasound tech to come, the nurse tried to look for the heartbeat again, but nothing came up.  She said, "I'm going to keep trying to find the heartbeat on the doppler, but it doesn't look like it's coming up.  So, we're going to do an ultrasound and hopefully we can find it on there..."

She told me to call Jayze and have him come over.  I didn't want him to have to come over.  Wasn't everything going to be okay?

I called Jayze and then numbly walked into the ultrasound room.  Suddenly, I did want Jayze there.  I needed him there.  I didn't want to do this alone.  But everything was okay, right?  Well, I wanted Jayze there even if everything was okay.  The ultrasound tech finally came in and squeezed the warm gel onto my bare belly.  The door to the room opened, and Jayze walked in looking mildly concerned.  I gave him a small smile, relieved that he was there, but only half of my attention was on him.  The other half was desperately looking at the ultrasound machine screen, wishing I could read it.  Wishing I could see the outline of my baby.  Wishing I could see my baby's heartbeat.  Wishing I could see my baby move.  I kept thinking that not being able to find his heartbeat was all a mistake.  That our baby boy was playing a trick on us and his heart was going to start beating again and he would say "Gotcha!" and we would all chuckle with relief and stroll out of the office happy again.

Everyone was quiet as the ultrasound tech looked for a heartbeat.  I wanted to scream at her and ask her how my baby was doing.  Was he okay?  He was alright, wasn't he?  This was my perfect baby.  Nothing could happen to him!  But I just sat there, still numb.  I couldn't say anything.  

The ultrasound tech took some measurements and pictures of the ultrasound, shook her head a little, and then stopped.  She gave the nurse who had tried to find the heartbeat earlier a small, knowing, kind of sad nod.  The nurse turned to Jayze and me and said quietly, "I'm so sorry."

Jayze squeezed my hand hard as he started to cry.  I couldn't cry.  I couldn't believe it.  This was all a mistake.  The nurse led us into the next room and left us alone for awhile.  I sat there, with Jayze crying in front of me, not knowing what to say or do or feel.  It didn't seem real.  It didn't seem like it was happening to me.  Finally, the tears slowly came with the realization that our baby had died.  Jayze scooted closer to me and held me as we cried and cried.

The nurse and doctor came back in and explained what was going to happen next.  It all seemed like a blur.  There was such a mix of emotions.  Part of me was still in shock.  Part of me was happy that I would be having the baby earlier than expected.  That I would get to hold him in my arms.  Then I remembered that our baby had died.  Questions whirled inside my head.  Was it even possible to have the baby?  Did I have to have the baby?  Did I really have to go through that?  Couldn't they get the baby out some other way?  How would they induce me?  Would my parents come?  Would Jayze's parents come?  Would I have to go back to work that day?  WHAT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN?  I just didn't know what to expect at all, and I was so scared.  I was scared of having the baby.  I was scared of seeing the baby.  Would he look okay?  Would I still love him?  Would I be able to hold him?

The doctor was explaining as these things went through my mind.  I would have the baby.  I could have him the next day or the day after.  I could go into labor on my own.  If I didn't, then they would induce me.

The doctor checked me to see if I had already started to go into labor on my own, and miraculously, I was already at four cm.  So, he told me I would either continue going into labor on my own, and if I did to go to the hospital.  Otherwise, I was scheduled to go to the hospital on Thursday, August 29.  The doctor and nurse were so kind.  They made everything so much easier.  Having all the facts, not emotions, laid out gave me something solid to think about.  

We decided to have the baby the day after so that we and our parents would have time to register what had happened and make plans.

It was sooooo hard calling my work and our parents and our bishop (I was scheduled to go back to work after my appointment, but knew I couldn't face going after what had happened).  I didn't want to talk to anyone, but at the same time, I wanted to tell people.  I needed their support.  I needed their love.  Saying it out loud made it real, and I didn't want it to be real, but my mind needed me to realize it was real.

I didn't go into labor naturally, which I was actually really grateful for.  Having it all scheduled out made it easier because there weren't any surprises.

My parents drove all the way up to Idaho in one day.  Words can't describe how grateful I was that they came.  The drive to Rexburg is long, especially when you do it in one day, so I really appreciated their sacrifice.  I don't think I'll ever be too old to not need my parents.

Jayze and I were already asleep when my parents made it to our house.  I actually slept well that night, considering everything that was going on.  Another tender mercy from the Lord.  I was scheduled to go to the hospital at 6:30 the next morning, and Jayze and my dad gave me a priesthood blessing before I went.  How grateful I am for the priesthood!

I was nervous and didn't want to let Jayze out of my sight.  We weren't able to find parking though, so he dropped me off, and I ended up waiting for him because I didn't want to go upstairs by myself.  We finally found where we were supposed to go (the directions to the labor and delivery were confusing!).  We got into the elevator and when it hit the second floor, the elevator dinged and the doors opened.

I let the front desk person know that I was scheduled to be there at 6:30.  I remember her talking on the phone with another nurse, letting her know the situation (insurance reasons), and I'll never forget the words she used, "Fetal demise."  My poor baby.  How I wished he was alive!  I kept hoping the doctors were wrong, that the ultrasound was wrong, and that a screaming, healthy baby would come out instead of my non-breathing baby.  Hearing those two words made it even more real, and I felt numb, like I was in a fog, as she led me into the delivery room.

Jayze left for awhile to give someone my insurance information, and I missed his presence.  I slowly changed into the hospital gown and climbed into the bed.  I was so grateful when Jayze came through that door and stayed with me the rest of the time.  It's amazing how much I depend on him.

Our nurse, Kristine, was wonderful.  She was super spunky and told us that if we didn't want anyone in the delivery room with us, then she could be the bad guy for us.  She was so nice and accommodating and made everything so easy.  I had been worried because the front desk woman had told me that I would have a different doctor than I was expecting.  I liked the doctor just fine, but I wanted the other doctor who was there when we found out Alma had died.  I asked her about it, and she said, "Oh, no, Dr. [    ] will deliver the baby.  He is the one on-call today.  And even if he wasn't, we would have called him because he wants to deliver your baby."  I was so grateful and relieved!

The nurse put an IV in me with the medicine to induce labor.  After, she sat down right by my bed and asked a ton of questions, but it didn't really drag or get annoying because she had so much energy.  She put me at ease right away.  Whenever she left, I was a little anxious.  She knew what she was doing, and I was worried something out of the ordinary with the labor or birth would happen whenever she was gone.

 At around 8:15 the doctor came in and said, "Hey girl, how are you doing?"  He was so nice.  He and his wife had two stillborns, so I felt like he really understood - even deeper - what Jayze and I were going through.  I was so grateful he was there, understood the situation, was sympathetic, and just understood.  It is so much easier to take certain comments from people who have gone through the exact same (or similar) thing as you.  It was easy to let him know how I was doing, cry in front of him and the nurse, and have them cry with me.  I kept telling them, "If this had to happen, I'm grateful it happened in Rexburg and that I can deliver here at this hospital."

The doctor explained a little what he hoped was going to happen - that they would try to speed up the process and that I would hopefully deliver the baby with as little physical pain as possible.  He checked to see how far along I was (I can't remember what I was dilated to at that point) and said he was going to break my water so that would help things move along more quickly.  He broke my water around 8:30.  My parents arrived about then, and I was grateful to know they were in the hospital.  I just wanted Jayze, the doctor, and the nurse in the labor room with me (my original plans anyway) though, so they went and stayed in the waiting room with Jayze's parents and Jayze's sister, NaElle.

Before the doctor left, he asked us if we wanted an autopsy done on the baby.  Jayze and I looked at each other not really know what to say.  At a loss of what else to say, I asked, "Does it cost a lot?"  The doctor explained that it would cost some money, but he recommended it because then maybe we would find out what had happened.  Hopefully when the baby was born, they would find out what happened there, like maybe a knot in the cord or something strange with the placenta.  But he told us to consider the autopsy in case nothing seemed wrong with the cord or placenta and let him know what we decided.  There were so many things to think about - the funeral home, where to hold the services, where to bury our baby, and now if we should have an autopsy done or not.  The doctor left, and I became more aware of the contractions as they got harder.

I hadn't practiced the breathing techniques that go with natural birth, but I was still trying to decide if I should go with an epidural or not.  The nurse let me know that the doctor recommended I get an epidural.  They wanted me to go through as little pain as possible, considering how much emotional pain I was going through.  She said that women who don't practice the breathing techniques don't realize how painful birth really is, and it ends up being, well, not a very beautiful or tender experience.  I opted for the epidural.  The contractions hadn't been too bad at first, and they felt differently than I had expected them to.  Slowly though, they began to get harder to where I couldn't concentrate on answering the questions very well or contribute to the conversation.  I think the nurse noticed, because she asked me if I wanted the anesthesiologist to come in.  I wanted to go as long as possible without it, but when Kristine told me that it would take about 20 minutes for them to actually get the epidural in and then another 10 minutes or so for it to start working, I said, "Yes!"  I didn't think I could handle it after another 30 minutes.

The anesthesiologists were really nice.  One of them cracked jokes the whole time, and the girl explained everything she was doing so I would know what to expect and what was going on.  The contractions kept coming, and the nurse helped me breathe through them as I was sitting up waiting for the needle to go in.  It was one of the hardest moments to sit completely still, during a contraction, and have the girl stick the needle in.  Afterwards though, the effect was amazing.  Both of my legs went completely numb.  It was like being at the dentist, except for the bottom half of my body went tingly and numb, not my face.    

Kristine kept looking at a screen that showed how hard the contractions were and kept asking me how the epidural was working.  I would just feel pressure, not really pain.  I think I was dilated to a seven by then.  She said it would probably be another couple of hours, so she dimmed the lights, closed the blinds, and let me go to sleep during that time.  I was to push the button if I needed anything.

Before I had the epidural and had been in the hospital room for a little bit, a woman by the name of Jill came in.  She was carrying a baby blue, soft blanket.  She told me that so many people in the hospital were praying for us that day.  She held my hand as she said that, and then she handed me the blue blanket.  She told me, "I want you to hold onto this while you are having the baby.  It is something that you can hold onto and remember this moment with."  For a split second, I didn't want that blanket.  I didn't want something to remember my baby with.  I just wanted my baby.  Couldn't I keep him?  Couldn't I hold him in my arms?  Did I have to give him up?  I took the blanket, but I honestly didn't think it was going to help much.  Little did I know how much that blanket would comfort me that day and in the days and weeks and months ahead.

It was nice being there in the dark, holding Jayze's hand, and dozing.  About an hour and a half later though, earlier than expected, I felt like the baby was lower and I wanted to push soon.  I let Jayze know, and I pushed the button.  Kristine came in, and she checked me and said, "Amazing."  I was complete.  That happened so fast!  She said she could feel the baby, so she called in the doctor.

The doctor got ready, and I was anxious for him to hurry because I felt like I wanted to start pushing.  It was almost like the contractions were pushing the baby out on their own, and I wanted the doctor there!  He got settled, and the nurse and Jayze kept encouraging me as I pushed.  Kristine said this part was like a marathon.  It was like putting one step forward and taking one step back.  Every time I pushed, the baby would come out a little bit, but then go back in.  I wasn't super tired yet, though, so that was good.  The doctor came in at around 11:20, and Alma was born at 11:42 p.m.  It was so exciting and encouraging to hear things like, "I see his head.  Nice and easy now.  He's coming."  Along with the nurse encouraging me and Jayze squeezing my hand and nodding his own encouragement.

When he was born, I wasn't worried about anything else.  I didn't think about the placenta or about pain (I was numb, so I didn't really feel pain), or about anything I thought I would worry about when the baby was born.  All I wanted to do was see the baby.  The doctor had him in his hands, and I kept trying to catch glimpses of him.  I finally asked, "Can I see him?"  The nurse said, "Of course!" and wrapped him up and gave him to me even before she had cleaned him off.  It felt so wonderful to hold little Alma in my arms.  It was such a sacred feeling.  I kept saying thank you to the doctor and nurse and looking at Jayze and gazing at our baby son.  I couldn't stop looking at him. 

 
He was perfect.


A few minutes later, my parents and Jayze's parents came in.  They each held him, and it was such a special experience.

It was a beautiful day.  The Spirit was so strong in that hospital room.  Alma's spirit was so strong, too.  If I could go back, I would do that day all over again just so I could hold Alma in my arms again and feel of his precious spirit again so strongly.

Jayze and I took turns holding him.  Neither of us wanted to stop holding him, but knew we needed to give each other the chance to hold him.  After about two hours, the nurse asked me if I wanted to take a shower.  I wasn't too sure about it, considering I just gave birth and wasn't sure I could walk across the room.  And I just wanted to be with my baby, but the nurse helped me.  So, while Jayze held Alma, I was able to take a quick shower and go to the bathroom.  I had torn a little, so I was sore, but I didn't really think about it.  The nurse was the best and kept encouraging me, so I felt like I was going to heal just fine - physically at least.  She got both Jayze and me some food.  I kept drinking chocolate milk.  I couldn't get enough of it!  It seemed like everything was perfect.  I couldn't stop rocking my baby.  

But soon the time came for the mortician to take Alma away.  That was the hardest part of the day.  The hardest thing I have ever had to do in my life.  It was around five in the afternoon when he came.  I didn't want to let Alma go, but I knew I needed to.  When the mortician was there, I cried and cried.  And after he left, I cried and cried.  I couldn't imagine going home without my baby.  I felt so empty.  I felt like something was missing.  My arms felt heavy.  It didn't seem right to have Alma in my tummy for 37 weeks, go through labor, hold him all day long, and then not be able to take him home.  Jayze held me for a long, long time.

After Alma was gone, I didn't want to see anyone.  I didn't want to stay in that hospital another minute either.  What was the point? My baby wasn't there, so why should I be there?  Suddenly, the Spirit was gone.  I felt empty and sad and mostly just numb again.

Jayze didn't want to stay there anymore either, so we asked the nurse if we could leave.  The nurse who had been with us the whole day had already left (her shift ended at six).  She gave us each a hug before she left, and when she was gone, I felt even emptier.  This new nurse didn't know - couldn't know.  She didn't understand - couldn't understand.  Maybe she did, but she didn't understand me or how I was feeling at that moment, when it seemed like our other nurse always knew exactly what to say, when to give me a hug, and be able to admire my baby with me.  Those moments were gone.  They were gone so fast - too fast.

The nurse said we could leave.  Before we left, they gave us all these things, even toothpaste.  Why would I need toothpaste?  Why would I need a prescription for pain killers?  They couldn't take the pain away from my heart.  Fortunately, they convinced me to take everything.  I couldn't have cared less at the time what I needed for me to heal physically.  What I really needed was my baby.  I needed to be figuring out how to nurse him, worry about his sleep schedule, wonder what habits he had, get used to putting him in the car seat, and be able to hold him whenever I wanted.  But these needs and wants couldn't be satisfied.  My baby was gone, and I didn't know if I would be able to see him again before he was buried.

No couple should have to figure out where they're going to bury their baby.  How they are going to pay for the tiny coffin, the autopsy, the plane ride to where they want their baby buried, the morticians, the hearse, the grave plot.

I wanted to be paying for the car seat, the stroller, the diapers, the baby shampoo, the bottles, the blankets, the clothes, the crib bedding, the nursery decorations, the pack 'n play, the tiny fingernail clippers.

I wanted my family to be worrying about how they were going to get off work to come to the baby blessing, not how they were going to get off work to come to the graveside service.

I wanted to just say goodbye to my baby once, not a million more times after the hospital.  I was grateful because I was able to see him again at the funeral home, and his spirit was so strong there.  I had such a special experience there with him.  But it was hard to say goodbye again.  I thought that was going to be the last goodbye.  That that was going to be the last time I had to walk away.  But I had to say goodbye one more time at the graveside service - this time in front of everyone.  I had to walk away one more time when I didn't want to have to walk away at all.  No one should have to walk away from their baby.

But I guess the Lord was trying to tell me that it's not what I wanted.  It's never about me.  It's more about what the Lord wants.  The Lord doesn't want me to suffer.  He doesn't want to see me in pain.  But He is with me every step of the way.  He cries with me and comforts me and surrounds me with loving arms.  He sends earthly and heavenly angels to buoy me up and help me live every single day when sometimes all I want to do is curl up in a ball and stay in bed.  He knows that someday, I will understand why he took my firstborn son back to His presence when I thought it was too early.  Someday I will understand that it was and is a blessing that I, as one of the people I see at work told me who had lost one of their children as well, "already have one socked away."  That maybe I can find it in myself, through my Savior, to find the blessing amidst the trial.  I don't think I'll quite understand until I get to see Alma again, but what I can understand is that the Lord was, and still is, reminding me to ask myself, "What can I learn from this?"

I can learn that we are all mothers.  Wasn't Eve called "Eve" because she is the mother of all living - even before she bore children? (Moses 4:26)

I can learn that families really are forever.  That the gospel of Jesus Christ really is true.  That if I try with all my might, mind, and heart, I can be with my Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, and Alma again.  That Alma is okay and happy and excited to prepare and help send his siblings come down to Jayze and me. 

I can learn that the prayers and fasting and temple blessings are so, extremely powerful.  I look back and know I could only have said goodbye to my son because of the prayers of others.  Because of the knowledge that I will see him again.  Because of his spirit and the Lord's spirit that I felt uplifting me and supporting me through it all.

I can learn that others have gone through the same thing as me.  And more will go through the same thing as me, and I will be able to hold them and let them know that I understand exactly how they feel and cry with them.

I can learn that motherhood is the greatest blessing of all.  Right now I don't care as much about getting my degree.  I don't care as much about being in the best shape of my life.  I don't care as much about traveling the world.  I don't care as much about how much money Jayze and I are going to have.  Those things are not the ultimate reason why we are here on earth.  In the end, it doesn't matter because I can't take those things with me.  What I can take with me and have with me forever is my family.  So, what I do care about is having children.  Having little hands that need me.  Having mouths to feed, scrapes to kiss and put bandaids on, minds to read to, curious questions to answer, and spirits to nurture.  I care about holding precious souls in my arms, knowing they came fresh from my Heavenly Father's presence.  I care about worrying and praying that my children will make the right choice and gain a testimony of their own and have their own personal relationship with our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.  I care about worrying and praying that my children will choose a happy and righteous lifestyle.  I care about worrying and praying that my children will make it home safely after a school dance.  I care about worrying and praying that my children will be safe on their mission.  I care about worrying and praying that my children will marry a good person.

I can learn that it's okay not to be okay.  That it's okay to cry.  That it's okay to mourn.  That it's okay to grieve.  That it's okay to have hard days.  That it's okay to let Christ in and heal my broken heart.

Life isn't easy.  Trials come to all of us.  The trick isn't how to get out of the trial.  The trick is figuring out how you are going to react to the trial.  And I know that this trial of mine has been so much easier with Christ walking with me every step of the way. 

Until we meet again.