One Year - Matthew's Story

One year ago today marks what I can safely say was the worst day of my life up to this point. The day we found out our first baby had no heartbeat.

The day our lives changed forever.

I have been meaning to write this post for some time, but have been reluctant because it’s so painful to relive it. But it just seems fitting to share such a post today, one year later. I have written a little about it since it happened and I know Josh has shared a lot of his experience, but I wanted to share my whole story. I am going to be as open and honest about the experience as possible, so bear with me. I just think Matthew’s story is important to share. If not for anyone else, it is important for me.

Let me start with the weeks before.

The week before Thanksgiving week, I finally announced outside of family that I was pregnant. We took pictures with my friend Jessica, and I was so excited to put them on Facebook and finally share that we were so excited to be expecting.

The next week we went to Idaho to visit my grandparents for Thanksgiving and got to spend time with lots of family there. My belly wasn’t really showing yet, but it was getting there. I was also looking forward to feeling my baby’s movements any day. While at my grandparents’ house, I was given a surprise baby shower. It was so fun to celebrate my baby with everyone! And the gifts that I received made me even more excited for the baby’s arrival! I even received a car seat and stroller; I could just picture taking my new baby for walks in the springtime. I got really emotional over all of it because of how happy and excited I was. Everything was right in that moment.

The following week, on December 1^st, I had a routine doctor’s appointment. I had been looking forward to this appointment as I did every appointment so that I could hear the baby’s heartbeat and know that it was healthy and growing.

As usual, the doctor went to check the heartbeat with his fetal Doppler. It was taking a while, but this wasn’t that unusual. The baby wasn’t always the most cooperative and sometimes took a minute to find. It always made me a little nervous, but was never a cause for great concern because it was always fine.

When he had tried for a while, he scheduled us for an “emergency ultrasound” to see the baby since he was having trouble finding the heartbeat with his Doppler. I was a little nervous but didn’t think much of it because the doctor seemed so calm about it and didn’t give any indication that there was a problem. So we went back out into the waiting room to wait our turn for an ultrasound. As we sat there, I excitedly talked to Josh about “what if we can find out the gender today??” We weren’t expecting to have that ultrasound for a couple weeks, so the thought of finding out a little early made me really excited. Everything still seemed right for a moment.

As I wrote in my journal of the ultrasound experience:

“Our turn came and I got situated for the ultrasound. Just moments later, the ultrasound tech softly said, ‘Oh, no…’ My heart dropped but I held on to a desperate hope that everything would turn out to be fine. As she continued her checking, I watched her type on the screen that there was no heartbeat. And I tried with my last effort to stay composed, but my resolve quickly broke. And I cried. And cried. Josh came over to me to quietly comfort me as I felt myself crumbling in disbelief. I had sometimes imagined if something should go wrong, but never expected it to happen. Everything had been going so well. How could this be real?”

The ultrasound tech softly told us “I’m so sorry” over and over as she finished her scan. The doctor came in to get the news, and as we finished up we went back to a room to discuss our options with the doctor. He informed us that I could either be induced and deliver, or I could have a D&C where I am put out and they pull and scrape everything out themselves. The second option was riskier for me, but I was in such foggy disbelief I didn’t really know what to think. So he said we could go home and talk about it and call him back to schedule whatever we chose to do.

Going home, the rest of the day was a blur. I called in to work and they took care of things so I wouldn’t have to worry about finding people to cover my shifts. Then I called my mom. When she picked up I could barely choke out the words through my tears, “Mom, I went to the doctor this morning… and I lost the baby.” We let our Bishop and Relief Society President know what was going on. The rest of the day passed in a haze. We sat on the couch and watched TV for most of the day because for me it was a distraction of the nightmare I was now living in. Just taking a moment to get up and go to the bathroom was unbearable because the reality of what was happening would set in again, and I would break down and sob.

People started reaching out to me right away. I received flowers, food, and words of love and comfort from friends and family. People started sharing with me their experiences with loss, and I found myself leaning on those who could relate to what I was going through. Yet most of my time was spent either crying or trying to numb the pain.

We went back to the doctor the next day to let him know we wanted me to be induced, and to talk about details and schedule the induction. I would go in on Wednesday night, December 3^rd. I wanted to know what to refer to this loss as, so I asked him if it was considered a second trimester miscarriage. He said no, and that the death of the baby was called “fetal demise”. And that the birth would be a stillbirth. (This was confirmed by the nurses at the hospital. I found out later that in Utah, it is considered a stillbirth when a baby is born dead any time after 16 weeks, rather than what most everywhere else considers a stillbirth – 20 or more weeks.) It became important for me to know what this loss was called for reasons I can’t explain, not to compare my loss with anyone else’s.

I called my mom to let her know when it was so she could fly out to Utah to be with me for it. I also received a Priesthood blessing, in which I was told that this baby I was carrying was a little boy. We didn’t know the gender before then and I was thinking all along that it was a girl, so this was surprising to hear. We decided we wanted to name our baby before going to the hospital, so we looked up some baby names. We had one or two boy’s names in mind, but I didn’t feel like using them here. I wanted to find something with special meaning. So Josh found the name Matthew, meaning “Gift of God.” And with that we used Lawrence for the middle name, which is Josh’s middle name and his dad’s middle name. So Matthew Lawrence it was. We also made a trip to Target to find a blanket, a stuffed animal, a box for his keepsakes, and a special ornament because it was Christmas time. In that trip, elephants became Matthew’s animal – we first found a blue elephant ornament that I fell in love with, then Josh found a blanket with a blue elephant on it, to match the ornament.

On Wednesday night, we went to the hospital. I got checked in and they took me to a room apart from the regular labor and delivery area so that I wouldn’t have to hear baby cries. Then we got started with the induction. The pain started out very mild, and through the night gradually built up more and more. It wasn’t like typical labor though; instead of having painful contractions that would come and go, it was a constant, gradual buildup of pain, without contractions. I received some pain medicine, but in the morning when it was getting really bad, my water broke just before I was going to get an epidural. The doctor came, and I thought I was going to have to push. But Matthew was so tiny that the doctor just reached in and pulled him out very easily and delicately.

And there I saw him. Our boy. Born on December 4^th, 2014 at 8:30 am. He weighed a tiny 1.6 ounces and measured just 5.5 inches long.

I later wrote in my journal:

“I started crying instantly. It’s hard to describe the emotions I felt. Sorrow at losing my baby. At seeing his tiny, lifeless body that would never grow into an energetic little boy. At never getting to be his mother. At holding him, and yet it wasn’t him. I would be left empty. And yet, I felt joy at knowing he would be mine forever. Wonder at seeing how every little part of his tiny body was already so formed. At seeing how perfect he already was, and knowing that’s all he needed. All I could do was cry for both grief and joy, and marvel over my little boy…

As the day went on I found myself feeling very surprisingly peaceful. I expected to be completely beside myself. I don’t know if it was the prayers of others, or Matthew being there for me, or what, but I’m certain there was divine help. For the moment, even in the midst of this tragedy, everything seemed okay. I was amazed by that.”

A bereavement specialist in the hospital came and took pictures, did hand prints and footprints, and made tiny molds of Matthew’s hands and feet. She also wrapped Matthew in a tiny blanket and gave us a couple of other keepsakes. I will forever and ever be grateful to her. She gave us treasures that are worth more to me than any other possession.

I also received other gifts and trinkets in honor of Matthew. Stuffed elephants. Jewelry. Pictures. I was so touched every time someone gave me something in honor of him. It was a recognition that he existed, and that he mattered. That he is my little boy.

We decided not to have a funeral, but to let the hospital take care of his body. I don’t know exactly what they did with it, and I don’t want to. I only want to be left with the memories of him that I have. We do want to get a memorial stone at a cemetery some time, but we don’t know when that will happen because of the cost. For now, we just have his pictures and mementos to hold on to.

The days and weeks that followed are marked by a progression of confusing emotions as I lived with my new reality. In the early days, I felt numb. Numb to my emotions and to my experience. Then came the stronger emotions. Anger. Feeling so frustrated with people who said that they understood exactly how I felt because of this or that experience that they had, when it was so different than what I was going through. Despair. I remember getting on Facebook and seeing all my friends who were pregnant and having babies, posting about feeling their baby’s movement or sharing some new picture or milestone. And I was filled was grief and bitterness. I was looking forward to feeling my baby moving any day. That should be me. I should be looking forward to finding out the gender. I should be experiencing these wonderful, joy-filled moments. But my baby… my baby was dead. It was all taken away. It just wasn’t fair. And it was tearing my heart apart. Loneliness. Feeling like so many people were avoiding talking to me because they didn’t know what to say. Or that they didn’t care. I know people cared, but I honestly felt so abandoned at times. I felt such a range of emotions that navigating my grief was a very confusing experience, even for me.

We have come a long way in the year since Matthew has passed. I have gone to counseling and attended a support group, especially in the early months. It has gotten better, but the grief never really goes away. Most days I am doing okay. Even great. Some days are intensely difficult and painful. These days come both expected – like anniversaries and milestones – and unexpected – cropping up from nowhere, but the grief just hits you.

We miss Matthew terribly. It’s so hard wondering what he would be like. Thinking of how things “should have been”. Picturing raising that little boy. All the “what ifs”. It’s a unique type of grief, grieving the loss of something that would never be.

But I do want to end on a positive note. I am so grateful to know that Matthew is mine forever. That I will see him again. And I am so grateful for my new twin babies. As overwhelming and exhausting as they can be, I love them so much. I have always wanted to be a mom, and Matthew was the first to give me that. And I am especially grateful for my husband Josh. I could never navigate life’s trials without him. He is my comfort when I am falling apart, my encouragement when I need a little boost, and my best friend.

My family is my everything, and I am so grateful they are mine.