The Day She Flew Away

It was July 22, 2005. A Friday. I had an appointment with the obstetrician at 11:30 AM. Being on bedrest, I had nurses coming to my house every day with exception of the days I had doctor's appointments. They came to check my blood pressure and the baby's heartrate. All week, my baby's heartbeat was relatively normal for her. The day of my obstetrician appointment, her heart was racing. I can't remember the number off hand but it was way higher than it had been. The obstetrician said there's nothing to worry about because it was still in the range of normal. I argued that it was not normal for my baby. My baby's heartrate is usually alot lower than that (but still in the normal range).

Well, I argued to no avail, and he sent us on our way. He did not schedule us another ultrasound, and he did not do any physical examination or do anything other than check the heartrate and my blood pressure.

We had to stop at the hospital to drop off my urine sample, and while I was there, I briefly had a thought that maybe we should go up to labor and delivery to see if they will check my baby. But I didn't want to end up in the hospital again. I really hated being in the hospital.

We came home and my husband left for work soon after that. It was very difficult being alone while on bedrest. We had no cable yet, but we had set up the internet just the day before. So, I spent the afternoon on the computer instead of laying down. I remember someone asking me if I wanted a boy or a girl, and I said I don't care, I just want my baby to be alive. I think my subconscious was aware of how bad things were, but I wasn't quite admitting it yet.

Something else happened around this time that I am not quite wanting to talk about right now because it still upsets me to the day. All I will say right now is that I became very upset and agitated and I am certain that because of this added stress, my daughter died.

My husband was late coming home from work, and this further upset me. It turned out he stopped to pick up a pizza on the way home. We ate the pizza on the bed so that I didn't have to go up and down the stairs. I remember that we tried to get the baby to kick for Daddy. Because she was very small, we didn't always feel her kicking, even when she was kicking alot. I remember feeling sad that she wasn't kicking. Little did I know....

To Be Continued tomorrow...


You can read the rest of Babybear's story here.